Dreadlords The Tournament of Turin

[Edric]

Turin

"I just thought I was done with this noble shit." Edric said dryly, looking down at the full plate armor that adorned him. For some reason terribly missing Ralene in that moment, his head shaking as he let out a loud sigh. The man in front of him looked nothing like he usually did. The usually handsome face of Rogue Dreadlord Duncan Terrin replaced with the mug of a stout surly man who looked about as close to a dwarf Edric had ever seen.

Despite his rather...displeasing visage, the newly ugly Duncan smacked Edric on his armored shoulder.

"You agreed to this, remember?" His voice was far more gruff than usual too, but then he supposed that was part of the magic which cloaked the man. "Besides, traditions like these are important. It introduces you to different styles of fighting. The Great Houses used to send their sons and daughters to compete, even the Guard sends representatives sometimes."

It was said that the Tournament of Turin had been held for more than a hundred years. An annual event, Turin hosted all those who wished to display their skill in the 'knightly arts'. Jousting, sword-play, wrestling, archery, and even dancing. It was an event that was deeply beloved by those who thought of themselves as practiced in the 'noble' ways of combat. A concept which had seemed utterly foreign when it had been explained to him. "Look, all you have to do is compete and not die. Alright?"

Duncan said, shaking his head as he saw Edric's confusion still plain on his face.

"That, I can do." He said, rolling his shoulders in the ridiculous armor.

"Good. You'll be entered in the Joust and the Sword." Edric was about to open his mouth to object, but before he could Duncan cut him off. "Just hit the other guy with the sword more for the first one, and stay on the horse for the second. I know you're better suited to some of the other events but the glamour would break, and at least in the other two the armor will hide your face."

A sigh escaped his lips, but Edric just nodded with a grunt. Clearly still unhappy. "Fair enough."

He grunted, and Duncan just nodded. "Good lad, just gotta last long enough for him to make an appearance, yeah?"

Edric took in a breath, wondering why he always ended up being the damned punching bag no matter what side he was on. A second later he tipped down the mask for his helmet, stalking off to go watch some of the matches before he competed.

 

[Colette]

It had been a week or so ago that Major Gansukh had told her to sit down in his office. It was there that he had explained he'd been given the task of selecting members of the Northern Guard to represent the north at the Tournament of Turin, a grand Anirian tradition.

His exact words had been, "Maconner, if brains were leather you wouldn't have enough to saddle a ladybug. But you're one of the best damn archers I've ever seen. And I mean, honestly, if you had a single good idea it would die from loneliness. But you're also one of the best bladesmen, excuse me... bladeswomen, that we've got actively serving."

She'd thanked him for the compliment and been off to the tournament with the rest of the Guard's retinue.

Inside the stadium she marveled at all of the patrons in attendance. The first few rows held commoners and middle class Anirians, several of whom were already beyond intoxicated despite the early morning hour. There were chants crying out that rang throughout the venue and as her gaze drifted skyward she could see the large boxes filled with well-dressed nobles who were decidedly more reserved.

"Wow." The marveling continued while she spun on her heels, bumping into a tall man dressed in platemale. "Oh! I'm so very sorry sir!"

He looked down upon her and it was then she realized that the man wore the marks of Great House Weiroon. "Can't believe they let Guard whelps compete," he scoffed and then made his way over to the jousting area.

Colette took a deep breath, trying not to let the confrontation get to her. This was no different than target practice. And the sword fights later would be no different than all the sparring she'd done. This whole event was about having fun. If you just believed in yourself and gave it your very best shot then today was going to be a very fun day for her.

 

[Aelita]

Some Dreadlords journeyed to Turin to join the tournament – as was tradition. Aelita ended up being assigned as entourage for this journey – partly to ensure safety in numbers, partly as an educational trip to see the variety of combat techniques the tournament would display.

At this point, for most of Aelita’s memory she was in the Academy. She was trained in martial combat and being shaped to become a soldier for the state. At this tournament, Aelita saw in contrast many ladies wearing gowns and veils. A good amount were noblewomen and their attendance. She saw a few of these women give their veils to jousters – who would then tie them upon their lance.

“Huh,” was all Aelita said as she witnessed such a sight.

Dressed in battle armor with a staff strapped to her back, Aelita looked more like Guards such as Collette than a noble.

With some free time at hand, Aelita began to roam around the tournament grounds – her eyes looking out for food, wine, and maybe some betting...

 

[Olvir]

"Oleg! We're here to compete, not to insult our fellow competitors." Ollie said with a shake of his head, though his cousin almost immediately disregarded the words. Offering a scoff and one glance back towards Colette.

"Maybe if they sent something other than little girls."​

Another sigh escaped Ollie, and he simply shook his head as his cousin departed towards the jousts. He watched him for a brief moment, the other Weiroon just as tall as him but built with twice the muscle. Oleg had the nickname of the 'barrel knight' at tournaments like these, though no one ever said it to his face.

The name was given because he was near impossible to knock over, but when he did fall the Knight tended to roll more than he did stand.

With a shake of his head Ollie took a quick few steps over towards Colette. "Apologies, My Lady, for my Cousin."

He smiled warmly.

"I'm afraid he spends far too much time practicing the joust, and far too little studying manners and decorum." Gently he reached out to take Colette's hand by way of proper greeting. "I hope your impressions of my family are not formed from just his oafish propriety."

The noble smiled, and continued his introduction. "I am Olvir Weiroon. You're competing today?"

He asked, seemingly with genuine interest.

Ollie himself had only entered in one contest today; the Melee.

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

Riding in at the head of a procession, the Lady Elspeth Sirl arrived atop a small brown mare bearing the colors of House Sirl and a surgeon's banner. She was in attendance for two reasons: her betrothed Olvir Weiroon stood as a competitor and she meant to support him in this endeavor in any way she could; and as the heir to leadership of House Sirl she'd mark this as the first official occasion that her house would sponsor the care of those wounded in the tourney rather than the dismemberment, impaling, and obliteration of them.

Plus she favored tourneys much more than galas or balls. So perhaps she was here for three reasons.

Riding alongside her the ever-loyal presence of Second Level Dreadlord Ser Aloref Gantri atop a large black horse. They lead with them a retinue of Nurses, Medics, and Healers from Vel Anir, as well as several wagons and carts of supplies for their stay. It had been an exceptionally long journey, made with the intention of several noted stops along the way so that House Sirl's infamous notoriety might finally be curbed and reformed to something ... better.

"Did you participate in tourneys past, Ser Gantri?" Elspeth asked of him as their procession slowed upon entering the busy streets of the city en route to the heart of the tournament grounds.

The man did not spare her a look while his eyes remained steadfastly surveying the grounds, but he did offer a nod to her in response. He'd represented his sworn House at many tourneys prior and held several noteworthy accolades for such, but glory won from tourneys did not a true warrior make.

Only real battle, real war, real loss and sacrifice could do that - something he'd experienced in droves.

She wanted to press the conversation with the new questions coming to the surface, but conversations with the Dreadlord had always been one-sided. For good reason. So with a deep breath, Elspeth turned a pleasant facade toward the festival goers they presently walked through. Here the emblem of House Sirl, a rose bloom encircled by a black dragon, had once been recognized well for heralding fierce and dangerous competitors.

But times had changed, and since the year her mother passed away the Sirl Patriarch cared less and less about committing presence and money to these events. So its sudden reappearance may have been cause for rumor and chatter. Elspeth found many curious eyes upon her - she'd not attended the Tourney at Turin since she was but a young child.

"My Lady Sirl!" shouted a man through the crowds not too far from where Edric presently ruminated over his current situation, "Welcome! Welcome to the Tourney! We've been most expectant."

"Lady Elspeth," she corrected the man gently as she brought her horse to a stand, "the Lord Sirl yet lives."

"And well, I do hope," the man bowed before looking up with an eager gaze, "has House Sirl brought with it any competitors this year?"

"No," Elsi smiled, "House Sirl has brought Medics, Nurses, and Healers to tend to the Tourney's many competitors."

"Ah, then you will be needing to check in with the Tourney Officials, shall I take you there?"

"My Assistant Cera will go with you," Elsi nodded back to the woman riding a grey behind her, "she has all the necessary patents. We will wait here."

"As you wish, my Lady," another dramatic bow and the man lead Cera away.

Elspeth then allowed her gaze to wander among the people, offering warm greetings to those who stopped in recognition of either herself or the Sirl crest, then came to settle upon a small group of warriors not far away.

 

[Edric]

Edric stood among his fellow competitors, chatting with a Knight that apparently had made his way all the way from Tyr. "I thought the spilling of blood was abhorrent to your people."

A laugh echoed from the man's lips as the two of them watched one of the minor Jousts. The open tournament already having begun so people could qualify for the upper bracket. Most of these matches were not watched save for by already drunken peasants and fellow competitors, though Edric was doing his best to at least pick p a few notions of form.

"Only around other, Tyrians. We enjoy games like this as much as any other place." Edric looked at him strangely, and then let out a 'huh' before he turned his full attention back to the match.

There was a loud crash as the two riders tipped their lances, one of them clattering to the ground with the sound of bent metal as he went flying to the floor. A few people in the crowd let out gasps, but a moment later the fallen figure shifted slightly to signal that he was still alive.

"See that?" His new friend said. "He didn't properly adju-"

As he spoke, Edric's attention was suddenly drawn to what was going on behind him. A shout echoing over the noise of the crowd that echoed with a very familiar name.

Tension almost immediately flickered through Edric's form, and his fingers tightened on the flimsy wooden railing as he heard Elspeth Sirl talk. He frowned, his eyes set completely forward even though he knew his helmet would keep him from being recognized.

For a moment he stood there, listening to Lady Sirl speaking to the man that greeted her, frozen and just waiting to be called out until something nudged his shoulder. "I think they're calling you. Ser Idren that's you no? The Black Wyvern of Orlen."

Clearly the man's last words were said in jest, but he was too caught up to properly reply back.

Edric nodded his head, swallowing as he regained his composure. "Right, just nerves."

He said, clapping the foreigner on the shoulder before he quickly made his way towards the right side of the jousting ground. Doing his best to seem as casual as possible until he reached the horse Duncan and the others had provided for him.

 

[Colette]

”It’s fine, I’m sure he means well,” it wasn’t like this Oleg person was lying. In a side-by-side size comparison Colette was much smaller than him.

Her wide eyes got even wider as the gentleman before her continued speaking and revealed that he was, in fact, a nobleman. Not just any nobleman but, ”you’re Olvir Weiroon?!” She had never gotten to shake hands with someone from one of the Great Houses of Vel Anir.

Doing so now she felt embarrassed at how sweaty her hand was, how unpolished sections of her Guard’s raimant was.

”Y-yes, sir, your majesty, I am competing! My name is Colette, Colette Maconner, I’m in the Guard.” Words were spilling off her tongue like a glass of water clumsily knocked off a table. ”In archery, sir. And, sir, the blade one too.”

Nervously she pulled her hand away and looked over the man before her.

Her parents, being proud Anirians, had always taught her that the nobles that belonged to houses like Virak, Sirl, Weiroon, or Banick were unbelievably talented at everything. Everyone knew that they were the most beautiful people in the entire nation, incredibly intelligent, and the perfect stewards of the city. Donric had even once told her that they could hold their breath underwater for twenty minutes.

Cole was glad that she wouldn’t have to compete against Sir Olvir in archery, at least.

”It’s a great honor to meet you sir,” she said whilst bowing, her bow in one hand and arrows barely staying in the quiver on her back.

 

[Aelita]

Aelita eventually found herself near the jousting ring. She held the roasted leg of some unusually large fowl. She had taken a few bites of it already. And dangling from her belt was a bottle of something tied by the waist.

Just some distance away from Aelita, she saw a man in extremely well decorated armor marching toward the entrance. This man received some fanfare and had a few attendants at his side carrying banners of some noble house.

One middle aged man next to Aelita seemed ecstatic over this man’s appearance. Leaning over, Aelita asked, “Who’s that?”

“Why, it’s Guiscard of the West! Count Loutmu’s heir! I bet all I got on him!”

Nice armor, healthy skin, a healthy looking horse. Likely had some training as a noble. He already had several veils tied upon his lance.

“Is he up next?” Aelita asked.

“Nah, there be a few matches before his first,” the man told her.

Guiscard would enter and wait in an area with several other nobles – away from the commoner and knight participants.

“If ya a betting lass, better get your money in before it’s too late!” the man advised before he departed.

“Hmm,” an intrigued hum followed.

But first, Aelita decided to enter the jousting rings and find a spot in the stands. She managed to enter just a bit before a Ser Idren would emerge to face his opponent...

 

[Olvir]

"Oh, that's uhh. That's really not necessary." Olvir said as he stepped back, half in an attempt to make sure arrows didn't spill all over but also in an attempt to make this seem just the slightest bit less awkward.

"Please, I mean..." He tried to interrupt Colette as she continued to speak, latching onto one of the last things she said. "Ah the sword!"

Olvir said, almost excited. "Wonderful, that means we'll be competitors!"

Unlike many nobles, Olvir had never joined the Guard. Though a years service was customary even for the high born, he himself had shirked his duties, or rather his father had forced him to. It was a small flicker of shame within the young Weiroons heart, especially given his sisters years of service.

Although that had been his father's stated reason for his absence, the patriarch of Weiroon had claimed he'd 'already lost one' to those bastards.

Either way, Ollie had a great amount of respect for the Guard, and he wanted neither Colette's praise nor the titles she offered him.

"Please, just call me Ollie." He said. "Here we're all equals, right? Our only status is our skill."

At least that was supposed to be true.

 

[Colette]

Oh god. Oh Anirius. Oh Kress.

She was meant to fight nobles at this tournament? They’d told her she would but she assumed it would be nobility from Houses like Fletching or Vansire or Orig. Not members of the most influential and powerful families in Vel Anir!

What would happen if she accidentally hurt one of them? Would she be kicked out of the Guard if she beat Ollie in a sword duel?! She was just beginning to enjoy her work within the Anirian Guard.

”Um, ok, yes,” she had to stop herself from saying sir again, ”Ollie, I suppose we are both just here to have fun and compete.” Colette managed to calm her nerves enough to look at the Weiroon boy with a joyful expression.

”I look forward to competing with you, good luck!”

And then a crier yelled her name. “Colette Maconner! You’re up in archery bay four!”

With a nod and a wave towards Ollie she departed and rushed over towards her station for the first round of the open portion. Already there was a man who looked to be twice her age, adorned in leather armor that had been painted a shade of royal blue and studded with red gemstones that were quite obviously fake.

“G’day,” the man said to her with a bow, “I am Phillip Godslayer.”

”Colette Maconner.”

Phillip gave her a mighty handshake and then without delay he spun around and took his position across the range of his target. He turned his attention away from the target and towards the crowd and began to shout in a sing-song sort of way. “From the shores of Alliria to the smoldering heat of Ragash they sing the tales of one man!”

He pointed to a random woman in the crowd who looked at him with confusion. “PHILLIP GODSLAYER!” He twirled an arrow from his quiver and pulled it back in the string, then in one fluid motion he fired it at his target. It was incredibly impressive to look at but the shot barely hit the target, scoring him only a single point.

“PHILLIP GODSLAYER!”

He kept singing and shouting, “In the heart of Molthal to the depths of Belgrath only one man can be trusted by your side!” He ducked down low before jumping into the air and performing a backflip, just before landing another arrow was fired, this one didn’t reach the target, burying itself in the sand.

“PHILLIP GODSLAYER!”

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

"Ser Idren, The Black Wyvern of Orlen," the Herald cried from the stands, "to face Roben, Lord Artimer of Crue!"

Elspeth's mare shifted slightly beneath her as droves of onlookers began to fill the open spaces of the path and roads outside the jousting arena. She was lucky - from where she sat she had a very decent view from the short end where Ser Idren presently saddled up. Luckier yet that Cera had not returned to lead the way to their staging area to set up. She would get a chance to see a round or two - maybe a whole set before having to move on.

"Did you joust, Gantri?" Elsi asked her guard, to which the silent man gave a single, short nod.

"Father had a collection of horses won from the joust. Do you remember the spotted mare named Hera? He won her from a man named Ser Grennich Hawthorn when I was 8 and gave her to me as a birthday gift."

She listened as the horn sounded for the first round and watched Ser Idren gallop off down the line with a slight frown, "She was a heinous beast."

 

[Edric]

Edric walked over towards his side of the tournament grounds, finding Duncan already standing there with a beautiful black horse. The creature was larger than anything he had ridden before, but he stepped up without a second of hesitation. Pulling himself into the saddle with a surprising amount of agility.

The armor Gilram had had forged for him fit well. "So just don't fall off, hit the other guy."

He'd watched two of three rounds, and that really seemed to be the sum of it. The Academy had offered some cavalry training of course, he knew how to ride and even how to fight from horseback. This was different though, Edric had seen that with his own eyes.

There was a skill to this, a quiet elegance, but he had an advantage other riders did not.

"You got it, Kid. Good luck. Make it through to the brackets at least, that's when he'll be here." A nod tipped Edric's head as the lance was delivered into his hands. He weighed it for a second, and then took a breath as his muscles strengthened.

He shifted, and then the horse sounded.

Without a second of hesitation Edric drove himself down the lanes of the tournament ground. The thunder of hooves bellowing out, the call of the small crowd all but drowned as his heart echoed within his ears. He didn't even realize that he was holding his breath.

Fingers tightened, and he moved ever so slightly. The lance in his hand drew forward, and then Edric leaned into his opponent.

A second passed, and then the lance struck his shoulder.

It scraped against his armor, slipping free though hurting no less for it. Pain lanced through the whole of Edric's body in a quick wave.

His own weapon striking just seconds later, running directly into Lord Artimer's chest. Catching the man and practically throwing him from his horse as the lance exploded into a thousand pieces. A clatter of steel resounding as the armored man fell hard onto the ground.

Almost out of sheer instinct more than actual thought. Edric pulled on the reins of his mount, dragging the beast in a half circle as he slowly rode back towards his starting point, never glancing down at the fallen Lord he had just knocked prone.

"AND IN A FANTASTIC FIRST SHOWING THE WINNER IIIIIIIIS...LORD IDREN! THE BLACK WYVERN OF ORLEN!"​

The crowd went...mild. Clapping respectfully as the black rider returned back to his place. Though some Edric's fellow competitors whispered among one another, either impressed or concerned.

 

[Olvir]

Olvir smiled and offered Colette a small wave as she departed. "Nice to meet you as well."

The interaction, as small as it had been, brought a smile to the young Nobles face. Though he had known they would be here, it was nice to meet a representative of the Guard competing at the tournament. He quite enjoyed the idea that he was competing not with just other nobles, but folk who were from all walks of life.

In a show of support, Ollie didn't yet depart the Archery grounds, instead he squeezed his way through the throng of people and took up a post in one of the viewing areas. Paying no attention to the crowd around him but instead the beginnings of the competition.

The sword rounds wouldn't start until later in the day, and he knew that Trik would find him once Elspeth arrived. So he thought it a good idea to spend his time celebrating a fellow Anirian.

His brow almost immediately furrowed however as Philip-Godslayer stepped up besides Colette. His loud and boisterous tone striking even the crowd where Ollie stood. The song echoing from his lips carrying even as he fired his arrows like a buffoon. Even I could do better than that.

Ollie thought to himself, more confused than anything else.

The fool reminds me of one of my previous owners.​

Once again Ollie's sword whispered into the reaches of his mind. A flicker of curiosity rising through the young Noble. The blade had spoken with him more and more as of late, now even answering questions. What happened to him?

He died.​

It answered unceremoniously, clearly ending the conversation before it had even begun. Olvir only let out a sigh, shaking his head as he watched Phili-Godslayer entirely miss yet another target. His head shook, utterly baffled as to what kept the fool around.

"Gods he's so handsome. I bet Kress himself shaped that man."​

A voice said next to him, and Ollie turned his head.

"I just want to eat his little face it's so cute."​

Another voice joined the first, and for the first time Olvir realized that he was surrounded by a gaggle of women. All of them intently watching Ser Philip.

"I wonder if he'd sign my Tournament Poster."

"Poster? I want him to sign my-"​

Olvir's face suddenly turned crimson, and he turned around as he coughed. Beginning to squeeze his way back through the crowd. One last sentence catching his ears as he fled the scene.

"I heard he's quite the swordsman."​

Laughter echoed behind him.

 

[Aelita]

Once Aelita got the stands, she looked around to get a feel of the jousting ring. She saw many riders carrying banners all around. Guisard of the West sat in a corner with what seemed to be a collection of rich nobles.

In the distance, she spotted House Sirl’s banners mixed in among those meant for healers.

Then, she saw the two first competitors show up. Lord Idren versus Lord Artimer. The bout ended quickly for a joust – just one pass. Since neither were well known, the spectators around Aelita gave a tepid reaction.

Though their voices revealed that she stood not among the Anirian crowd. Upon realizing this, Aelita stood up and began to shuffle along the stands toward where the Sirl banners and other familiar banners flew.

 

[Colette]

“PHILLIP GODSLAYER!!!”

The crowd was cheering after the bizarre man had given another forty-five second speech, he had concluded it by performing a handstand and kicking his boots off to reveal two bare feet. Both of his legs were curled at the knee as his arms supported his weight and one of his big toes wedged itself around the bow whilst his other foot grasped at the fletching of an arrow and was holding it back.

He was about to shoot his final shot using only his feet.

With a bead of sweat dripping off his forehead he quietly muttered to himself, ”Phillip Godslayer,” and then he let the missile fly.

It landed a bit closer this time but still only about halfway towards the bullseye netting him five points, bringing his total to a meager six.

A raucous applause overtook the crowd as the Godslayer was now on his feet and pumping his fist in the air. “Remember, fair tourney goers, with enough hard work you can do anything you set your mind to!”

”I think I’m supposed to shoot now,” Colette finally said in a meek whisper while taking her spot in front of the same target. As he was putting his shoes back on the goliath of a man bent over towards his Guardswoman opponent.

“I got the crowd ready for you, kid, give ‘em a hell of a show.”

She nodded and plucked the first arrow from her quiver, pulling back on the bowstring and inhaling as she concentrated on the center of the target across the range. She ran through her usual routine of keeping a clear mind and taking a steady aim, only then would she-

“No, no, no, no!” Phillip was shouting, causing her to release the tension of her bow and look up at him, “that’s all wrong! You can't just fire an arrow after the grand spectacle I just put on! This is archery, these people came,” he turned towards the crowd and yelled in a booming voice, “FOR A SHOW!!”

”But I haven’t rehearsed anything.”

“Then you’ll need to improvise, kid! Ladies and gentlemen give it up for my opponent! The vanquisher, the slayer of ne’er do wells, the bringer of justice,” Godslayer was now pumping both fists in the air, “Colette the Hellbringer!”


She wasn’t sure if she liked that nickname but it was now the one he’d assigned to her and she’d need to give the crowd some entertainment.

Colette did the first truly cool thing she could think of in the spur of the moment, she performed a small hop, before pulling back on her bowstring once more. This time she simply took aim and fired before her competitor could interrupt her again. It flew true and struck just outside the dead center, scoring eight points and eliminating Phillip right then and there.

A series of deflated jeers roiled through the crowd but the Godslayer was merely grinning. “Now, now, I was bested by none other than the pride of the Anirian Guard! Colette, the HELLBRINGER!” He practically dragged the small blonde guard into the air by her wrist as he continued to play to the attendees.

“Don’t worry, Phillip Godslayer is participating in every event today! Such are his many talents!” Though he failed to mention that the only event he’d ever actually won was the end of day pie-eating contest.

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

At the sudden and rather explosive collision between lance and armored man, Elspeth jumped with a flinch.

"So abrupt..." she murmured to herself, trying not to think of all the man's likely injuries and wounds from that split-second moment ... and all those that might ensue when his body met the ground at such speed. Her gaze followed the horse from which Lord Artimer was unseated and appraised it silently as she afforded Ser Idren a lady's clap of applause.

"Well at least he'll leave this day with a fresh horse -" and then looked to the returning rider, narrowing her eyes as she took up her reins again to steady her horse as the crowds quickly dispersed. There would be a lull in the matches until the next set.

"Orlen," Elspeth remarked aloud with curiosity, "I do not believe I've heard of it. Have you Gantri?"

To her left through the maze of tents, people, horses, and wagons she heard the uproar of the archery range.

 

[Fieravene]

ARCHERY RING - Colette Olvir

At the post a dark, wiry figure leaned with an amused twist to her lips and a wry glint to her gaze. Fieravene had seen the entire spectacle and had, in fact, arrived early so she wouldn't miss a single moment of it. Phillip Godslayer was the greatest showman to tour the northern realms, and she'd be flattened by a wayward wagon before she missed her chance to see him in the flesh.

Handsome sort - in the same way a slow but self-assured dog might be. The elf's pointed ears pricked when he announced he was partaking in every event and for a moment she almost lamented signing up for the archery ring herself. That might mean missing one of his shows and - gods be damned - she was here to witness them all.

"Will the next archers please take their places in the ring!"

Ah, that was her cue. Taking up her bow and quiver, Fi strolled in through the gates, eyeballing Godslayer as he took his leave and then smiling pleasantly to Collette, "Well done," she offered, "with that distraction around it's a miracle anyone has hit the target, hm?" and then leaned in toward the woman conspiratorily, "that must be his secret."

 

[Trix]

Jousting Arena

"Patience, Strider," Trix gently stroked her spotted mares arched neck. The young horse pawed the ground impatiently as they watched another two knights meet in a clash of wooden lances. There was a little more of an appreciative cheer this time but only because one of the riders helmets spun all the way around. Children loved that kind of gruesome imagery. She'd once attended a joust back in Vel Vara where a knight had been thrown clean from his horse and she'd heard a child scream for the other knight to hit him with a wooden stool.

"Next facing the Joust, Dreadlord Beatrix Umbra of House Umbra, and Bursar Amrithree of Dornoch!"

Trix raised both eyebrows; the women of Dornoch were not to be dismissed. The people of the Steppes were practically born in the saddle but then so was her family. The pitting earned an appreciative murmur amongst the stalls as the history of the two families was quickly shared amongst those who didn't know. She raised her lance as a sign of good faith to the other woman who approached on a shorter, stockier steppes pony decorated in a series of tassel barding. The Bursar raised hers in return and both women put their visers down.

As the flag fell to the floor both horses shot off with a burst of speed and Trix braced herself as the lances lowered. Staying on was the main priority of an jouster, coming off meant more points for the opponent. As they drew closer instead of tilting her chin up to protect her eyes Trix chanced keeping her eyes on the target. The risk paid off. She was able to roll her shoulder with the blow of the lance, taking the brunt with her shield, and aiming her own in the other woman's side.

Round the ends they both went, grabbing new lances and bursting off again. This time her opponent knew what to expect and her lance aimed higher. With a soft curse Trix arched her back so the lance glanced over and threw the lance wide where it brushed against the other woman's shield.

Two groomsmen grabbed Striders reins as it galloped back towards its starting stall.

"Bitch aimed right at my face!" if she had landed the blow it could very well have killed her. But Trix wasn't angry as she took off her helmet, she turned to glance over her shoulder with a grin and found the Dornoch woman doing the same. "Invite her for a drink," Trix commented as the announcer declared it a draw, putting them both through to the next rounds when combined with their earlier bouts.

 

[Wilhelm Anireth]

Wil took a bite of his apple as he wandered through the maze of tents and pop up arenas. He always loved how these types of towns popped up almost overnight in some forgotten field, drawing trade and dignitaries from around the world. He felt far more comfortable here than he did in Vel Anir. It was much more like the town in which he had grown up; drunks stumbling down the street, people fighting bare knuckle, and market holders harking their wares. He paused and looked at one stall which claimed to be selling camel meat. It did, indeed, have a camels head dangling from a hook out front and the butcher was busy dissecting a hump.

"You try?" the butcher asked gruffly when he caught the Prince watching.

"Sure," he shrugged and toss the guy a coin. In return he found himself with a bag of what he had been told was their version of jerky. He walked on and took a tenuous bite before giving a surprised grunt at how well it tasted.

 

[Olvir]

Shortly after his departure from the stands Trik managed to find Ollie within the throng of people who now found themselves running around Turin.

As always the city, usually only housing a population of twenty or thirty thousand, had swelled to nearly three times that. A massive temporary settlement having sprouted all around Turin to support such a thing. Tents, taverns, Inns, and of course tournament grounds had been set up.

Finding anyone in the mess was near impossible, though it helped that both he and Trik tended to tower almost everyone. "Lady Elspeth got here a little while ago, near the jousts I think."

Trik had said, and the two immediately began to head in that direction. A few hours left still until the Sword Qualifiers would begin. By the time the two Anirians reached the joust, Trix's bout had just finished, and Ollie heard someone explain to Elspeth that Orlen was a small city around Eaglehead.

A place of no real consequence, though apparently famed for it's particular strand of barley. Which apparently made things created with it taste like blueberries.

As Ollie caught sight of his betrothed, a bright beaming smile spread on his face. He pushed through the throng of people, Trik helping to gently nudge the crowd out of the way before they finally managed to reach the small Sirl Caravan.

"My Lady." He called out as he stepped up towards her horse, giving his head an appropriate bow. "I see you've made it through the chaos."

The noble said, the sunlight reflecting off his armor as he came to stand besides her mount.

 

[Edric]

His first bout was over before he knew it, and his second didn't last much longer. Though him and his opponent both managed to shatter two of their lances, the third run had gone much better for the Rogue Dreadlord than it had his foe.

The bout ending when he'd struck true and broke his lance almost at it's half.

Surprisingly, the other knight had been gracious in his defeat. Complementing Edric's skill and telling him he would go far. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

Edric said to Duncan as he pulled himself from his horse, reaching up and yanking out a splinter that had buried itself within his off-shoulder. A wound he'd acquired in the second round of the last match.

"I wouldn't say you're getting it." The other Dreadlord said as he patted Edric on the shoulder. "So much as you, and I really mean this, are able to take a hit better than anyone I've ever seen."

He frowned for a moment at the 'compliment', but didn't dig any further. "Go get yourself something to eat, your last bout isn't for an hour."

Edric nodded.

All he had to do was beat one more opponent and he would be through to the bracket stage. After that it would be another day of getting hit, though that wasn't anything new. He took a step to leave, but Duncan caught him before he could go. "Oh, and don't heal that wound too much."

A frown touched Edric's face, but he simply nodded before stalking off. Not bothering with dispensing his armor.

He moved quickly, heading towards one of the food stalls and moving through the crowd. The helmet of his visor obscuring his vision just enough that he didn't see Wilhelm Anireth as he accidentally bumped into the Prince of Vel Anir himself.

 

[Colette]

Colette began to back away, collecting arrows from the armsmaster to replenish the three she’d just fired. As she started departing though her pupils widened at the sight of the woman who approached her.

This was the first dark elf she’d ever laid eyes upon.

When she first joined the Guard many of the seasoned veterans regaled her with stories of how elves ate human children as a delicacy and how dark elves lived underground because they primarily consumed gophers. She had since learned that these were “hazing” rituals that the Northern Guard told new recruits.

”Th-thank you,” she said while smiling, ”he tried his best, maybe he just got unlucky.” Given the number of cheers he received she had to assume he must’ve been very talented at something. Especially if he had the confidence to enter every event.

Colette nodded towards the other woman and silently marveled at how slim dark elves were, how amazing their bright red eyes were. ”Good luck,” she said while finding a decent spot to view the next round of archery matches.

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

"Blueberries?" Elsi echoed incredulously.

"That's right!" said the man who had overheard her question and collected the courage to approach such a noble woman to answer. He was clearly not of any notable birth himself, judging by his wardrobe, but he seemed clean enough to pass as maybe a merchant's son. Not that this made a lick of difference to Elspeth, who would openly speak with anyone regardless of who they were.

"Good Sir, I have heard a lot of strange things in my travels but blueberries?"

"I scarcely believed it until I sampled it myself," he replied smugly, "perhaps the Lady would like to travel there and see? I would be happy to guide her way-"

"My Lady," a voice interrupted and Elsi's current conversational partner winced at the gleaming light coming from the intruder's chestplate.

"Lord Olvir," Elspeth replied brightly, her own expression shifting into surprise as she reached a gloved hand out to offer it to him in greeting. It took a fair amount of self restraint not to simply leap from her horse to embrace him, but she reminded herself that though they were not in Vel Anir, there were plenty of Anirian eyes and ears to witness. Her father had been in a worsening mood since their last run-in and she needed to provide him with no further ammunition.

"Yes," she offered him a wide, charming smile instead while taking in his appearance in a full suit of armor. She could not recall ever seeing him like this before, "I am just waiting on Cera to return before we move to our tent. Please tell me I haven't missed your event."

 

[Fieravene]

Amused for many reasons, the elf held the young woman's gaze with a keen but unintrusive stare. Her smile broadened as she leaned in just a bit closer, white teeth bright against her ashen complexion, "Happens to the best of us."

Bad luck. Good luck. Fi wasn't sure she really subscribed to luck, but whatever made people feel better about the outcome of their efforts...

"Thank you, I look forward to facing you in the brackets," said with no lack of confidence, she retreated from Colette's personal space and sidled in to take up position at the marker.

"Our next Archers are Delves Miller of Grandspire and Lady ...Fire-veen... of the Amol Kalit Empire!"

Fiera let her gaze drip skyward with a lamenting sigh. She'd not intended to put a place of origin, but they insisted on something, so might as well use her latest mainstay? Not as if she expected to run into anyone from the Empire here. Either way, she looked to her opponent and watched him give a casual wave to the stands, blowing a kiss to some hussy off at the sides who may or may not have been his wife.

"Erhm, ladies first?" said Delves to her.

"Aren't you polite..." Fi slice a sideways smile at him before calmly drawing a black arrow from her black quiver and setting up to take her shot. There would be no fan-faire for this round, it seemed, and the crowd was already bored. This was fine. She wasn't here to steal the show. There were many things Fieravene was, but a jester she was not.

The first arrow sank home dead center of the bullseye. The second arrow just a hair to the left of it.

Delves' jaw visibly dropped as he watched her draw her third arrow, muttering something to himself.

With a smile, Fi looked aside at him, "Sorry, didn't quite catch that?" and sent her last arrow sailing clear over the target, missing it by a mile. She looked back with a blink, "Oh ... rotten luck, that. Well, that's all you then Mr. Miller."

Mr. Miller did not even come close to besting her. The round was over quite smartly with the dark elf defeating him by nearly double the points.

 

[Olvir]

Near The Jousts
Elspeth Sirl


Olvir gently took her hand, not yet wearing his gauntlets and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles in greeting.

For a few seconds he held onto her palm, almost regretful as he forced himself to let it go. He smiled up at her as he continued to speak. "No, you have not."

He told her gladly.

"The preliminaries for the Sword will begin in two hours." As with every other competition he would have to beat three opponents before he found his place within the bracket stage. Despite being a Noble son of House Weiroon, he was still not given any special treatment.

The only ones 'seeded' directly into the tournament were those who had come in first, second, or third place in their respective competitions last year. "I've just been wandering the grounds and enjoying the atmosphere."

Ollie explained with a slight chuckle. "It's all quite...fun."

He admitted, having found that Turin was far more relaxed that any Anirian Tournament he had ever attended. Though there was a heavy respect to honor, chivalry, and gamesmanship from nearly everyone, there was also a twist of mirth and gaiety to nearly everything.

This was a competition first and foremost, of course, but for those who were not competing it seemed like a massive party. A fact that Ollie found himself feeling rather fond of.