Open Chronicles Tournament on the Cairou

[Ledhros Caur]

From Alliria to Elbion to Vel Anir, and thereabouts in general, the word went out: that notorious old bastard Lord Paul Barosk of Rheum meant to hold a tournament on the banks of the Cairou. His father had run a similar event, oh, thirty years back, and Barosk intended this one to exceed and excel.

It had been a rough year in the region, not least because of the attack on the College of Elbion downriver. Throw in all that trouble with portal stones and a couple of growing empires to the southwest. The average fellow or family around here could use a pleasant diversion.

Like their betters beating the clart out of each other for once.

The tournament grounds stretched along the riverbank, overlapping with the fringes of Broskton in the shadow of Barosk's modest keep. Everything clustered around the battlefields and jousting lanes and the large fine tents where nobles slept. Go outward by a stone's throw and you'd find the campsites and booths of lesser knights, armorers, merchants, craftsmen, undistinguished courtiers. A little farther out were the tents of the camp followers, hedge knights, sellswords, laborers.

The camp smelled incredible. It wasn't just about the food and finery up for sale. Ledhros had seen wizards from the College doing spells over the latrines and the waterfront, lest filth float downriver and spoil Elbion's day. He'd never set foot in a large camp that smelled so absolutely not foul.

A good morning at minimum, and if he won a purse with sword or bow or lance or magic over the next few days, so much the better.

 

[Skuld Zajac]

Keiran MacArthur

Skuld had left Vel Anir some time ago with Keiran, having removed herself from the Templar life shortly before hand to enjoy his company. They were traveling now, she enjoying side work that her previous work had unexpectedly prepared her well for.

From hunting monsters, training militia, to outright physical labor. She was well prepared for the tasks.

However, the promise of non-lethal combat and possible coin had made her convince Keiran to redirect their path this way. So she arrived beside Keiran, a wide smile plastered on her face as those that recognized her gave her a knowing nod.

The former Templar wasn't the most well known of her group, but her chapter had passed its name along the mouths of common folk enough for the former leader to be recognized.

The woman was dressed comfortably, a sleeveless gambeson and all of her sparse pieces of armor tied to the horse rather than wearing it into the camp. Her zweihander was tied on as well, more for display than purpose at the moment given.

She was still smiling as she looked to the people attending. A few addressed properly her as she rode by, giving a nod of respect in return while others scoffed at her. The smirk grew wider as she kept those scoffing faces in her mind for later.

"Keiran, how many of them do you think have fought a Templar?" She happily laughed to him, casting a glance his way to see what he may have been looking at.

 

[Thane Jackdaw]

Frida de Blois loved entertainment. Even entertainment that most of her peers saw as lowly, such as tournaments hosted by hardly remarkable nobles spurred by megalomania. She was one of the fewer experienced mages of Elbion here. Most of the mages here were novices sent in stead of their mentors, who had politely declined the invitation citing various reasons which were mostly courteous lies.

What Frida loved about entertainment was not necessarily the entertainment itself but the opportunity to flaunt her latest fashion in front of a large audience. She was as obsessed in always being the fashion trend as was Lord Barosk in exceeding his father's legacy in the hosting of events, if not more. To do so, she had, one, forcefully brought Lou Boutin, a capable enchanter who was more renown as the magical cobbler. A prime fashionista who could do wonders in terms of designer shoes. And, two, hired a grumpy monster hunter to hunt a basilisk sighted southeast of the Cairou a week prior the tournament.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" she asked.

"My Lady, you are the fairest of them all." the enchanted mirror replied as it had always done in the last hundred or so years.

With a self-indulging smile, Frida de Blois exited the tent and immediately all eyes were on her. After all, unhealthy obsession with something also meant extreme efforts on the person to achieve their desire. It took Frida de Blois about fifty years to succeed in her pursuit.

"Malik, where is the hunter? He is well aware that if he is late, he will not be paid, correct?"

"Yes, madame." Malik, the dwarven manicurist and top aid of Frida de Blois said. "Ledha sighted him just entering."

And truly so. Frida could not help but notice the rather large figure of the dirty, silver haired man mounted on a horse with the despicable head of a basilisk swinging from the saddlebags. People were staring at the man just as they were stepping away both from the stench of the rider and monster, and from the obnoxious sight of a severed head of a basilisk still dripping blood. Some were astonished, others simply disgusted, and the few pretentious went to moan to the guards.

"Head of the basilisk." the hunter stated and dropped the head on the ground right in the feet of de Blois. She jumped back frantically as if it was death's grasp she was evading. The sorceress then gave him a murderous look. In return, he opened his palm.

"Malik, toss a coin to the hunter." she ordered.

"Yes, madame." the dwarf nodded and produced a small bag full of coins, then put it on the open hand of the hunter.

The monster hunter turned his horse around to leave.

"Are you not staying for the tournament, hunter?" Frida asked. She could not bear losing even one of the hundreds of potential audience today.

"No." he simply replied.

"There's plenty of coin in the tournament. Surely a man of your skill can accumulate good fortune from it." she said and noticed the moment of hesitation in the man's eyes.

"Hmm."

Without another word, the hunter headed away.

Yet, Frida was certain he wouldn't leave. If not for the tournament itself then for the large possibility of contracts.

A moment later, her thoughts about the hunter were left on the back burner as Lou Boutin produced the fanciest basilisk leather open toe heels in this land.

The mirror confirmed it.

 

[Signe Orkhammer]

Signe sat on a rock a little ways upstream from the camp, running a whet stone over the edge of her axe. She had come at the prospect of coin and testing herself against other warriors that had come. She had set up her camp at the edge of the area set aside for sellswords, though it was less set aside and more the area sellswords were allowed to set up in.

One thing Signe was disappointed in with the people of the southern lands was the weight of title over deed. One could be a knight or other type of lord because their grandparents had done some great deed such as wipe a child kings arse properly, and the descendants were allowed to lord it over everyone else. She didn't think that was the best way to do things, though she also lacked those titles and could not effect change.

However, she could bust them down and put them on their own arses here. She consigned herself to enjoying that.

 

[Ledhros Caur]

Thane Jackdaw Signe Orkhammer Skuld Zajac Keiran MacArthur

A few other men of the Silver Key were here somewhere, relaxing and/or spending money. For once, though, their commander had time to himself. Ledhros fully intended to avoid his mercenary companions.

At minimum because, if he faltered in a contest, he'd rather do it out of their eyes. And if he won, a purse would speak for itself.

A couple of Elbionese coins later, he found himself in the lineup for a drop-in archery match. Each man or woman had their own kit: bows of all kinds, arrows with unusual fletchings, wrist guards, baubles and such. A wizard spelled the archery field to suppress magic and keep things fair. Ledhros took his place, strung his yew longbow, stuck a handful of clothyard shafts in the turf, and got ready to shoot.

There'd be distraction. Somewhere off to the side, a minstrel had fallen afoul of a bear.

 

[Erwin Geschwind]

"This your first time at one of these things, ranger?"

A relaxed sounding voice came from the plate next to Ledhros. Had the merc spared a glance, he would have seen would have seen one of his fellow contestants. This fellow seemed younger then Ledhros, but judging by his clothes, he was somthing of a hunter; although there were elements that might suggest he was somthing of a footmen too. The coat-of-arms might have been an indication, he was afflicted with one of the realms. The man had a blade of grass sticking out of his mouth, he was idly looking over at Ledhros. He had a longbow in hand and arrows in the other, although curiously, instead of sticking any into the ground, he held three arrows in his hand. The rest of the arrows were contained in a quiver on his hip., alongside a sheath longsword. While he was mostly clean, it was clear that his outfit had seen quite a bit of strain; no doubt as a result of prolonged use.

"Hey I ain't judging...first time for myself, least to a tournament this big..."

Overall, he seemed more of a commoner then any of nobles...and he certainly didn't seem like he was about to enter any brawls.

"Remember...don't aim too soon, don't hold for too long...don't push the arrow and don't try to fight the wind ...it might just fight back, hehe..." The hunter nodded, cracking a bit of a grin as he watched Ledhros prepare. "You one of his lordships chasing prestige?...Or just another git looking to make some quick coin? Eh?"

 

[Karl von Stehlen]

This might have very well been the last place that Karl wanted to be. At least that's what the knight thought, as he rested against the makeshift fence separating the sparse crowd with the archery competition.

Karl wasn't the archery competition itself that was an issue, rather, he thought of the tournament as a whole. The young man, unlike his rowdier peers, didn't tend to make it a habit of showboating his combat talents. Karl was a bit more practical that way...even the armor he wore looked fancy for a practical, combative reason...besides, showing off at a tournament like this was a surefire way of showing potential rivals the cards in your hand.

Still, didn't mean that the knight always had a choice...especially being one of the Stahlspitze of his order, it was almost a duty to represent his Order and his nation at these things. Suppose the only real upside was that he could at least test his metal against other people of similar profession...though admitably, Karl didn't really get along to well with those of other Orders.

Least he wasn't the only one here...Karl's thought drifted, as he watched on...his eyes falling on the huntsman...a man he'd consider one of his comrades-in-arms...

 

[Ace]

Ace's jaw slacked open, as the canine let out a rather audible yawn. Things had been moving rather slowly since they had left their home. They had traveled with a larger group of various militant members of their realm to this thing called a "tournament".

Apparently, people competed in...doing stuff, real good...and they competed against each other for money...and apparently people liked watching this kind of stuff...which was a rather curious for Ace. Why would would they want to compete when they can just take a nap? He suppose the money had somthing to do with it....

Ace lowered his head back into the grass as he watched his best friend prepare for his archery competition. The only really thing that Ace had been intreasted in was the food. But his best friend's competition was kinda now...so they had to wait until was over. The huntsman had told Ace that he had to stick with Karl, who was really nice and gave good ear scratches! So Ace didn't really mind.

The canine just wished there was somthing to do...too bad there wasn't much of a competition for the beasts...or he would have differently torn up the competition while doing somthing...

 

[Thane Jackdaw]

Florence Filipescu, an ambitious minstrel who, according to many, sought fame through eccentric poetry and even more eccentric profane shows, was the bear's provocateur. The coxy man thought it a good idea to make the bear dance on the tunes of his own songs without its master being around. Seryozha, the dancing bear, was having none of it. After all, Seryozha was quite the prideful bear.

Tossing his lute at the bear and dashing in screams, Florence startled Thane's horse more than the bear in pursuit. It reared frantically and toss its distracted by a lady rider off. The monster hunter fell with thud and grumbled a curse as he saw the minstrel running from the bear. A few guards appeared in Seryozha's way but massive paws sent them on their way.

"Fuck."

Thane picked himself up and dashed after them, steel sword already out of the sheath on his back. Planned or not, Filipescu moved nimbly like a cat through a path carved through most of the tournament's obstacles in the form of stalls of all kinds. Seryozha just crashed through them. Nothing would stop the dancing bear from teaching this puny man a lesson in manners.

The monster hunter took a short cut, anticipating their path so he could intercept the bear. Filipescu escaped through a makeshift temporary barn and Thane made his move. He jumped in front of the bear which busted right through the doors. Seryozha lunged for to attack the hunter standing in its way, Thane half-stepped to the side only to shockingly realize the bear feinted an attack. The half step turned into a lucky pirouette and he escaped the bear's attack. Thane swore he saw the bear arrogantly smirk at him before it left him in the dust, or so it thought. Thane used his momentum to lunge and land on the bear's back. He went in for the stab but a booming yell from behind stopped him.

"SERYOZHAAA!! MY BEAR!!!"

Huh?

Thane glanced down to see a purple collar. A dancing bear? So he couldn't kill it. It was, supposedly, a tamed beast. And who knows? Maybe it would end up being a noble's top entertainer and then Thane'd end up on the scaffold. He tried casting a soothing rune spell but the familiar whistles of arrows stopped him. The spell changed into an ethereal sphere and the marksmen's arrows crashed into it.

Fuck.

They had ended up in the archery competition, on one side the archers and on the other the targets. The competitors were probably thinking the minstrel, bear and rider were part of the target practice. For whatever reason. Or they were sadistic.

Filipescu turned swiftly left towards the archers where he hoped the bear would meet its doom by the hands of a proficient archer's arrow. Thane thought so too but before he could jump off the bear, he saw the fairest of them all raise her hand and cast a spell. The bear hit the brakes, squeaked like a pup and sat down on its back side. Meanwhile, the monster hunter flew off its back as it abruptly stopped. He landed like a sack of potatoes just in the feet of the archers.

Frida de Blois was not having a bear take all the attention of the event. Not when she was wearing the newest, trending basilisk leather open toe heels by Lou Boutin.

Ledhros Caur Ace Karl von Stehlen Erwin Geschwind Signe Orkhammer Skuld Zajac

 

[Ledhros Caur]

Maybe Erwin Geschwind meant well, but Ledhros bridled at his advice. Before he could decide how to respond, the minstrel-and-bear dramedy spilled onto the range. The man riding the bear looked like a hunter who'd helped the Silver Key mercenaries defend Cregsbend Castle. Some of the competitors laughed and loosed arrows at the man and the bear, a mage put the kibosh on that, the bear bucked the man off in front of the archers...

To sum up, a lot of things were happening, and perilously few involved archery or money.

"Thane Jackdaw," Ledhros grumped, "get your pockmarked hindparts off the field. I've got a purse to win. And somebody move that bear!"

 

[Movrin]

Tournaments were a beloved thing. A chance for noble warriors to show their skill and those less gifted with high spiritual qualities to mingle between them. A chance to profit for most. A chance to meet one's doom.
Events like these had their darker side as well, even if some people preferred to ignore it. Well, to be honest, most of the fine public gathered here were more inclined to bask in the charm of the camp, heat of the competitions, rather than think of what might come out of them. Very few of them allowed themselves to accept the fact that this day might become their last.
But for some it would be like that. It always was.

And because of this Movrin was here.

He wasn't the only one, far from that. They were many, people who's job it was to deal with the dark and the dirty, with things that others turned away from. To be fair, his profession was one of the better ones, because he at least had chosen it freely, did it with deep, serene passion and devotion. And he, possibly, wouldn't have a lot of work in the first place. Many of the competitors and other visitors came in companies, ready to cheer and ready to care. Willing to perform the last acts of care that any being that had ceased to live deserved.
Yet there were those not so lucky as well. Lone seekers of fame and fortune. Reckless ones.
He was here for them.

Not all of them would walk out of here today on their own, but Movrin would make sure that they were guided on their next journey, paid the respect they deserved. Maybe some of them would even be graceful enough to teach him a new lesson, one alike many of those he had learnt in the last few months.
Death was lurking around every corner now.
And so was he, carefully following its path, as he always did.

And so Movrin sat and watched, and waited, still as a man who had all the time in the world, because in a sense he really had. His hood was drawn low, covering most of his head, masking his features in such a way that his eyes barely shone out from underneath it, reflecting the light of the day in their gray, dark depth. A few strands of his hair fell on his shoulders.

At the moment his attention was caught by an archery competition, a worthy display of skill, although he cared little for it. There was a faint scent of some future events here that had drawn Movrin to this place, and he waited for them as a forest cat might do in its ambush.
And soon they came, in a form of chaos, a bear and quite a lot of people.

To this Movrin shifted forwards from the place where he stood.

 

[Thane Jackdaw]

Seryozha's handler, Nikita, a short and bulky man, collared the dance bear and showered with numerous apologies and gratitude Frida de Blois leaving the scene. Florence Filipescu muttered something underneath his breath, stood up, tided himself up and left in the opposite direction. A few hours later he would be kicked out of the event for trying to pay for a brothel's services with poetry.

Meanwhile, Thane found himself in the company of a bunch of archers and a familiar face - Ledhros Caur. He had finally memorized the mercenary's last name after a few taverns on his way away from Cregsbend sang the song of The Cregsbend Boar. The moniker was far more flashier than Lamb. Seeing the mercenary sarge both surprised him and did not. Surprised that given the man's apparent bad luck in picking out mercenary contracts he was still alive; not surprised as Ledhros, after all, was a mercenary - he'd sniff coin from a hundred miles. Not much different than the monster hunter himself, if one saw it holistically.

"Ledhros." he greeted him with a slight incline of his head and shoved his pockmarked hindparts off the field. "Should I be expecting a horde of orcs after your ass here too?"

He sheathed the sword behind his back.

 

[Ledhros Caur]

Immediate: Thane Jackdaw Erwin Geschwind
Nearby: a whole bunch of grumpy archers, Movrin, Karl von Stehlen
Others: Signe Orkhammer Keiran MacArthur Skuld Zajac Ace

"Should I be expecting a horde of orcs after your ass here too?"

"Just your mother."

Now that both bard and bear had been removed, an officious little gnome trundled across the archery pitch. "Listen up, you unwholesome pack of jackanapes!" he squeaked in an intimidating way. "Shame on you for loosing at that valuable bear-"

He scuttled away as men drew down on him for sport. Laughter ran up and down the assembled archers. "Three arrows!" the gnome added, very much from the sidelines. "Loose at your discretion!"

Ledhros' first arrow missed the target entirely and embedded itself in the turf. He spat something profane against at least five gods and took more care with his other arrows. The last one was right at the edge of the bullseye, a satisfying shot. No telling whether others would match or better it. The gnome seemed anxious to award the modest purse and be done with this rabble. There were more prestigious contests by far.

(Rolls: 4, 16, 19)

 

[Signe Orkhammer]

Signe looked up as someone loud shouted by the melee field. She heard her name shouted amid a list of others. She stood and slid the whet stone back into the pouch at her waist where she stored it. She lifted her axe to her shoulder and walked over to the melee field, where a set of shields was being set up. Some had the official heraldry of combatants, and others had hastily painted images assigned to each of the low born combatants.

Hers was a stylised bears face with tusks like a boar. It wasn't one she had chosen, but rather one by an overly enthusiastic herald.

She walked into the melee field, and looked at the combatants that were assembling.

This first of the melees was for a small set, several such melees would decide who from the massive field of combatants would move forward into the grand melee.

Signe knelt down, laying the axe down beside her, and took some of the loose soil form the field into her hands. She took a deep breath, scenting those around her and the earth in her hands, and rubbed the soil for a moment as she cleared her mind and waited for the melee to begin.

 

[Keiran MacArthur]

He had moved at a relaxed pace beside Skuld, seated upon his own steed as he gazed upon the passing faces with muted interest. This was a spectacle, the thought came to mind which caused his lips to crease in a tight smile. And I agreed to this.

Hearing Skuld's comment about anyone with in the crowd facing off against a Templar, he stifled a laugh and leaned in to respond. "Love, I doubt this lot has ever been this close to a Templar... Just smile and wave." He offered her noble advice and did just that to a couple cheering at them as they passed and rode into the camp, in time to witness the show provided which included a archery contest interrupted by a bear chasing a bard.

His eyes were wide with surprise before a throaty chuckle erupted and he pulled back on the reins of his horse whose nostrils flared in agitation. A bear running afoul was nothing to bat an eyelash at after all.

"Ha! This seems promising!" the warrior proclaimed in a voice that betrayed his appearance. Much like the former Templar, Keiran wore the look of a fighter. He was all steely eyes and gruff, a layer of travel grit caking his worn sleeveless gambeson which looked similar to Skulds own, save for the simple dark cloak witch was draped over his shoulders and held with a pin molded into the credit of House MacArthur. Unlike his love however, who's sword was massive, upon his hip rested his broadsword and opposite that was his war hammer.

He had the appearance of a man ready for action, though after hearing Signe's jape, his appearance switched to that of a man barely able to hold his laughter.

 

[Erwin Geschwind]

Erwin watched the entire sideshow with great amusement, though he merely stayed silent. Bears were among the tamer of creatures that him and probably every other hunter out their had to deal with...that is, what else you consider was out there.

When the gnome looking official finally came out and gave his speel, the huntsman eyelids dropped slightly. It was your standard rules for an archery competition, so it was nothing new. in or lose, didn't matter for this particular competition. Everyone around him already treated him like a peasant because of his clothes, and winning this competition was probably not going to change their mind on his lack of fashion.

He might have even fallen asleep in that brief moment, had he not fell somthing tickling his noise.

The huntsman's eyes shot open fast, seeing the wings of some sort of abomination inches from his face. It was a butterfly! And it did not look pretty up close. The man shock his head, causing the butterfly to flee back into the air, as Erwin began rubbing his noise into his shoulder.

Damn butterfly.

"Gah, well....good luck everyone...." Erwin grumbled, looking to his left and then his right. "...May the best shot win."

Good sportsmanship, right?

Then the competition begun. However, instead of immediately let loose, he paused as he watched the other archers shoot their shot. Most of them seemed to hit on target, Erwin was watching the fellow next to him shoot his shot.

"Hey, not bad...finished strong...." Erwin nodded, before looking to his own target. Guess it's my turn. Taking a deep breath, Erwin nocked his arrow, before pulled back his trusty longbow and took aim....

*Thunk*...*A-a*...*A-choo!*..*Thunk*........*Thunk*

The huntsman would have been able to let loose his arrows in a faster succession, if that damned butterfly hadn't caused him to sneeze. landed on his nose again. The first arrow had found it's mark, landing in a similar position as the merc's last shot. When the huntsman sneezed it threw off his on the secound arrow, causing it to fly off course but still managed to hit the target, albeit on the outer ring of the target. The man was able to recover slightly as he drew his last arrow in an automatic motion, squinting his eyes before letting loose. The third arrow landed somewhere in-between the first two.

"Damn, excuse me..." The huntsman coughed, letting out a smaller *Achoo* before getting the reprieve to rub his nose, looking down range at the target as he did. Bloody butterfly getting in the way. "...I guess I could have done better..."
[Rolls: 19, 9, 13.]

 

[Skuld Zajac]

The melee was called, and Skuld slid off the side of her mount. Her hands went to the reins, walking around the front of her horse before undoing the ties on her sword. She brushed a hand over Keiran's before giving him a smile, taking her gauntlets and zweihander before heading toward the melee ring. She wasn't wanting to go full on with fighting, but having a bit of fun with possible winnings was certainly something to attempt.

She presented a small coat of arms from the gambeson, Zajac heraldry of Vel Anir. She opted to keep Keiran's out of sight for the moment, allowing them both a chance for glory not won by the other. They were together certainly, but tournaments drew out a competitive streak in Skuld.

 

[Ledhros Caur]

"WINNERS!" howled the gnome, consulting the registration list. "Erwin Geschwind of...Strawjland Forest, and Ledhros Caur of...uh...and Ledhros Caur!"

Ledhros thought pretty hard about demanding a second round, real winner take all, none of this tie business - but a half-full purse still jingled nicely when the gnome tossed it his way.

Besides, Geschwind had the look of a career bowman, not a Jack-of-all-trades like Ledhros. Push it, and Geschwind had a better than even chance of coming out on top.

"Well shot," said Ledhros, hefting his half of the winnings. The gnome was already rearranging this field for a joust. "I'm with a plainshield band called the Silver Key, and we could use an archer like you if you like the sound of this." He jangled the purse.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

Skuld Zajac Keiran MacArthur Signe Orkhammer Karl von Stehlen Thane Jackdaw

The prize for the last fighter standing in the grand melee was a lovely blade of mottled Sereti steel from Kherkhana. Mirielle had coveted it the whole trip downriver from Lazular. But Lord Barosk of Rheum had paid excellent coin for it, and it rightly belonged to whomever won the brawl. Seated under the awning of a raised dais with various other nobles, Mirielle tried to guess who'd win.

The exercise wasn't theoretical. She intended to make some wagers.

"Two hundred on the woman with the long sword," she said quietly to a well-dressed gnome, indicating Skuld Zajac.

"I can give you five to one on her."

"Fine. And another two hundred on the big knight."

"Karl von Stehlen, milady. A favorite at three to one."

Money changed hands. The gnomish bookie scuttled off to repeat the process.

 

[Keiran MacArthur]

Her touch was noted with a grin but no further words were needed. Instead he went about fetching his helmet and crowning his head with the piece of battered steal. Conical in shape, a flared nose guard came down that would offer modest protection to a nose which had been broken before. Covered in dents and nicks from past use, it was clear this was a favored piece.

Following behind the Zajac woman, he dared to playfully whistle at her.

Was his bets on her? On himself? He seemed oddly comical given the fact the melee had been called. However, as playful as it seemed, there was a growing air of seriousness as moved to the ring and tapped at both weapons on his side, drumming his fingers across the leather bound handles. It was not done in a nervous fashion, but more along the lines of a cat twitching it's tail back and forth as it focused on a expecting mouse.

 

[Erwin Geschwind]

The huntsman caught the bag of coin, weighing it in his hands a bit. It wasn't the most amount of gold the man had seen in his life, but it was at least somthing. Pretty good for the cost of just three arrows.

"I suppose that was worth the travel time..." The man said to himself, looking towards the spectator's fence. When he spotted the man in black plate, and his canine companion, he lifted the coin pouch up with a bit of a smile. At least he could have said that he won somthing today.

It was then the huntsman was approached by the man whom had shot next to him, apparently he was congratulating him.

"Thanky...." The huntsman nodded, tipping his bonnet in the process. At least they weren't arguing on who had won. "...you didn't do too shabby yourself, if I do say so."

Then he brought up the idea of a their little band, just as the huntsman strapped the coin pouch onto his belt. A recruiter, it would seem...would actually make sense for him to be here. Enough poor sods ready to make some coin here. If they were already ready to throw their head in for the amusement for upstart nobles...mercenary life was probably more then a step up.

Too bad it wasn't for him.

"I'm quite flatter you think so, sir...but unfortunately, I'm more of an independent contractor. Besides...I've already a banner to die under..." The huntsman brushed aside his satchel, revealing a coat-of-arms of Strojland pinned to his outfit. "...it may not pay as well, but I suppose a man has to have some pride to die for their homeland, eh?"

His tone might have been a bit dry, but he did mean it. He might have not have as much of a reckless streak as his knight friend, but if pushed came to shove...his people came first...

"But, if you every in the market for a tracker...come look me up in Strojland...just ask for Erwin Geschwind...I do take single contracts for time to time...for the right price, of course..."

As Erwin spoke, a certain canine came wandering over from the fence...wagging his tail, moving stright towards the huntsman...

 

[Karl von Stehlen]

How did he get talked into this?

The big knight in jet-black plate stood to attention, his visors was currently up as he awaited to hear the tournament brackets. In his hand was a mace, a weapon he was able to bring along to this particular event. In his off hand, his signature shield with the iron cross...it was covering the entirety of his forearm, including his hands. Meanwhile, he had twos words hanging from the side of his hip, one may have assumed to be backup weapons...

The melee was not somthing that Karl had signed up for; his mainstay competition was the jousting tournament. But a little bit of peer pressure from his knightly colleagues ended up pushing him into the arena. Perhaps he shouldn't have given in so quickly...the Karl would sigh...they would have left him alone fine if he even bothered putting up some resistance.

But...maybe a part of him did want to test his mettle...though he did suspect this was going to be more then challenging...he'd have to rely on his training, some experience, a tad bit of tactics and strategy, and just a hint of creativity if he was going to come up top in this particular melee.

Hopefully it would end soon...he would much prefer standing around the food stalls then this....

 

[Ledhros Caur]

"Erwin Geschwind of Strojland, do I have that right? I might well take you up on that. More than once my crew has needed a good tracker. As you say, most men worth hiring already have an allegiance, so we'd be glad to get you onside even on a part-time basis." Ledhros gave his half a prize a jingling squeeze and tucked it away. "Good to meet you, Geschwind."

He headed for the melee, which the bookies said was one to watch. Quite shortly, there'd be a significant brawl, and if he hurried he might be able to get an eye on the fighters and make a wager with his new winnings.

Some of those women fighters were unexpectedly attractive, he realized as he slipped through the last few tents to the melee ground. Lovely lines on their armour, graceful posture, shining edges and perfect confidence - why, it was enough to give a man the vapours.

Signe Orkhammer Karl von Stehlen Keiran MacArthur Skuld Zajac Thane Jackdaw

 

[Skuld Zajac]

Skuld gave Keiran a quick backwards glance before shaking her head with a huff, wearing a grin. She didn't mind his attention a bit, though her focus was on the melee ahead, and she listened as lots were drawn. The zweihander in her hand was propped on her shoulder as she moved to her place.

The fighting blocks were simple and thrown together corrals for the melee, a slightly larger one toward the center of the constructions for the main event as they were all slotted against one another.

 

[Thane Jackdaw]

Whoreson, Thane thought with a half-grin at the mercenary.

The monster hunter turned his back on the archery competition for he needed to find his horse. He headed towards where his mount had dropped him off his back and whistled in a specific pattern. Not long after, the horse appeared through the crowd. Thane quickly checked that all his belongings were there, more specifically the black linen wrapped silver sword. So far, so good. He pulled the reins of his horse to the nearby melee competition which was drawing more and more audience. Among them, he saw, Lehdros with a bag of coins dangling from his belt. Fortune had smiled on him during the archery competition, it seemed.

Leaving the horse tied to a secure railing nearby, he made his way to the well-dressed gnome taking in the bets. Thane analysed the competitors - equipment, movements and body language. A monster hunter's eyes were trained to pick out the smallest details lest they wanted a quick end of their career.

"The one with the broadsword and war hammer." Thane tossed half of the coins from the bag Frida de Blois had rewarded him with for slaying the basilisk on Keiran MacArthur. "One fifty."

"Four to one for this one, hunter." the bookie stated and took the coins.

Thane leaned on the fence and observed the fights begin. If his bet won, Thane would be visiting a good brothel in the name of Keiran MacArthur.

Skuld Zajac Ledhros Caur Karl von Stehlen Erwin Geschwind Mirielle Merlon Signe Orkhammer