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- Character Biography
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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.
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.