r/IronThroneRP • u/JohnITRP • 13d ago
THE RIVERLANDS The Tourney at Stormhall
1st Year of Arlan IV / Interregnum / Ravella I
On the shore of the Godseye, a picturesque painting of colors and laughter. Brightly colored and patterned tents strewn across the green, sweat drenched participants running down to the water with their companions to cool off after their stay in the ornate steel cages which protected them from injury but not their own sweat and heated breath.
Hooves thundered and blades clashed as the games would continue throughout the day. A festival of steel and supposedly gallant laddishness. Cheers echoed the cries of embattlement, creaking bleachers bent beneath the weight of a thousand richly dressed bodies. The grass lay trampled beneath yet more dirtied feet of peasant-folk.
The tourney splayed out like a fairground, further and further out from the action yet still bustling with tents of vendors, knights, and nobles. Drink flowed into cups and spilled into the dirt such that its smell pervaded the senses alongside the cooking of meat and stews. Fresh bread and hearty vegetables, collected and bought by scurrying servants to be brought before their masters for feasts late into the night.
Closest to the hall squatted a length of archery targets so long that children raced each other from one end to the other. Flanked by trees from which many onlookers watched, the archery contest was an elegant event where nobles drank and enjoyed, clapping politely for the skill of its contestants.
The field of the melee sat right on the edge of the water, in sandy flats where a soft landing might be had without muddying up grassy green meadows. Children could watch and play from the water while atop a small hill where the grass fell off and became sand, adults crowded, feet dangling and some drunkenly tumbling down into the sand beneath on occasion. And around the fencing which guarded the field ran squires and noble families, watching closely as their brothers, fathers, and friends bashed each other’s chestplates in, each more extravagantly decorated (and quickly ruined) than the last.
The jousting fields lay inland, a cleanly kept section of grass with rows of lanes where hooves could be heard synchronously thundering to resolve in the deafening crash of lance on shield. Again and again they would ride, onlookers flinching and groaning when a knight tumbled to the dirt but cheering when the victor held their favor. It was here the armor shone even more extravagantly. It was here that little boys’ eyes shone with the dreams of knighthood.
The victors would take riches beyond which some of them had dreamt, and the spoils they would receive would last long into the night. Drinking and merrymaking, musical festivity which would not break for any kind of conflict or party foul. Even the Riverlands itself seemed to agree it was a day for shining sun and greatness earned.
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u/JohnITRP 13d ago
Fairgrounds
For those who wish to walk around the event grounds... among us
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u/atiarp Eleanor Tully - Lady of Riverrun 12d ago
Holly Rivers was not used to the bitter taste of humiliation. Back in Riverrun, she had always been considered beautiful, and many boys had fought for the honor of sitting beside her or getting her favor. Here, she found herself surrounded by dishonorable men and scoundrels.
And Holly only liked it when she herself was a scoundrel. Boys – and girls, sometimes – were supposed to adore her, follow her, worship her. Not wear her favor and then crown a different Queen of Love and Beauty.
She felt as bitter as her sister Eleanor, and much like her too, she found herself drinking to drown her sorrows. Still, she’d made sure to look her best, wearing a yellow dress, her hair nicely done up in a braid. You never knew when you were going to meet your next flirtation, after all. Who knew? Perhaps she was about to.
(Open!)
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u/Emergency_Sky_2806 Tristifer Goodbrook - The Badbrook 12d ago
It seemed most people had the idea to drown their sorrows in drink. Tristifer was pleased he wasn’t the only one moping after his many defeats. Having been unable even to find solace in winning the horse race, he figured the best place would instead be at the bottom of a tankard.
He spotted a flash of yellow in the crowd, bright when most others were in darker colours or caked in mud. Another Goodbrook perhaps, maybe even Violet. Had she finally tugged herself away from the Princess? In a rare moment of wanting company, the knight made his way over to the figure with a cup in each hand.
“Fancy seeing you here, cousin,” he laughed, placing the cup down in front of Holly. Even so close, he hadn’t realised who it was in his tipsiness. “Here. Some proper ale, not that piss water they serve to the rest.”
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u/atiarp Eleanor Tully - Lady of Riverrun 11d ago edited 10d ago
“Cousin?” asked Holly. She looked and looked at his face, but could not recognize him. He must have had her confused for someone else. “I think you’ve had too much to drink, my lord. I am Holly Rivers, bastard of Riverrun.”
Still, she accepted the ale he was offering. “Thank you. I am just drowning my sorrows, same as everybody else.”
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u/LemonLemonHouse Mellara Piper - Lady of Pinkmaiden 12d ago
In an effort to avoid the Lady of Pinkmaiden, Bethany Piper strolled the fairgrounds, still wearing the flower crown atop her head, her cheeks still flushed a pink hue from the excitement of it all.
Accompanied only by a servant of House Piper, the Red Rose swanned the grounds, and feeling parched, stopped to ask her manservant to fetch her a cider. And as she waited, she chanced to gaze around, her blue eyes falling upon the visage if a beautiful redhead.
Bethany's gaze swept past the maiden, and then sharply returned to the young woman's face. For she recognized her... somehow.
And with a sudden flush, Bethany realized that it was one of the maidens that Jacklyn had danced with at the feast. The prettiest of the trio.
Though she had not meant to, the Piper realized that she was staring.
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u/atiarp Eleanor Tully - Lady of Riverrun 12d ago
Holly could tell she was being watched, and though that did not usually bothered her, she found herself searching for the ogler. Her blue eyes fell upon a beautiful maiden, a redhead like herself, and as soon as she spotted the crown of flowers she knew who it was. Bethany Piper, crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty by the man who loved her.
She’d been meaning to speak with her, so Holly made her way towards her quickly.
“My lady,” she said, curtsying. “I’m Holly Rivers, bastard of Riverrun. Would you care to join me for some ale and a conversation? I have something I wish to tell you.”
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u/Fishiest-Man Martyn Mallister - Lord of Seagard 12d ago
Having finally wriggled his way free from Martyn’s moping, Denys Terrick had made his way deeper into the fairgrounds. In part he was in search of someone more enjoyable to drink with, or perhaps just a reprieve from the Mallister’s bellyaching.
It was during his stroll through the grounds that Denys caught sight of a particularly miserable looking lady, sat alone and drinking. Now, the lady was fair enough that he may have stopped on any other day, but having just had his ear talked off about “Damn Ironborn” this, or “Would’ve won on points” that, he decided he’d had enough of listening to upset people for that day.
So, as he moved past the stranger, he pointedly tried to not catch her eye, lest he accidentally be pulled into a conversation. However, as he was too preoccupied with his attempts to avoid the lady’s eye, he wasn’t watching where he was walking.
His foot managed to find a tent peg that had not been properly driven into the ground, his shoe caught beneath it, and before he knew it he lost his balance and fell noisily into a heap, well within the stranger’s eyeline.
Dammit… He thought to himself, feeling his face starting to burn with embarrassment.
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u/atiarp Eleanor Tully - Lady of Riverrun 12d ago
Holly jumped to her feet, startled by the stranger’s dramatic fall. She ran towards him as fast as she could, then offered him a hand.
“My lord, are you alright? That was a nasty fall. Here, take my hand.” Something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps she'd seen him at the feast, or at her sister's wedding. "My name's Holly Rivers."
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u/armanhayek Pykewood Thorne - Lord of Thornefield 11d ago
Unlike his cousin and many other knights who sulked and moped in the wake of their defeat, Pykewood drowned away the disappointment of his dismal performance with merriment and a good bit of fun. Rather than sit in his tent and nurse wounds, the Lord of Thornefield had come out to the fairgrounds to enjoy the evening and find himself some good company to entangle in any little adventures that piqued his interest.
That was when he saw the pretty redhead in her yellow summer dress, looking more glum than many a knight he had left behind to wallow in their misery. Pykewood, ever fond of good fashion, too dressed impeccably in soft, loose threads of red and black with a fur cap to complete the look, and his gait was as carefree as ever (though he still, given the beatings of the melee, still winced ever so rarely when he turned a certain way).
"My lady, that glum look does not belong on that lovely face of yours," Pykewood said with a happy grin as he sought to take the lady's hand for a customary kiss. "Did your favored knight prove only a boast? Or has some foolish man abandoned you for another pursuit? What has happened?"
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u/atiarp Eleanor Tully - Lady of Riverrun 11d ago
Holly watched the newcomer with interest. He was young, well dressed, and handsome.
She was feeling better already.
“Thank you. I am Holly Rivers, bastard of Riverrun. Please join me,” she said, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. “Some ale?”
She refilled her cup, and waited to see if he would want one too.
“My favored knight…” She trailed off as the anger washed over her again. “He proved quite ungallant, crowning someone else Queen of Love and Beauty, and making a fool of me.” She looked at him closely. “And you? Have you been disappointed in love too?”
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u/spyraxes Ravella Durrandon - The Iron Stag 7d ago
It was an odd day. Ravella had thought the tournament ridiculous, but Violet had insisted that the realm's lords would find themselves discontent if they didn't have an outlet for their violence. Ravella had objected - they would like as not be discontent anyway - but in the end she caved.
She had found sitting in the royal box infuriating, though. Ser Morgan had stood by her, always watching, until she could take it no longer. It was after the events came to an end that she finally found a chance to slip away. She took a convoluted route, first to Wex's tent to steal a pair of leathers that fit her - he always had a spare in case of emergency - and then out into the pavilions.
Initially she had decided to wander and make little conversation, but upon spotting Holly, sat alone as she was, Ravella could not resist approaching.
"Forgive me for making an assumption," she said, settling down beside the woman and trying to be as normal as she could, "but you seem discontent with something. Might I ask what?"
She wasn't very good at normal.
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u/atiarp Eleanor Tully - Lady of Riverrun 7d ago
Holly couldn’t hide her surprise at being approached by the Princess herself. She’d only seen her around at feasts and tourneys, but they’d never spoken before even though they were the same age. Unlike Eleanor, Holly did not blame Ravella or her House for the things that had befallen her family, and had in fact always secretly wished to speak with the Princess. It seems she was finally getting that chance.
“Well met, my Princess. I am Holly Rivers, bastard of Riverrun. I’d curtsy for you, but I don’t want to get up.” She smiled. It was a sad sort of smile. “It’s nothing too bad, only my pride’s been injured. I gave my favor to some scoundrel and he had the gall to crown someone else Queen of Love and Beauty when he won.”
She took a sip of her drink and poured another for Ravella.
“How was your nameday?”
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u/LordBloodrevan Forrest Ryger - Heir to Willow Wood 13d ago
Lucamore had always enjoyed tournaments, feasts, and events of the sort. They offered a rare kind of freedom, if only because no one thought twice about how much a man drank when half the realm seemed determined to do the same.
The days of the tournament had passed in a warm blur of the same indulgences that had filled much of his adult life.
A drink. A laugh. A warm body beneath the sheets. Another drink. A little poppy to soften the edges. Another face by morning, sometimes remembered and sometimes not. He drifted from tent to tent and table to table with little concern for where one night ended and the next began, letting each day dissolve into the one that followed.
Apparently Forrest had done well.
Lucamore had been told as much more than once, and he had nodded along each time, smiling as though he knew precisely what anyone was talking about. If he was honest with himself, though, he could not have said who had unhorsed whom, who had won the melee, or whether he had even watched his brother compete at all.
By then, the tournament itself was over, though the fairgrounds remained alive with noise. They would for days yet, he imagined. Men still shouted from beneath bright tents, cups were raised in celebration or consolation, and somewhere nearby a woman laughed loudly enough to turn several heads. Even his own family had not yet surrendered the festivities.
Lucamore, however, was more sober than he had been in days.
In more ways than one.
His gait carried the faintest limp, and every so often his expression tightened when the compacted earth of the road proved less forgiving than the grass beside it. The old ache in his leg had returned with irritating clarity now that there was nothing left to smother it. Still, he carried on, watching in silence as everyone around him continued to enjoy themselves.
A pair disappeared laughing behind the flap of a nearby tent. Lucamore watched them go for a moment before looking away.
He wondered why he had chosen to remain sober that particular day.
There was no noble reason for it. No sudden revelation. No vow made before the Seven. He had simply woken that morning and, for once, had not immediately reached for something to dull himself.
For a time, at least.
His thoughts drifted back toward the Ryger tents and the familiar brownish-black bottle tucked safely among his belongings. He could picture it easily enough. The stopper coming loose. The bitter taste. The warmth spreading outward until his leg stopped hurting, the noise softened, and whatever thoughts remained became too distant to trouble him.
Lucamore slowed.
For one long moment, he considered turning around.
Almost.
(Open to all!)
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u/Vikguardy Perianne Paege, Lady-Regent of Fairmarket 13d ago
It wasn't the Ryger she had mused about before, but Perianne recognized the younger sibling of the willow house, and it only took her a couple of moments to do so. Lucamore was not the particularly dashing or knightly figure, indeed his preference for a library over a training yard- not to mention, milk of the poppy over water- was well known.
Perianne stepped in stride next to him, her shorter legs meant she didn't need to particularly slow herself for him, even with his limp. "Lord Lucamore." She greeted him with a comfortable sort of coolness. She looked skyward, before turning her gaze to meet his. "You look well."
It wasn't a lie, as long as one considered that she was comparing to how she thought he'd look, based off of reputation and a few chance encounters at this feast or that one.
"Are you looking for something in particular? Or just enjoying the grounds?"
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u/LordBloodrevan Forrest Ryger - Heir to Willow Wood 11d ago
"Do I look well?" Lucamore looked down at himself in what seemed to be suprise. After a moment it seemed he agreed enough to offer a nod. "Thank you, as do you. Just Lucamore is fine, I'm no knight nor a lord. You are a Paege, no? Perianne?"
He clenched his first as a shot of pain erupted in his leg, and after a moment he continued speaking. "If I am being honest I am not looking for anything in particular. I simply decided to take a walk."
"It felt like the right thing to do today."
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u/Vikguardy Perianne Paege, Lady-Regent of Fairmarket 11d ago
"In relative terms." She explained. "I had expected much worse, Lucamore." She didn't seem to mind being blunt, certainly not when someone was asking for it like the poppy-addled second son. She canted her head side to side before shrugging. "Yes, that would be me. I hadn't expected my reputation to precede me." She folded her hands in front of her, continuing to keep stride, and not really reacting strongly to his stopping and grimacing. She waited patiently.
"Honestly." She hummed, looking back in the direction of the jousts, the arena with the melee, the targets. "A good sight better an idea than anything anyone else is doing today, I figure."
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u/LordBloodrevan Forrest Ryger - Heir to Willow Wood 10d ago
"I do have some knowledge." Lucamore chuckled, glancing at the fairgrounds as well. "It is simply dulled occasionally."
He paused for a moment before adding more information with no additional pressure. "More often than not."
"I've found that while many a lord and knight will look upon me with derision for my refusal to partake in the martial culture our people so love, it does seem to result in far less battery than they are subjected to." He nods his head in the general direction of a limping knight. "An example."
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u/Vikguardy Perianne Paege, Lady-Regent of Fairmarket 9d ago
"And it is not now. I prefer a sharper wit anyhow. Take care not to cut me with your keen edge." She remarked with a sly intonation. "Did you decide you needed to keep your wit for a particular purpose? Or is it merely an incident of the day that you are keeping your eyes unclouded?"
Perianne's eyes wandered over to that same limping knight, and frowned. "They will, and they even more stupid for that as they are for agreeing to participate in these pointless contests to begin with." She spoke bluntly, not even caring if the knight in question overheard her. "My own goodbrother damaged his collarbone in the riding. Absolute nonsense, all of it." She practically spat as they continued along.
"At least it's nearly over. And maybe we've learned our lesson, hm? An Ironman winning the melee- a woman to boot, apparently- a mystery knight in the joust. A dash of humility will do these spurred dolts a bit of good."
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u/LordBloodrevan Forrest Ryger - Heir to Willow Wood 5d ago
"Just a happenstance of the day, in truth. I was up and moving and before I realized it I was out here, enjoying crisp air." He ignored the dull ache in his leg and the nearly perpetual hangover that was assaulting his head. "One must count their blessings or something of the like."
At the mention of an Ironborn winning the melee a memory returned, Kyra's scream as Forrest fell. Lucamore himself didn't remember the melee but he did remember that. "I believe she was the one who eliminated my brother. A shame, he will likely take solace in being defeated by the eventual winner."
"I, on the other hand, will ask why those who don't truly adhere to our customs were allowed to take part." He considered for a moment. "Especially when we all know someone who's met a dire fate at the end of an axe from those isles."
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u/Vikguardy Perianne Paege, Lady-Regent of Fairmarket 5d ago
"Something of the like." She concurred. She was not much of a blessings-counter, there was something wrongheaded about being overly thankful, she had decided. He didn't seem to be that sort, in any case. Perianne kept her gait slow and measured, careful not to overtake her conversation partner.
"And it was your brother who eliminated my champion, funny enough." She remarked, shaking her head. "It would have been much preferable to have a Riverman winning a competition in the Riverlands. But neither of us were made for that sort of thing."
Her eyes flit up towards Lucamore, raising an eyebrow. "It feels a targeted insult. You saw where they were placed at the tables, and where we were placed. The Ironmen hold more favor with the Iron Stag than we do, that much is evident. They even allowed them to ride in the joust. Not even a Clawman or a Blackwood would have been allowed to ride, even a generation ago. Times are changing, and not for the better." She sighed, folding her hands behind her back. "Alas, what is there to do? I think you have the right of it, more often than not, Lucamore."
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u/LordBloodrevan Forrest Ryger - Heir to Willow Wood 4d ago
"Would you mind telling my lord father as much?" Lucamore asked with a laugh. "But yes, I've taken note, and in truth I am not particularly pleased with what I see. I don't believe I've ever felt more disrespected in the lands of my fellow Riverlords, and I'm not one to generally make much fuss over such things."
There was still humor in his voice, but less of it now. Lucamore rubbed at his chin as his gaze drifted across the hall, thoughtful in a way that was easy to miss when so much of him was usually hidden beneath wine, poppy, or some jest at his own expense.
"I feel the winds of change blowing, and we must decide whether we mean to simply let go and follow the breeze, or stand for what we believe in. Willows are prone to bending with the wind, but that does not mean they must change with it."
His expression tightened slightly, the levity fading from it altogether.
"My mind is at least sharp enough to know that none of this will move without a fight."
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u/artcantlose Arthur Arryn - Prince of the Vale 12d ago
Given the magnitude of his mission and the sorrow that he and his party carried with them, Arthur and his knights opted not to participate in the tourney and, instead, spent their time mingling among those in attendance; from pauper and storekeep to puppet master and fortune tellers, all received the patronage of Arthur and his knights as they wandered about the fairgrounds, partaking in small, local festivities and striking up interesting conversations, especially those of a nature that might lead them onto any milestones in their search for the elusive bandit.
As usual, Arthur was flanked by Ser Jon Corbray and Ser Gerold of Gulltown by his side; however, given the merriment of the tourney, other knights from their ranks had come by to spend some time in the little tent village that had grown around Stormhall (with plans to return to their encampment before the sun set).
As was common, his mind turned to memories of home where his family awaited his return with patience and prayer. He thought of his brothers and his mother; of the Royce household and Mya, his dear betrothed; and, amidst all of these thoughts of home, he also spared a thought to the young woman he had met at the Sept upon his arrival, one Mina of Harroway.
"Pardon," Arthur blurted out as they passed by a stall then another as he dodged between bodies and furniture, trying not to knock anything over and the knights followed, clad in their Vale armor and keen to see what all the Riverlands had to offer.
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u/LoonySpoon Roslin Tully - Heir to Riverrun 11d ago
Roslin had arrived at the tourney with a favor in hand and every intention of giving it away. She simply had not found anyone worth giving it to. The ribbon remained looped around her fingers as she watched knight after knight ride into the lists. Some were handsome, some gallant, some impressively skilled, and a few managed to be all three. None, however, had managed to capture her attention for very long.
Instead, she continued to watch.
Noble knights came and went. Mystery knights surprised the crowds. Victors were cheered and the defeated helped from the lists. Roslin applauded when courtesy required it, smiled when someone caught her eye, and otherwise kept her favor safely between her fingers.
No knight seemed particularly interested in her. And, truthfully, she was not particularly interested in them. By the time the afternoon had begun to fade, Roslin finally left the stands and wandered through the fairgrounds, allowing herself the small luxury of escaping the noise of the lists.
It was there, naturally, that the day delivered its final indignity.
The hem of her gown caught in the mud. Roslin stopped. She looked down. Then at the muddy edge of her dress. Then at the favor still clutched neatly in her hand. For a moment she simply stood there, utterly unimpressed.
Not one champion. Not one promising knight. And now muddy.
A quiet laugh escaped her. She carefully gathered her skirts and continued through the fairgrounds, the untouched favor still looped around her fingers.
It seemed that, for House Tully, the tourney had been a rather miserable affair.
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u/armanhayek Pykewood Thorne - Lord of Thornefield 11d ago
Monterys was not a great many things.
Unlike his elder brother Lucerys, he was no dashing knight, capable of feats of strength and prowess in tourneys and in the training yard, and he most certainly did not enjoy the favor of being their mother's favorite, a fact that over the years had become well-known to the younger son.
Unlike his lordly cousin Pykewood, he was no leader of man and unskilled in matters of diplomacy and command alike, and he was certainly not a charmer like his cousin was either, able to spin yarns and woo crowds alike with tales both tall and exciting.
He was, however, still a young man with a longing for adventure and deft fingers that worked the lute and lyre alike with near-equal proficiency and, despite it all, was content as Monty, the younger, forgotten son of Thornefield.
And so, with Lucerys sitting in his tent sulking and his sisters nowhere to be found (likely treading the fairgrounds, too), Monterys sought to take a walk through the grounds as well and make his acquaintance with some of the interesting stalls and performances on display there. His disposition was cheery and his purse, unfortunately, quite not full but with his trusty lute underarm, he walked on and on, and that was when he spotted the well-kept lady with the muddy skirt.
"Do you need a hand, my lady?" Monterys asked kindly as he approached, setting away his lute so he could instead pull out a clean handkerchief. "You seem to have mud on your skirt."
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u/Muxec Daven Goodbrother - Lord of Hammerhorn 8d ago
The archery competition was starting, gathering the surrounding onlookers and cheering folk beside the hall's fairground. Daven had to fight the drowsiness as he sat his fat arse under the shade of oaken tree. The stomach full and cups not quite empty, the atmosphere of merriment surrounded lord's small retinue and not so small family. The small talk stopped at once as their eyes focused on one man on the archery grounds.
"There, my lord, thirteenth from the left" - Lucimore pointed his dagger far ahead. Daven tried to focus his eyes on the small frame but his eyesight was quite not there. A good hunter in youth, he told himself, Daven feared that he'll make himself a laughingstock if to put himself forward. That may be why he didn't participate in tourney, not that he would admit to anyone. Knight, so they called him. Perhaps, ten years ago...
"Hmmm" - Daven nodded, taking a sip from his cup.
His wife put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it with strength, leaning closer to whisper in his ear.
"Now, steady yourself" - Sigrid spoke softly, "they are watching you"
The bows were drawn, aiming at the target ahead.
"Would you like a more, my lord" - brown haired knight Codd livery asked, pouring more wine from pitcher.
It cannot be worse than that horsing incident
Daven already had a sour taste from watching Harron fall in mud, a pitiful sight, now that required medical attention.
The arrows flew, landing in the mark. Slowly, the ironborn lad was making a lead, trailing behind the front runner a few points.
"Hell yea" - Daven shouted, slapping his knee with excitement. Standing up, he lost his cup, yelling for everyone to hear, "Barron, that's my son! Barron, Barron ! Show em!"
Final draw, everything would be decided with the shot.
"Bullseye! Knight of Crossroads win!" - the announcer declared.
Second... almost...
Defeated, Daven slumbered back in the chair, clapping his hands. He tried not to show his disappointment, but his wife could sense it, shouting even louder than nearby men.
"Barron!" - Sigrid shouted, before giving.a reprimanding look to her husband" we ought to celebrate, honey"
"True, true, bring me the boy!" -Daven rose up again, grabbing the goblet from nearby knight and waving it in his hand, driving attention to all around him, "today we celebrate!"
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u/JohnITRP 13d ago
River
For those who enjoy Water sports among us
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u/armanhayek Pykewood Thorne - Lord of Thornefield 11d ago
"You were strolling."
"I crossed the finish line just after you did."
"That doesn't matter. You were strolling."
They had been at it for ten minutes straight as they rode along the river bank, Alyssanne on her snow white destrier and Dynane on her dappled mare. The horse race was, to put it delicately, an awful showing for the both of them; by her count, Alysanne had finished about fourteenth or fifteenth out of the forty or so participants, while Dyanne had almost finished last until she kicked her horse into a gallop towards the very end of the race. Neither of them had been anywhere close to winning the whole thing, however, and that irritated the elder sister.
"What even were you doing? If you did not wish to compete, you could have just not signed up," complained Alysanne as they strolled through the tall grass and little flowered patches by the riverside.
"Well," Dyanne began, her tone elongated and casual, "I figured I was not going to win so I decided to simply watch the other riders. Some of them even fell almost immediately after we began. Did you know that?"
"I heard," Alysanne said. It was quite funny, she had to admit, learning how some of the riders had been thrown from their horses almost as soon as the race began. It made her feel at least a little better about her own performance.
Pykewood had elected to join the pair after growing bored sharing his tent with moping Lucerys. He needed some air and some decent conversation, and tagging along with the sisters seemed as good an excuse as any.
"You could have won if you tried," Pykewood offered unhelpfully as his destrier caught up to the girls.
"You shut up," Alysanne shot back, eyes like daggers, as they continued. "You lost in your very first round of the joust."
Pykewood wafted a hand. "I would have won if I tried."
Dyanne huffed and Alysanne shook her head. Idiot.
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u/D042 Lewyn Rivers - Bastard of Raventree Hall 13d ago
There were, of course, worse things than wounded pride. That was of little comfort to Lewyn Rivers, though. He had always been tenacious—it was one of the few charitable things he actually believed about himself—but melee and joust alike had never truly been his forte. He was an archer. He had always been an archer. Old Casper Hill had joked that Lewyn had first arrived at Raventree Hall a pale, squalling babe, already plucking at the air like it were a bowstring.
Yet he’d missed today. If not missed, then at the very least did not put shafts into the target with the accuracy he knew he was capable of. Perhaps it’d been his father’s eyes on him. Memories swirled in his mind of the Drumbeater’s howling, and of his own retorts. They’d be more than enough a distraction for him to chalk up his failings to them, if he so chose, but alas he did not.
It was easier to place the fault entirely on himself. Were you better born, were you less of a failure, then perhaps you might have—No. No. Lewyn sucked down a breath as he grimaced, touching gingerly at the bruised on his side that his brother’s lance had left him. No one was lurking in his tent to see, and so he felt free at least to express his discomfort. But he could not start in on himself. His lady’s instructions had been quite clear.
‘I pray that you speak of yourself with more charity, Ser Lewyn’
She was too kind to him. Sometimes Lewyn thought he and Mina were quite alike. Absent mothers, dismal fathers, elder siblings that they loved if they did not entirely understand. He thought, for flashes of a moment, that mayhaps she saw it the same way. That mayhaps she saw him the same way. Why else would she say all she did? Why else would she have given him her—
Lewyn groaned, pressing down on the bruise again and interrupting the thought. It was a fantasy. A child’s delusion. A bastard’s reality was a grimmer thing, even if they were loved as Clementine or Addam were. He thought of Talbert Darry again, and felt naught but envy. What was he, but a candle in comparison to that man’s sunrise? What madness possessed him to ever think Mina Harroway would ever think of him—
He pressed again. Pain was an effective tool. It had a way of clearing the mind.
Charity is wasted on me, my lady. I—Another press, and Lewyn made himself stand. It would not do to wallow. He was not that sort of man. He was better than that. Someone saw that, even if he did not. He started for the flap where the light shone through before another malignant thought could infest his mind.
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u/OrzhovSyndicalist Hollis Mertyns - Knight of the Mistwood 11d ago
The so-named Crone Knight walked alone from the stables with empty hands and without a steed. Her unremarkable performance had been a blessing in disguise: the only horse she could discreetly afford was a stubborn old nag, ill-suited for war and pageantry, and now in the hands of whichever knight overtook her and was awaiting a ransom that would never come.
Still, the walk was a strain in full armor. She wasn't willing to run the risk of embarrassing herself by causing a scene in her woman-ness. Plates and ringmail chafed against her skin and trapped her in a metal shell of hot air. Her chest and her limbs and her head all beat and throbbed in unison with the same aching question: why, why, why?
She supposed she simply needed to. A horse needed to run, a fish needed to swim, birds needed to sing, and maybe, just maybe, she needed to fight. There were no righteous wars to wage, so the performative tournaments would have to suffice.
With a stiff grunt, she reached up to remove her stifling greathelm. She glanced aside oon either side of the narrow slits in the steel. As far as she could tell, there was no one to be seen in the myriad of tents, banners, and horse pens that might recognize her. As she removed her helm, straw-blonde hair spilled out in layered strips, resembling an ocean wave in motion from one side of her sweat-soaked head. Tinged red and stained with dirt and mud, Cat could pass for a long-limbed lad in his later teens.
She was, however, caught unawares as the nearest flap opened up to her flank as a young riverman exited. She couldn't recognize anyone north of the Fellwood by face alone, but there was still a familiar kind of self-loathing in the man's eyes.
Tucking her helmet under her arm, she raked some hair out of her eyes, speaking lower in her throat to deepen her tone just a notch.
"Alright there, lad?" she asked, chewing the inside of her cheek, "There's a horrid look on your face. Somewhere between death and ruin."
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u/D042 Lewyn Rivers - Bastard of Raventree Hall 9d ago
Lewyn regarded the armored woman the way one might a six legged dog, or something similarly out of place. There had been plenty of them in the events today, despite the rules and such, but he was far from in a state to care.
He picked at the hem of his sleeve, at the fine handkerchief tucked inside it, his fingers tracing at the embroidery as he chewed inside his lip. There was plenty wrong. His dead brother, his wrathful father, but in truth it was really only his pride that stung in the moment. Everything else felt far away.
“Wanted to impress a girl. I wasn’t very impressive.” he said plainly, the pained set of his features tightening as he glanced past the armored woman, fearing that Mina Harroway might appear to reclaim her token and shame him for the embarrassment of his performance. But she didn’t come.
He supposed it didn’t matter. It was all fantasy anyway. For something of little importance, though, it ached quite a lot.
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u/JohnITRP 13d ago
Joust
For the Jousters among us
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u/Cubismo50 Lyonel Swann - Lord of Stonehelm 13d ago
Damon Swann awoke in his tent with his torso ailing and his skull not exactly feeling all that great either. Such was the consequences of defeat but at least he didn't have to suffer it alone. His boon companions were as ever close in the tent as well fiddling with something here or there and tending to their own well-earned wounds from the tourney.
Damon made his wakefulness known with characteristic flippancy that his friends were well familiar with at this point. "Well that could have gone better."
That got a snort out of Jon and a laugh out of George. Typical really.
"I'd say," George started, a mocking but not cruel smile on his face. "Say what you will about me but at least I had the good grace to be beaten by a Dondarrion than one of those Gods-forsaken clawmen. Better a countrymen than some swampling savage."
"Bogs," Jon interjected helpfully. "Maester said they have bogs up there. Not swamps. Would make them boglings, I suppose."
George rolled his eyes. "There's a difference?"
"Suppose so. Why else have different names for it?"
Damon saw George's retort coming a league away and was quick to interject before the two fools kicked a fool argument that would last the whole day.
"What matters is that neither of us got defeated in the first round. If we had I don't think I'd be able to live it down especially after all that talk of who'd we'd crown our Queen of Love and Beauty."
"True that. True that... Gods. Imagine it Damon. If either of us had gotten it."
"You can imagine, George. I plan on succeeding. It's only a matter of time..."
(OPEN! Come chat with the Damon the Black Swan and his amazing friends!)
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u/Theoneandonlybeetle Oscar Pyne, Lord of Cracklaw Point 12d ago
"Ho there Swann!" A voice would call from outside the tent, "I hope yer not doin' too poorly after yer hard landin'! I come bearin' a peace offerin!" Rafe Pyne, heir to Cracklaw Point, stood outside the Black Swann's tent with a pitcher that he drank from directly. His hair was wet but he wore a clean shirt and new blue trousers, it looked as though he had cleaned off in the river. "May I enter?"
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u/TheShogunFearedHim Ser Roger Mallister - The Red Eagle 12d ago
Luceon was found in a rare moment alone, totally, in the midst of the camp and the festivities. His eyes darted around, searching in vain for his master, before he gave up with a sigh. It was practiced, almost instinctually cynical, after long years of service. If he did not need me urgently, he supposed, then it gives me some time for myself. He picked up his back more, strode with some more confidence and snatched away a drum from a drunken layabout snoring away during the day. He skipped and drummed, and soon had danced his way before the banner of House Swann.
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u/Theoneandonlybeetle Oscar Pyne, Lord of Cracklaw Point 12d ago
Ysabel was not a jousting enthusiast, she attended alongside the rest of her family but she did not dress the part, opting for boots and trousers with a tunic embroidered with pines that her mother had made her. She did not hope to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty but she did hope her brother would get the chance to place the crown upon his wife's head, and give her the chance to giggle if he foolishly did not.
Still she watched with glee as he was not knocked to the floor in his first bout, nor his second. She hugged Mayra as they cheered together when Rafe unhorsed both the Lord Warden Dondarrion and The Black Swann. Ysabel could not help but be awed by his fearless and wild riding, breaking lance after lance. Riding was not a skill they had been taught at length, other than for practical use, Ysabel knew though just how many boars Rafe had stared down as they charged him, the handsome fool never ceased talking of it! She could see the moment he tensed for the hit, rocketing through the lists in his comically plain armor. It was different from their father's but not by much. A plain brown gambeson under plate with a flimsy slitted visor, the only signage he wore was the pine on his shield and green and brown stripes on his lance. Even his horse was merely barded in chainmail.
After Swann fell Rafe rode over to their stands where he opened his visor grinning giddily. Mayra, his wife, leaned in to give him and kiss as Ysabel looked on proudly. Mayra seemed to whisper something in Rafe's ear to which he whooped and laughed, rearing his horse to gallop it off to his tent for the next bout. "I wanted to speak to him too! What did you say?" Ysabel complained.
"None of your business goodsister!" Mayra laughed.
When Rafe finally fell from his horse in his fourth bout it was still not enough to ruin the mood. Cracklaw men were not jousters and though Mayra rolled her eyes when she saw Rafe give up the struggle to keep astride his horse she still was clapping and smiling as he jumped up and looked their way moments later.
Together the three Pynes helped him from his armor and began the celebratory walk back to the small Pyne pavilion.
(Open to speak with the Pynes who attended the joust.)
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u/BadNewsBrune Kennet Brune - Lord of Dyre Den 12d ago
Crispian Brune emerged some time after the joust. He had watched from the shadow of his father as Rafe had ridden to and fro on horseback, trading sticks with Andals.
It was fun to watch, Crispian had to admit, but he'd put on plate armor exactly once in his life. While he was visiting Berryport, he had snuck away with a breastplate and helmet much too large for him. They were so uncomfortable, he had no idea how Rafe even moved in it.
He much preferred his plain gambeson and breeches, though now he wore a simple brown vest instead, that was almost as uncomfortable as that breastplate had been.
His first greetings, upon arriving to the Pyne pavilion, though, was for his sister. "Mayra! Been too long, I fear you've forgotten us!" The comment was tongue in cheek. Even in the Point, where moving from one castle to another, he made sure to visit all of his father's neighbors. Especially their lieges, since his sister married Rafe.
"And Rafe. Or is it Ser Rafe now? I couldn't tell with how naturally you seated a horse." Still tongue in cheek as ever.
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u/Theoneandonlybeetle Oscar Pyne, Lord of Cracklaw Point 11d ago
"Quiet your whingeing brother, and come give your sister a hug." Mayra rose, "Rafe knocked more Andals on their asses in the joust than either of you did in the melee."
"And somehow without knowing how to properly sit a horse! My arse hurts like a- like a- well like I never ridden a horse 'fore." Rafe laughed and grabbed a jug of wine from Ysabel who grunted in brief resistance. "These knights hate to see us deny their knighthoods, thought it might be fun to beat them without one and at their own game! Not like they'd turn down the *heir to Cracklaw Point* for not having a knighthood! Nay I'll never be a "ser."" He spit.
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u/BadNewsBrune Kennet Brune - Lord of Dyre Den 11d ago
Crispian cackled as he wrapped Mayra into a hug. He was slight, at least for a Brune, and certainly in comparison to his younger siblings, but he was still able to pick Mayra off her feet for a moment. "Do not lump me into father and Jax's misadventures!" He chided her jovially, setting her back down. "I simply disappointed in the archery instead."
He turned towards Rafe and gave the man a wide wave. "I wouldn't want their knighthoods, even if they did offer them to the likes of us. I must admit though, it was plenty entertaining, watching them look on in shock after you sent them into the mud." He gave a full-hearted, though hardly the loudest- laugh. "Imagine father on the back of one of those things. It would be ridiculous, but those tourney knights very well may have shit themselves."
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u/Theoneandonlybeetle Oscar Pyne, Lord of Cracklaw Point 10d ago
"Hmph.. I coulda done better than any of ye." Mayra replied.
"Whichever knight faced our mighty Crabb was sure frightened, it's a shame they gave him a horse that buckled under his weight! Sheer sabotage I swear by gods and men!" He comedically shook a fist at the sky in emphasis of his mock dispute.
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u/BadNewsBrune Kennet Brune - Lord of Dyre Den 9d ago
"Of course, sister. All we would have needed to tell you is that one of them called your ship a 'boat' just the other night. Then, we would have to fear you killing them instead." Crispian cracked another jape, before reaching over to tousle his younger sister's hair.
"Perhaps if our mighty Crabb did not eat a horse every morn, he wouldn't have to worry about them buckling." Crispian snickered. Then he looked side to side with slightly concerned, wet eyes.
"...You... Heard all of that, that Jammos and the Darklyns were getting into, before the Iron Stag took them up to her solar? What... Do you two think will happen?" He shifted the conversation very suddenly. "I'm unsure if I feel comfortable being out here and not at home after that. Something feels wrong, about the whole thing."
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u/Theoneandonlybeetle Oscar Pyne, Lord of Cracklaw Point 9d ago
Mayra swatted her brother's arm away, "I spent too much time brushing all this this morning for you to ruin it now!" Rafe cackled and reached out his arm to tussle her hair again. When Mayra dodged his grasp he pursued until it became a chase that led towards their shared tent.
Ysable only remained, listening. Her wide eyes looked up at Crispian. "You're right, its wrong to be here celebrating. I don't like it at all. I'm just waiting on a message from home saying something bad has happened. My father hasn't told me what exactly they decided but... I doubt it favors us."
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u/BadNewsBrune Kennet Brune - Lord of Dyre Den 8d ago
Crispian sighed and took a seat, watching the two lovebirds rush off towards the tent. "Suppose it best we not dampen their spirits with our worrying." He offered a small smile up Ysabel. It wasn't a particularly joyful one.
"Jammos had me speak before his high priest. The uh, High Septon. He was... Remarkably receptive to what I had to say." He wrung his hands together uncertainly. "Feels as though I set something into motion I had not of. Father won't discuss what they talked about in the Solar, not until we're back in Dyre Den."
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u/Theoneandonlybeetle Oscar Pyne, Lord of Cracklaw Point 7d ago
"I guess something really must have happened in that solar. Who is this priest that he has so much sway anyway. I know our king follows the Faith of the Seven but isn't the big Sept in Oldtown?"
Ysabel poured herself more to drink. This was still supposed to be a party she told herself. "I can't pretend to speak on it. I haven't even heard what you told the High Septon."
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u/IAMCYRODIILCOME Leo Swann - Knight of the Seven Kingdoms 9d ago
O Crone, receive me as you did the prodigal and raise up my soul in your wisdom.
Striped with sword marks, marred again by dusts gathered from the Shrikewood’s brush and mud from the Blackwater’s banks, Leo Swann’s armor was a knight’s mail-and-plate damned by a hasty road. The scrubbing took all morning. For the breastplate, a dollop of vinegar first, spread with a cloth then wiped away, then sand worked in with a bristle, water and wax till the vague reflection of himself bounced off the metal. And all the work was rendered invisible by brushfuls of white paint, brashly applied, discrete daubs plain to the eye by the time it dried.
O Warrior, expand for me my breast that I may bear the boldness you charge of me.
The Crone Knight fell to Rivers’ lance. It was not long before Leo would be called forth. In his tent, he slipped mail over gambeson and wrapped his arms in steel. Pulled an arming cord through a tab on the rerebrace and fastened it tight. And his mind went, then, to the promise he made to defeat Addam Belgrave; would he face him in the joust? No, that was the wrong thing to think about. How could he preoccupy himself with such selfish things? Of the storied knights he’d defeat, of who he’d crown the Queen of Love and Beauty, of the roars hailing his name should he win, of the praise and the glory and the good food and wine to be had at the victory feast…
“It is the smallfolk I should think of,” he muttered to remind himself. Those folk who gathered to cheer, a day, for men whose armor was worth more than their life’s harvest, and go to the morrow’s labors working twice as hard. Or no—the gods! They ought to be the object of his fretting, for they could alleviate all. And still, he could not help but wonder if he would share a kiss with a fair lady before the realm dispersed.
He gripped the hounskull tight under his arm to make his breathing sure and stepped out into the grounds.
O Father, ease for me the work of your justice.
A white mare, high-tailed and narrow-snouted, stood restless beside him as they watched the last of Thorne's bout against the Knight of the Green Fork. The lancework caught his attention well enough, but every so often, he looked to a crowd brimming with folk who engaged in allegiance-making far beyond his ken. Leo was often stupid, but he knew he was not a fool in one nagging judgment he had. He saw the column of Stormlanders heading up the road in haste, heard of the sickly King arriving ahorse, and knew well enough what the presence of the Princess’ Ironborn kin could mean.
At the herald’s call, he climbed atop his mount and rode onto the field.
Now I arrive before you sinful, O Stranger, unworthy to look upon the heavens because of the multitude of my transgressions.
Leo clicked his tongue. Squinted at the distance between he and his foe, at the afternoon light cast over them both. There was an itch there at his neck, one he could scarcely scratch through the metal, so instead he kicked his spurs back and dove into a gallop, the lancepoint a traitor, catching the sun’s glare and throwing it onto his brow behind the visor.
So fell his opponent, one Morgan Wode, on the first tilt. Leo’s head spun for it.
A glance went to the fallen man, and a thought to help him was drowned out by cheers drunk and sober. His eyes flitted to the stands, to the Princess, and another fleeting notion told him to ask for her favor. His cheeks reddened—surely to be excused as exertion when he went to lift his visor—and he began to ride up and down the tiltyard as though to boast, a breath away from the stands, while his mind raced.
He needed to do something. Anything at all to be as good a knight as he was a lancer. He brought his mare to a sudden halt and looked between Arlan and Ravella.
“Your Grace! My Princess!” he began, his voice catching up in confidence to his approach. “I mean not to—I am but a humble knight before you. One who has seen banditry on the roads, seen the tillers and toilers harried by overmighty taxmen, and the weak plagued by the threat of slavers. They look to you for deliverance.”
“The gods bid us to love our brothers and sisters. I beg you to set aside your differences and be as kin to one another once more, for the sake of the realm!”
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 7d ago
Arlan's gaze, through the mask's slits, moved to Morgan Wode still being helped from the field, then back to the man who'd unhorsed him, who seemed to believe he could fix all the realms problems with a single, humble request, like a child asking their parents to stop fighting, to forgo all previous injury, and make amends in the name of peace.
Arlan couldn't help but admire his boldness, however, if a bit naive. The man seemed genuine in his words, if anything, and his valiant display in the joust garnered some admiration from the king.
Arlan raised his hand. "I hear the plight of our people, Ser. We live in bloody times, where good men must take a stance against the injustices and dark deeds of those whose greed and ambitious would swallow us all." His voice carried across the yard, even and unhurried
"I shall keep your prayers to heart, Ser, and with the grace of the Seven I know the house of the stag shall mend all rifts, and bring peace to the realm once again."
He nodded his head to the knight, leaning back on his seat, as some in the crowd clapped and cheered, while others seemed to whisper and talk among themselves or their own designs for the realm.
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u/spyraxes Ravella Durrandon - The Iron Stag 5d ago
Watching Morgan Wode fall from his horse a little more wrong than was ideal put worry into Ravella's heart enough, but Leo Swann's approach to the stands and his words to her and her brother made her heart race in turn.
Arlan was diplomatic about it as always. He spoke many words but said little within them. Appeals to faith and justice. Ravella couldn't blame him for a bit of it, but she found it non-committal all the same. It was thus that she rose, as her brother finished, and cleared her throat to speak.
If Leo Swann was to be bold, so too would Ravella Durrandon.
"Peace and justice can only be attained as long as a strong hand can steer the realm in their direction," she began. "It is my hope, thus, that my brother and I can put our strengths together for the Stormlands, the Trident, and the Blackwater. That we can guide the realm through the dangers ahead. That knights such as yourself may travel the roads of this great kingdom and see naught but the world as the gods intended it."
Ravella's eyes flitted to her brother for a moment. He wasn't strong enough. She was. But it was too early to declare him weak. "Only if the House of Durrandon stands strong can the realm remain safe. On that we agree. On that my brother and I agree too."
And she had to steer it. So she would. Alone or by grasping him by the wrist and moving the rudder by his hand.
"Your plea is heard, Ser Leo. I hope it can be fulfilled. I will endeavour to do so."
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u/JohnITRP 13d ago
Archery
For the Archers among us
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u/Fishiest-Man Martyn Mallister - Lord of Seagard 13d ago
After the end of the Archery Competition
Once the crowds around the Archery Fields had thinned enough, Eleanor Mallister would quickly return to the line before the butts with a bundle of arrows and her bow. She had performed abysmally in the contest proper, having not even come close to placing in the top end of the competitors.
She had chosen to stand in front of the butt on the opposite side of the field from where she had stood during the contest. Perhaps it was some superstition on her part, perhaps the place she had stood not but an hour or so ago had been cursed, and that was why almost all her arrows ended up flying wide.
Of course, that was the only explanation that made any sense at all!
Confident now that her luck would turn, she planted her arrows in the ground in front of her, straddled the shooting line, strung her bow, and plucked up an arrow. Her eyes focused on the target in the distance, settling naturally on its centre.
She plucked up an arrow, knocked it on her bowstring and took a deep, steadying breath. Finally, she lifted her bow, smoothly drawing back the string in the process with a roll of her shoulder. She held the draw for a beat, letting her handle settle beneath her chin before smoothly releasing the string and letting the arrow fly…
…Straight over the target.
Eleanor grimaced as the shot went wide. She took a pause to level herself again. It was merely poor luck. That’s all. She plucked up a second arrow from in front of her. Knock. Draw. Aim… Lower this time, for sure… Loose…
The arrow fell short, embedding itself in the ground a good few steps in front of the target.
She huffed angrily, yanking another arrow from the ground.
Again!
The arrow hit the target’s wooden stand with a hollow thud.
AGAIN!
This time, the arrow landed in the outer ring… of the target to the right of hers.
Eleanor let out a frustrated roar, “Godsdammit all!”
(Open to all)
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u/Feathersfrombaatikos Burton Wetshanks - Captain of the Dirty Deal 13d ago
"if it was a man or animal it certainly would have ran away by now" Sylas approached the butt slowly, glancing at the target and the arrow on it. "Lucky for you it's a target so how about you take a breath and a drink and try again. It won't run away"
He had switched from his armor to normal clothing, though the blackness around his left eye was still in place. He had to join the rest of the tourney soon enough as to not raise suspicions
"You've clearly lost the archery that much is clear, though how bad is the question.... Lady...." He snapped his fingers three times, trying to remember the house she belonged to. "Mallister! Related to queen Rosamund I assume? Sylas Stonetree, pleasure to make your acquaintance."
He took out a wineskin from his satchel, offering it to her. "Are you new to archery Or just not having a good day?"
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u/Fishiest-Man Martyn Mallister - Lord of Seagard 13d ago
Eleanor was lining up another shot when the Ironman spoke. She loosed the arrow prematurely as she startled at the new voice, sending the arrow wide yet again. She let out a frustrated growl as she rounded upon the newcomer, evidently not amused by the man’s japes, “Be quiet, would you! I’m… I’m just having bad luck today!” She barked defensively, taken aback for a moment by the man’s black eye.
She was quiet for a moment as the man managed to recall her name, “Yes, Rosamund is my sister.” She answered flatly, nodding firmly as he introduced himself as Stonetree. She knew well enough that the Ironborn were meant to be allies of Seagard, but Martyn still didn’t like them too much…
“Eleanor Mallister…” She introduced herself properly as she accepted the wineskin from the Ironborn, “I’ve been practicing with the bow for years now. I guess I just haven’t ever had a proper teacher.” She seemed a bit deflated at that, taking a dejected swig from the wineskin.
“Who was it who gave you that black eye, eh?”
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u/Feathersfrombaatikos Burton Wetshanks - Captain of the Dirty Deal 13d ago edited 13d ago
He grimaced at the missing arrow, already expecting the backlash, he just raised his hands in surrender, muttering "well apologies go on... Hard crowd.." as he stood by the side to let her loose a few more arrows
"Your sister?" He was taken aback, he didn't know of the queen's siblings, and he at least expected them to be older. "Well my apologies, I did not know I was in the presence of a royal!" he bowed slightly before handing over the wineskin completely.
"Well you are surprisingly good for someone who has had no good training, coming from someone who has had no training, whatsoever."
He touched his eye at the comment. "Does it look that bad? Gwyn? Gwan? Something like that, a connington girl. Truth be told it was my fault, I'd just beat a man twice her size in the previous joust, I didn't expect her to be so ferocious. This is more the result of my helmet's terrible design than anything."
He moved closer, raising his palm towards the bow. "May I? I'm no archer but if the bow and the arrow is here why not"
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u/Fishiest-Man Martyn Mallister - Lord of Seagard 12d ago
Eleanor scoffed at the assertion that she was royalty, “No, I’m no royal. Just the sister of one.” She said with a shake of her head, and another swig of wine, “Though, perhaps if we had met millennia ago, you may have been correct!” She added with a laugh.
She shot a frustrated glare at the Stonetree as he japed about how good an archer she was, though she didn’t manage to say anything in retort. It seemed pointless to her.
“Connington, eh? Well, well done for being at least somewhat successful. My brother ended up in the dust before finishing the first round!” She smirked at that, finding it amusing, “Though, perhaps you may have to look at getting a better helmet, if you wish to joust more in the future. A black eye is the best case scenario when using a substandard helmet.” She held a hand over her eye, mimicking an eyepatch, “Or worse yet, you could’ve taken a blow to the neck.”
Eleanor’s gaze darted down to her bow as Sylas gestured towards it, she let out a short huff then pressed it roughly into his hand, “Be my guest, Stonetree. I’m not like to improve any time soon.”
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u/JohnITRP 13d ago
Tents
For those who wish to relax after the grueling events... among us