Time: 3pm
Location: Lovers lake - Prince Callum Tavern
Mention:
Appearance:Dress, Hair style but red,shoes

The sun continued to beat down on Ari as she lay basking in the sun. Her book had somehow found its way over her face as she hid her eyes from the blinding light just soaking in the rays. She wasn't sure if she had dipped into a light nap, but the slight drool on the side of her mouth said a lot.

Pulling the book from her face as the pages slightly stuck to her lip, she brushed the pages off with her fingertips before sitting up. Her eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the bright sun. She figured she had gotten enough sun for the day, her mother would be all over her if she returned home with a sunburn on her porcelain skin.

Gathering her stuff, Ariella set back to her carriage. Along the way she dusted herself off making her outfit more presentable than it was at the lake. Sadly that included putting back on her shoes.

Getting into her carriage she instructed the driver to bring her to a local Tavern, she was feeling quite hungry after the events this morning and all the sun. It didn't take long for them to arrive at the Prince Callum Tavern. As the carriage came to a stop she peeked out the window to see the sign wondering if this was some kind of strange joke. She couldn't help but think about Callum however. She wondered how he felt about a Tavern named after him. Seemed a bit of an ego stroke, but she got the impression he had no say in the matter.
Paying no mind to it any longer, Ariella got out of the carriage and headed inside the beautiful Tavern. It was loud and busy full of people enjoying their late lunches or early suppers. The smell of ale and meat pie filled the room as she clearly was overdressed for the place, however, she normally overdressed if her mother had any say.

Finding a nice place in the back Ariella hid away from the normal patrons and snuggled into a booth. She kept her book handy but enjoyed the large pitcher of water that the barkeep brought to her table.

Time: 3pm
Location:: Edin Theater
Interaction:: @FunnyGuy


Off to the next adventure for Ruby, and this play was just the kind of thing that interested her… dramatics. She heard about it during a moment of eavesdropping on someone at the race track earlier. Sure, it was a last minute decision, but she arrived with a whole minute to spare. The hat contest that followed the race still had her in a tizzy, so much so that she unthinkingly walked into the theater with her giant hat still on.

As she made her way in, Ruby gazed longingly at the red carpet underneath her feet. This was the life that she always dreamed of. Extravagance. She found her way to the end of the hall and made a left toward the theater. If she could never live a life like this, she would embrace it at least for tonight.

There were a fair amount of people in the audience, but still many open seats. Ruby’s excitement grew and she wanted to get the closest look at what was to come. She went directly for the front row seats, but caught a few grimacing looks and decided to head back a few rows. She was used to viewing things from a distance.

The spontaneity of her arrival meant that she had no idea what the play she was about to view was about. In her mind, she anticipated something heartwarming, or maybe romantic. She looked around the audience in an effort to pick up on an overall mood, to which she did not fully sense. There were a few familiar faces in the crowd, though.. Is that the man that publicly put my artwork to shame? thought Ruby, referring to the Duke that picked someone else for the hat contest.

“HEY!!!!” she whisper-shouted with hostility toward him while she pointed a finger. It seems that he did not hear her– although she did catch the attention of a few people nearby. Then, the curtains abruptly opened and she fixed her eyes on the stage. Ruby’s anger subsided for now.

The backdrop did not disappoint. Ruby’s mouth fell open as she doted upon the sights in front of her. As the play proceeded, Ruby realized that this was surely not a passionate love story. She chuckled a few times as she became enthralled by the storyline. It was one line in particular that sent Ruby into an unforeseen fit of laughter, just after books fell from the actress’s dress.

Act I finished and Ruby got a good laugh. As she waited on Act II and a break was commenced, something urged her to approach Lorenzo in the front row. She strolled up to him with her large hat weighing on her tiny body.

After approaching, Ruby put her hands on her hips and glared down at him with the force of a thousand suns. A bit of drool fell from her mouth onto Lorenzo’s left shoe as she decided to speak.“I know you remember me.” Ruby told him and flared her eyes open, “Look at my hat, waffle boy. …How could this not win? Just look at it!” She wiggled it a little and it almost fell off, but she managed a little swagger for once.

“I don't understand how you could make such a mistake,” declared Ruby. “I worked day and night to find scraps beautiful enough, from my own trash, to fulfill this very masterpiece.” she frowned, exuding disappointment from her voice. “I mean, I am sure you are a man of good judgment and all, but this time there must have been some specks of dirt in your eyes. That horse hat? A complete cliche!” Ruby finally expelled the last bit of her frustration. She stepped back a bit as she anticipated a response from this brooding fellow.

Time:3pm
Location:: Edin Theater
Interaction:: @FunnyGuy


As soon as Ruby heard the first words come out of the waffle-man's mouth, she knew she was in over her head. Pride always seemed to be an underlying motivator in Ruby’s actions, leading her to confrontations that she had no business getting involved with. But at the end of the day, it got her where she was now and that had to count for something.

It was not necessarily the words spewing from Lorenzo’s mouth that struck her, but the tone in which he said them that made her want to wail like a child being disciplined. Tears quickly filled her eyes. The theater was still dim and she was not going to back down from her argument, even with piercing eyes staring back at her. She held back her waterworks until the man mentioned his precious Crystal’s tragedy this morning. This hit home for Ruby, and she almost felt ashamed. That is until these words emitted from him,

“I’m afraid you’ll never know what it means for a perfectly bloomed flower to stand out amongst the others in its bed.”

The drool that was coming from her mouth had stopped completely, and instead she now felt like her mouth was made of sandpaper. She gritted her teeth and let out a deep growl, vibrating passed her closed lips. With the stomp of her foot she chose to retaliate.“Oh, I know full well what it means to be a perfectly bloomed flower standing in a bed!”she announced, knowing that she had no connection to the metaphor he was making.“And I am truly sorry about your almost-daughter, but this is not about bias, sir. This is about hard work and dedication– c-c-creativity! Sure, I could have easily thought of a horse hat to enter a contest right after a horse race. Instead, I used my imagination and brought vibrant colors to life through the nest of my head. That is art. If I simply had the means to create something of more quality, then I bet you would have considered me more readily. To the nether-regions with your… lack of bias!”

She stared down at Lorenzo, shaking in her shoes. Deep down, she knew that the horse hat was far better than hers. She was entirely jealous of it and unwilling to admit that she didn’t think of such an idea for her hat. Ruby saw a glimpse of sadness in this man’s eyes. He looks awfully rough.. like he’s been through several lives of loss and back. Ruby was rethinking her aggressive approach.

“But you did say that my hat could have secured second place?” she laughed nervously and with that took a seat next to him before she passed out.

---

---

Roman listened and watched the man speak as they slowly moved closer to the arena. A civil war that didn’t seem like he was too happy about, fair it’s always heart breaking to fight others that could have been your brother in a different time. By the emphasis in his words and the way he walked Roman could tell this man either spent a great deal of his life working on a ship or being the captain of one. His sister was that way as well, never truly enjoying walking on the soil and earth always said that it didn’t feel like the ocean and hated that it didn’t roll like the waves.

He never was all that great at seamanship below deck but he could manage just fine above. Still, roman didn’t mind sailing but much preferred scaling mountains to riding storms. The information that he was indeed here for trade and being commanded by a high queen was good information.

Roman spoke up again as they were almost outside the stadium, the sounds of the crowd and the clashing of weapons already could be heard. “Perhaps you would like to set up trade agreements with my people as well? Could be interesting.” Roman continued walking through the entrance of the arena making little deviation on his way towards the registration table.

“Yes duels, I believe to submission I could be wrong. Anyone can sign up to participate so you will see several people from the common folk to nobles and sometimes royalty from any nation. You could sign up too if you like.” motioning to the sign up table.

“Hello, good sir I am Roman Ravenwood I am here to deliver the third, second, and first prizes for the tournament.” Smiling at the receptionist and some of the other event organizers who were clearly surprised to see him for one reason or another. “I have a domed brass round shield for third place.” The shield was reinforced with the designs and patterns common in the northern territories, for a normal person it would cover them from their shoulder to their hip. Handing the shield off to them and retrieving the claymore, “this two handed claymore for second place.” Pulling the 55 inch claymore free from its sheath to show off the blade for a moment. “And for first place a custom commission made by myself for one shield or bladed weapon.” Pulling out a small parchment from his shirt wrapped in a red band with the Ravenwood house seal on it.

“T-Thank you for your contribution lord Ravenwood, will you be participating as well?” the receptionist asked excitedly.

“No I’m just here to watch. Wasun would you like to sign up? If not the viewing seats are this way.” Motioning down a side entrance with a few others coming and going. Roman hoped he got the pronunciation on his name right.

The Sjan-dehk of a few years prior – hot-blooded and eager as he was – would’ve certainly jumped at the opportunity to prove his mettle and bring honour to his name on the field of battle. Or in this case, in the arena of a duel. Reputation was everything for a man under arms, after all. All the more so when said man was considered a noble, albeit only marginally.

The Sjan-dehk of today, however, needed to do no such thing. For one, there was simply not much left for him to prove. He already captained his own ship – one which he earned through blood, no less – and had already fought enough battles to earn his family and himself fame to last a lifetime. More than that, most likely, if the poets and scholars did what they were wont to do and embellished the odd detail. Granted, such fame would likely be mostly limited to the outlying western islands where Jafi’s fleet spent most of the war, but that was perfectly fine with Sjan-dehk.

More importantly, however, was that Sjan-dehk simply wasn’t good at duelling. Fighting deep in the thick of it and cutting down his enemies was one thing. Fighting a duel with rules was another. The last time he had fought in such a fight – ceremonial swordplay, as his father called it – had been during a banquet held to celebrate the end of the war. Sjan-dehk didn’t even last one round. It took only three bouts before the rush of battle got to his head and he gave his opponent a savage kick to the nether regions. Suffice to say, that had earned him a swift disqualification.

Starting his stay in Sorian with such an incident would be inauspicious, and so Sjan-dehk decided to do the prudent thing and decline the invitation. “Sjan-dehk. That is my name. Wasun is family.” He first gave Roman a quick correction. The royal tutor had already prepared him for such errors. “I will watch. Maybe fight next time, yes?” A slight grin accompanied his last sentence. He followed Roman through the side entrance into the stands. The heat from bodies packed so tightly together and the smell of sweat met him like an overly-familiar friend. It smothered and made wading through the crowd feel harder than it actually was, but it wasn’t anything Sjan-dehk wasn’t used to.

There was one other reason for Sjan-dehk to watch the fight with Roman. The man had raised the notion of establishing trade between his lands and the Commonwealth earlier, and though Sjan-dehk still didn’t quite know exact whereabouts or even exact name of his homeland, it would’ve been remiss of him if he allowed this chance to slip through his fingers. At the very least, he wanted to get something he could later pass on to Lady Adiyan. “I am not a trader. More like…Fighter?” Sjan-dehk opened by admitting. Honesty was key in all affairs, as the saying went. “Lady Adiyan, she ah…She knows more about trade. But we can talk about it first. Know more about our land, yes? I will tell her what we say and she can decide.”

---

Considering the fact that there weren't that many people who were interested in the hunting competition, Mayet wasn't expecting the Athletic Arena, where the sword competition would be held, was going to be so crowded. Among those present, it was rather easy to separate those who were going to participate in the competition and of just watching. Most of the competitors were either wearing protective equipment or had their personal weapons with them.

The exception to this was, of course, Mayet. Normally, in her daily life, It was honestly hard to say whether she was going to participate in some kind of competition or not, since she always carried her ring-blade with her, but even with her light clothes, no one seemed to have any doubt of what was her objective in coming to the Arena.

The attire Mayet chose for that competition was a rather simple one. No excessive decorations, frills or flowing clothes. Instead, it seemed to be focused on keeping her light and agile. One thing that might draw attention when compared to the other competitors though was the fact that her attire lacked any form of protection. A clear signal that she was more than confident in her own skills.

As it was expected, she immediately drew the attention of both competitors and audience alike as she arrived at the venue together with Nala and even more when her name was called to compete. Murmurs and voices could be heard, pointing to the fact that Nala was accompanying her, some even asking if it was fair for Nala to participate as well, something which made Mayet laugh before she looked to the crowd to address their doubts.

"Don't worry. This is just a friendly competition. We only fight together when we are fighting seriously. She is just here today to watch." Mayet said as she gently caressed the tigress' head as she sat down just in front of the arena while Mayet got up.

With her ring-blade in hands, Mayet waited as the other competitor, Reohg Knock, as the announcer called, entered the arena.

Mayet wasn't familiar neither with the strange name nor the strange figure wearing a headgear, hiding it's appearance. Despite the attempt to hide their identity though, Mayet could easily say that the other competitor was also a woman, judging by it's stature and body shape.

“You must be Reohg Knock… Quite a curious choice of attire…” Mayet said to the woman with a chuckle, analyzing her movements and her reaction.

Riona’s muscles tensed at Shehzadi Mayet’s comment, more specifically, at her choice of words. “You must be Reohg Knock.” It made it sound like she heard the name “Reohg Knock” before. Of course, she could’ve simply been talking about the announcement and decided to make small talk with her opponent (a thing that Riona didn’t expect the warrior princess to do).

But what if, on the off chance, that it wasn’t? Riona did dance with the Shehzadi’s brother last night and she chose the butchered name he gave her because it was mangled enough that no one would recognize it, but Riona would at least know that she was being called. Could the Shahzade have told his sister about Reohg Knock? Why would he? He only had eyes on Lady Mina Blackwood, that much was obvious. No, it was more likely that he forgot the existence of the maid as soon as she left his sight. The only time Shehzadi Mayet could’ve heard the name was when Shahzade Munir was searching for his dance partner. Did she see Reohg Knock’s face? Gods, if a foreign guest could recognize Riona after only seeing her once, did that mean others could too? Riona struggled to swallow, her throat too dry to cooperate.

She had to throw the match. While a match with one or both of the princes would be a valuable experience in its own right, if Shehzadi Mayet could recognize Riona, then Prince Wulfric and Auguste were even more likely to recognize her. If that happened, then she’d be the maid the Danroses knew how to fight. They’d become cautious around her, suspicious even. She couldn’t allow that. No, she must lose.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, Riona chuckled at herself. The absolute conceitedness of it all. Stupid girl—she was never going to win, even if she wanted to. Despite her short stature, Shehzadi Mayet displayed the traits of a skilled fighter through her posture, well-toned muscles, flawless skin, and choice of attire and weaponry. She likely spent long hours training, had lots of experience with hunts and skirmishes, and rarely lost. Anyone who couldn’t see that was a fool.

Then there was Riona, a maidservant who spent more time cleaning up after people and serving them for over a decade than actual combat training. Her strengths lay in the less direct, less honorable skills; head-on battles weren’t her forte. That didn’t mean she couldn’t learn from the Shehzadi, though.

Riona crossed her balled fists in front of her and touched her wrists with her forehead as she bowed. “<<Peace be upon you, Shehzadi Mayet Ibn Raif Kadir,>>” she sang in the Golden Tongue. “<<You bring with you the radiance of a thousand suns. We are blessed to be in your presence. Words cannot capture the magnitude of our gratitude.>>” Riona relaxed and matched Shehzadi Mayet’s gaze. “<<Though I am but a single grain of sand beneath your feet, unworthy of your attention, please, do me the honor of your tutelage.>>”

Of all the reactions Reogh could have, Mayet definitely wasn't expecting her to tense up at her words. Normally, considering the event they were participating at, she would have thought that her opponent was looking forward to the fight but Reogh's expression hinted at another, completely different reason. Nervousness? Apprehension? Maybe it has something to do with the reason she wanted to hide her identity. Regardless of what thoughts raced inside Reogh's mind at that moment, Mayet simply waited, either for a reply... or for her to act.

The moment Reogh did the traditional Alidasht bow and began singing on the Golden Tongue, Mayet was definitely caught by surprise, raising her eyebrows with a surprised expression, especially since it wasn't a half-hearted attempt at the Golden Tongue either. Reogh had an almost perfect pronunciation and diction... Especially considering the the choice of words.

“It is the second time I hear a foreigner speaking the Golden Tongue. Impressive, I have to say.” Mayet said, with a satisfied smile.

“Every grain of sand, no matter how small, is still part of the great desert.” Mayet said with a smile as she gave a few steps forward, approaching the center of the arena.

"Titles and formalities are good for balls and social gatherings. While we are sparring in this arena, we are both just warriors." Mayet said as she assumed a combat posture.

"Ready? Since you asked for my tutelage, I will start with something simple and raise the difficulty as we progress." Mayet said with a smirk as she dashed towards Reogh.

Just as Mayet spoke earlier, her first strike was a simple, diagonal slash. Despite how 'simple' her attack was, the force behind it was rather deceptive for someone of her stature. Not only due to the size of her weapon, but also to the fact that she used the weight and momentum of her entire body on each attack.

As the Shehzadi’s weapon came crashing down, Riona raised her own weapon to meet the incoming attack. Their blades collided with a loud clang, causing sparks to fly off the metal. The impact reverberated through Riona’s arms and left her briefly shaken. However, she managed to hold her ground with the sword absorbing most of the strike, and strikes that followed soon after. With a sudden twist of her wrist, Riona subtly diverted the last attack and used the Shehzadi’s own momentum against her to slice down towards her legs.

Mayet would already be reasonably satisfied with Reogh merely blocking her first strike perfectly, without being thrown off by the strength of her blow, but when she managed to regain her composure immediately after and even use the momentum from Mayet's own attack to make a quick slash aimed at her legs, Mayet definitely was curious.

Despite her last attack being diverted and used by Reogh to launch her fast counter-attack, Mayet was able to reply to it in time by continuing the circular slashing motion of her previous attack, making her ring-blade clash against Reogh's sword, stopping it's trajectory before it could reach her legs.

Her expression was one of visible surprise and excitement as she gave a jump back, looking at Reogh.

"Impressive! Not only you weren't thrown off by the weight behind my attacks, but you were still able to use it's own momentum to launch a counterattack of your own!" Mayet said, laughing, visibly satisfied by the result of her initial 'test'.

"Let's take it up a notch, shall we?" Mayet said as she once assumed a different combat posture, holding her ring-blade in a diagonal around her, at neck's height with both hands, her left one in front of her and her right one behind.

Unlike the previous, more 'relaxed' posture, this one was more aggressive, with her center of gravity lower to the ground.

Riona recognized the stance, as it mirrored that of her grandmother, and it was the sole reason she anticipated Shehzadi Mayet’s next move.

In the blink of an eye, Mayet was already near Reogh again. Her first came unbelievably quick, a downwards, diagonal slash as she used her right hand to spin her ring-blade, carrying a huge amount of momentum with it.

Immediately after the first one, Mayet continued the movement of her first strike, transferring her ring-blade to her left hand and extending it outwards, spinning her body for a second wide, horizontal slash while at the same time, weaving a spinning kick between her first and second slash, in the middle of her spinning motion.

It quickly became apparent to Reogh that it was only now that she was seeing Mayet's real way of fighting.

Her strikes were much faster and more fluid than her previous ones, each attack seamlessly connecting with the next one as she made use of their momentum to keep going, one attack after another as she weaved kicks between them.

This fluid fighting style, while beautiful to watch, was undeniably terrifying to her opponents both due to the constant, quick and heavy strikes, with her entire body weight behind each attack and the unpredictable kicks weaved in between them, covering the openings some of the wider, sweeping strikes.

Riona’s body was a blur of motion as she instinctively dodged, weaved, and spun through the unrelenting assault. Her movements were in harmony with the rhythm of the Shehzadi’s attacks. In moments where she had no time to evade, Riona parried the incoming strike, her sword flashing in the sun like a beacon of defiance.

Despite the intensity of the battle, there was a savage elegance to the deadly dance, a hypnotic grace that made it impossible to look away—each step precise, each attack a carefully calculated risk, almost choreographed in its perfection. The women moved like wild animals, fierce and unyielding, and yet the beauty of their movements was unquestionable.

But not even the most beautiful of dances lasted forever.

As the fight raged on, Riona found herself struggling more and more. The standard-issued sword, heavy and unwieldy, was becoming a burden. It wasn’t her weapon of choice (just something provided by the arena to contestants who didn’t bring their own), the unfamiliar weight and balance of the cheap blade felt awkward in her grip and caused her arms to ache. To make matters worse, her back was throbbing from the wounds Lady Morrigan inflicted the previous night. Each sudden movement sent sharp jolts of pain through her body. She gritted her teeth and pushed through it, knowing that her time in the competition was coming to a close. Riona wasn’t the kind to give up without a fight.

She watched carefully, studying Shehzadi Mayet’s movements and searching for a pattern; a habit. When the Shehzadi launched another flurry of attacks, she finally saw it. Just as the ring-blade left one hand to travel to the other, Riona smacked it off course with the tip of her sword and slashed at the Shehzadi’s waiting palm.

While Mayet knew it was just a friendly competition, seeing how Reogh was still able to dodge and block her blows made Mayet quite curious to see until when exactly would Reogh be able to keep up with her. Maybe it was because of that or her excitement for being 'testing' someone that had genuine talent, but Mayet got careless. Careless enough to get relaxed for a small second when she was transferring the ring-blade from one hand to the other, between attacks.

It was on that very moment, less than half a second of carelessness that Reogh took her move. Making perfect use of Mayet's mistake, Reogh used the tip her sword to divert Mayet's ring-blade, throwing it off course.

Mayet's eyes went wide with surprise as she felt the weight of the ring-blade pulling her arm back. Even if Mayet was just testing Reogh, amidst the flurry of blows, she was able to keep calm, analyze Mayet's movements and patiently wait for her chance... And her patience had indeed paid off.

Mayet knew she wouldn't be able to block Reogh's slash in time. The weight of the ring-blade made sudden adjustments to it's course quite difficult, especially if it was already carrying such a huge amount of momentum as it was right now.

In any other time and place, such situation would mean certain death and Mayet knew that very well. The shock and surprise from Reogh's sudden movement, seeing the situation of risk she was in right now was enough for Mayet's instincts take over.

As adrenaline flowed through her veins, Mayet's muscles tensed up as her instincts yelled at her… 'Move or die'.

Her previous, smug expression of excitement immediately disappeared, giving place to a cold gaze of someone who was prepared to kill.

Blocking wasn't an option and just moving her hand wouldn't be fast enough to dodge Reogh's slash. Due to that, Mayet immediately bent her entire body backwards, moving her free hand up just after her ring-blade passed in front of it, in a starting position for a back handspring, making Reogh's blade miss Mayet's hand only by a hair's breadth.

At the same time, the ring-blade, which continued it's momentum was already over Mayet's shoulder. With a small movement of her wrist, Mayet made a minor adjustment it's course so it would continue moving down, parallel to her back. When it was already in the middle of her back, Mayet bent her right leg backwards, until the back of her feet touched the inner rim of the ring-blade.

An that moment, Reogh would clearly be able to see the muscles on Mayet's legs tensing up almost like a spring. The very moment her other hand touched the ground, she would let go of the ring-blade, twisting her body and letting her leg pull the ring-blade in a diagonal, upwards slash containing the entire weight of her body and the momentum behind her back handspring towards Reogh.

Not much creativity was needed to imagine the terrible consequences such a powerful slash would have if it struck Reogh's neck... Even if it struck her across the chest, the momentum of the attack, coupled with the weight of the weapon was sure to deliver a devastating outcome.

Time… slowed… down. Riona’s senses became acutely aware of every detail of Shehzadi Mayet’s ring-blade. She noted the masterful craftsmanship; the love and care that went into its maintenance; the way the metal gleamed in the warm sun; the wind that carried its movements; the sharp whistle the blade made as it cleaved the air. Even though she registered the imminent danger as the ring-blade hurtled towards her neck, Riona’s mind remained calm and collected, almost serene in its acceptance of what was about to come. She wondered if there was enough force behind the blow to sever her head as cleanly as her father’s did.

Fortunately, Nala, who was watching the fight just from outside the arena, noticed Mayet's expression and behavior changing. As someone who hunted besides Mayet for years, Nala knew very well how Mayet was when she was going for the kill. Normally, Nala wouldn't care about it, but Mayet had reminded her again and again, both before entering the arena and on their way to the Sword Competition that it was just 'sparring', in order to be sure she wouldn't try to 'defend' Nala when she was just sparring with the other competitors.

It was only thanks to Mayet's insistence to make Nala understand that fact that Nala decided to let out a huge roar to alert Mayet, who only after that noticed what she was about to do.

Thanks to Nala's interference, Mayet had enough time to control her kick, putting both her hands on the ground in order to support her weight instead of completing the back handspring and making the blade stop before the blade got too close from Reogh's neck, keeping it there for a moment, before she silently got back up again in a normal posture, giving a few steps back, taking a few moments to calm herself down due to the rush of adrenaline.

The weight of silence fell like a blanket over the arena, muffling the murmurings of the crowd as they struggled to make sense of what happened (and what had almost happened). Even the seasoned referees were hard-pressed to keep track of the lightning-fast exchange. One moment, Riona’s blade was slashing at Shehzadi Mayet’s hand, and the next, the Shehzadi’s ring-blade was plunging towards Riona’s neck, only to be halted in mid-air. Neither strike drew any blood. The referees exchanged furtive glances, unsure of what call to make. In the end, it was Riona who made their job easier.

Without a word, she sank to her knees, lowered her head, and offered the cheap-a** sword to Shehzadi Mayet, as if it was a priceless heirloom. “Victory is yours, Shehzadi Mayet Ibn Raif Kadir.”

The arena erupted into a tempest of thunderous applause and ecstatic cheering. Riona held the posture as she thanked the Shehzadi for the fight, but the cacophony of the boisterous crowd erased her words before they reached the other woman. Undaunted, she bowed one last time in the Shahazadi’s direction, a final tribute to the victor. Then, with a graceful turn, she made her way offstage as quickly and casually as she could. Not once noticing the faint scorch marks that marked where she was standing when she was a heartbeat away from a beheading.

Riona extended the borrowed sword to the arena personnel, who scurried over to collect it from her. Just as their fingers brushed the weapon, they recoiled as though they touched something scalding hot. With a hiss of pain, the employee’s fingers shot up to their mouth while the other hand clamped their earlobe. The sword clattered to the ground with a metallic clang. In unison, Riona and the employee uttered apologies and reached for the sword. But a voice stayed Riona’s hand.

“Reohg.” Mayet said, calling the woman as she raised her hand in a signal asking for silence from the crowd.

She spun to face the speaker, Shehzadi Mayet. Riona inclined her head. Her skin prickled as she felt the unwanted attention of others. In the corner of her eye, she saw the staff scoop up the sword without any further problems and trotted away, wishing she could do the same.

"You have a very dangerous talent, Reogh... Even though it's unpolished, it's still dangerous enough to make me forget we were just sparring, even if for a moment." Mayet said, with a serious tone as she calmed herself down, still panting a bit due to the rush of adrenaline. Despite her serious tone, it wasn't as if Mayet was chastising Reogh for her peculiar 'talent' or if Mayet was angry at her. Instead, it was almost as if Mayet was impressed by it in a good way.

“You should feel proud. Not many people are able to get that reaction out of me. It was a wonderful duel” Mayet said with a satisfied smile after a bit as she extended her hand towards.

Shehzadi Mayet’s hand came into view and Riona blinked at it like she never seen a hand before. It took awhile for her to realize that the Shehzadi was offering a handshake. She reached up to reciprocate, then abruptly stopped. Riona withdrew her hand silently and bowed her head further down.

“Wouldn't you consider going back to Alidasht with me? I know a few people back in Alidasht that would be overjoyed in teaching you. Besides, only a fool wouldn't recognize the value of having someone with your talents by their side.” Mayet said as she looked at Reogh.

“Don't feel pressured to accept, but think about my offer. If the people you are working for here in Caesonia don't recognize your talents or give you reason to hide your identity like this, they're nothing but fools.” Mayet said with a huff as she turned her eyes as she mentioned Reogh's employers.

While Mayet didn't know exactly who that woman was, she knew that she worked for the Caesonian high nobility, judging by her words and mannerisms.

Riona’s grandmother would’ve been proud of her right now and just as equally disappointed for what her granddaughter was about to do. She could see her now, arms akimbo. “Tut-tut. Reyona,” she’d say (a nickname she preferred over Ríoghnach, because the name wasn’t “Alidasht enough” for her tastes). “At least pretend you took a moment to think about it.”

“<<Your gracious words have touched me deeply and left me humbled beyond measure, Your Royal Highness. I will treasure them, for there could be nothing more valuable than those words from someone as accomplished as yourself.>>”

“<<However, with great regret and a heavy heart, I must decline your offer. I am…>>” Riona hesitated, her nails dug hard enough into her palms to leave crescent moons, “<<… bound here and I do not see that changing in the foreseeable future. Please forgive my presumption in declining such a valuable opportunity, and know that I am forever grateful for the honor you have bestowed upon me.>>” She bowed even lower than before.

Mayet couldn't help but let out a deep sigh as she heard Reogh's reply to her offer, although it didn't seem to be a reply motivated by Reogh's own desires, but instead due to her circumstances… Be them whatever they were.

“Very well, Reogh. I promised I wouldn't pressure you on this matter, so I won't insist… But I want you to remember exactly who I am. Breaking your bonds should be relatively simple for someone like me. So you should make your choice according to your own desires.” Mayet said, with a serious expression as she looked at Reogh.

“If you ever change your mind… You know who I am and how to find me.” Mayet said with a chuckle as she waved to Reogh, leaving the arena.

“<<May the sun grant you continued success and happiness, Shehzadi Mayet Ibn Raif Kadir.>>” Riona recited to the Shehzadi as she departed with her big black cat.

Nala, who was still waiting for Mayet, let out an annoyed growl as she pushed Mayet with her head, almost as if chastising her for what almost happened.

“I know… I know I was the one that kept reminding you to mind your manners… Thank you, Nala.” Mayet said with a chuckle as she gently caressed the tigress.

---

---

Roman made his way through the crowd, with his height and bulk it was easy enough for him to traverse the crowd and create a small break for his new friend to follow. He was heading to one of the smaller platforms near the arena’s edge, small refuges for the nobility to get a better view. The one he was heading to wasn’t too crowded compared to the others.

Barley picking up what the man said as they finally broke from the crowd to find a few seats unoccupied in the private section. “Apologies Sjan-dehk Cultural differences, I did not mean it as a slight.” Roman shrugged and glanced out at the arena. Sir Mathias and Prince Wulfric were clearly going at it. “You do look like a capable fighter personally I prefer private sparing or a small audience. This is to much of a show.”

Looking back out to the field he could see Mathias striking fast, quick, and hard. The subtle and precise strategies both men were thinking with each parry and swing. It was a brilliant dance of blades between two well-trained individuals. Mathias was starting to push Wulfric, but the prince got the upper hand and exploited an opening with a precise strike that ended the match. A good show for both.

“So, this Lady Adiyan is the one negotiating trade? Hmm well I know that manpower and resources can be hard to come by after any war especially a civil war, what is it that your people are looking to trade?” Returning his gaze to the crowd that was chanting Wulfric’s name, he could see the king in his sheltered spot trying to get the people excited.

Narrowing his eyes at the king for a moment he continued to speak with Sjan-dehk, “like I said my people are craftsmen, but we also assist the Varian kingdom with all sorts of trade to all sorts of people and places. Food, wine, metal kitchen ware, perfumes, medicine, spices, armor, weapons, statues, furniture. The list goes on just depends on what you want and where it’s going.”

The announcer began again as the next fighters stepped up onto the arena, Mayet and someone named Reogh. “This one should be good; Mayet is an excellent fighter.” The smile returned to his face as he watched the princess, remembering for a moment the comment she made while they fought the bear. Her opponent had a strange attire, not one he recognized but clearly meant to keep themselves anonymous. With what he could see being a formal greeting he had seen and done only a few times himself on his travels to the southern continent the two separated and took their stances.

Mayet’s style preceded her, aggressive fast strikes that aimed to test and find an opponent’s weak spot. Much like what he would think would be akin to that of the powerful tiger. Reogh blocked and countered the others blows with a shower of sparks that the crowd cheered for. Clearly trying to use the momentum of the tigers strikes against her. A brief pause and change of stance and they were back at it again. The princess is almost always on the offensive with quick ferocious strikes with her opponent doing a fine job of keeping up with her.

Roman could only think that even he would have a hard time keeping up with Mayet’s strikes in a fight. Speed and size were always going to be a good counter to him, but this was something else. To see a trained and talented member of the Alidasht royalty go full force like this was definitely something to study, maybe asking her for a sparring session would be fun. Hell, a sparring session with either of them would be a good work out and learning experience, imagine both of them. Roman had to remind himself to keep his bloodlust down in public.

Glancing to the man next to him for a moment as the duo continued to fight, “these two don’t disappoint.”

Sjan-dehk had to agree; this whole thing was far too much of a spectacle for his liking.

Then again, he only did know of two kinds of duels. There was the sort which arose – rather naturally, he’d add – from the festive and oftentimes drunken mood of a banquet. Simple displays of combat skill, that’s all they were. A chance to learn techniques and share experiences with like-minded peers. The other was usually a more serious affair. Slighted officers and nobles had a tendency to right perceived wrongs via a fight with none of the usual risks of battle. Regardless, prestige was at stake in either circumstance, and neither was something carried out in the presence of a large audience. A moderate one, perhaps, and it would almost certainly be a closed affair at the very least.

Here, it was completely different. Between the wild and unrestrained audience, the blaring trumpets which heralded the king’s arrival, and said king’s attempt to direct the crowd’s cacophonous fervour towards his son, this all felt like a sporting event than anything else. Sjan-dehk wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it; on the one hand, a bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone. On the other, making it a show, a form of entertainment, felt almost gratuitous.

Or perhaps, he was simply putting too much thought into it. Roman did say that only fought to the point of submission. Likely, it was nothing like the blood sport Sjan-dehk was imagining, the gladiatorial matches that were said to be so common during the high point of the old Viserjantan Empire.

By the time he took his seat and got settled, the current fight was already reaching its end. Even so, there was enough action for Sjan-dehk to see that both fighters were evidently highly skilled. Their blades shone in the light, the clang of their clashes reverberating over the roar of the crowd. It was impossible to know which was the favourite, but Sjan-dehk doubted it mattered. Eventually, one duellist got the better of the other. Judging by the reaction of the crowd, and the chanting of his name, Sjan-dehk assumed that it was the local prince that won.

“Yes. Lady Adiyan speaks for Daraya, second of her name. Our High Queen.” Sjan-dehk took advantage of the relative lull that fell over the arena after the two fighters cleared the stage to answer Roman. There wasn’t much he could say, however. Most of him was still trying to figure out why Roman would’ve brought up the issue of manpower, or the lack thereof. Was he hinting that his lands traded in people? That would be awkward. The High Queen had been especially harsh towards those who dabbled in the flesh trade.

Sjan-dehk decided to shrug off those thoughts. It was far more likely that it was just another instance of his poor command of Caesonian coming back to bite him. “Food, wine, medicine, all good. Dried is best. We sailed far to come here.” There was likely more that the trade delegation would be interested in, but those three categories were what stood out to Sjan-dehk the most. “We have weapons too. Mostly bows. Also crossbows. Sudah, that is the trade ship, she has gems and metals and woods. Good for crafting. Spices and wine also. Your lands, what do...Does it need?”

Once again, Sjan-dehk declined to mention the guns and cannons that were available for trade.

Before Roman could give his response, the next fight started. He helpfully provided the name of one of the duellists along with his assessment of their skills. Sjan-dehk nodded as if he understood. For all he knew, this ‘Mayet’ could be either of the two. He watched with rapt attention, in any case, leaning slightly forward with arms resting on his thighs. This was the first time he observed fighting styles originating from places beyond the boundaries of his home region. There was much he could learn, and he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

Both fighters were women, by the looks of it, one more obviously so than the other. That was about as far as their similarities went. Their arms and clothing of choice diverged greatly, with one so wrapped up that she was conspicuous in her attempts to remain hidden; the other wearing little enough to make Sjan-dehk immediately believe that she had plenty of skill to back up her confidence. As if to accentuate the point, she hefted a curious looking weapon, a circular blade that didn’t seem to have an obvious handle.

Sjan-dehk knew whom he would be watching closer.

After a brief greeting, the fight began. The wielder of the circular blade fought with the fluidity and grace of a raging river. Every movement of each limb flowed into the other, her weapon guided by the current. Her opponent was no pushover, however. She weaved between the strikes, allowing the deadly circle to cut through air where she could and expertly deflecting it with her blade where she couldn’t. Sjan-dehk could only imagine the amount of force that came behind each strike of the circle. He had fought against curved blades before – such vicious weapons were favoured by the northern sea raiders – and they were always fearsome to see unsheathed, and tricky to deal with.

Sjan-dehk wasn't sure how much time had passed, but soon both women stood apart once more. For a moment, he thought he had missed something amidst the turbulent fray. Perhaps one of them had caught a blade somewhere. He was swiftly proven wrong, however, when the ring-blade wielder adopted a new stance and swiftly resumed her offensive.

This time, she was much faster on the attack, with kicks punctuating each swing of the blade. Sjan-dehk found himself nodding in agreement without even knowing it. A warrior’s first and best weapon was their body; that was the first thing every Viserjantan soldier and sailor learned in training. Brandish a sword, a gun, a bow, or any weapon, and that was all most opponents would see. Few would expect to catch a fist to the jaw, a kick to the chest, or an elbow to the head.

The fight intensified with each swing and each parry. Sjan-dehk furrowed his brows. Was this still a fight to submission? It felt as if they were just one misjudged limb or one mistimed attack away from turning this into a very, very bloody affair. He could tell that the swordswoman was already beginning to tire under the furious onslaught of the ring-blade wielder. The latter struck like a surging river, each attack eroding more of the former’s strength, each attack widening the gap needed for the decisive blow.

That blow came not too long after. Sjan-dehk couldn’t for the life of him understand the stance adopted by the ring-blade wielder, and neither was he going to try, but he did know one thing. He’d fought in enough battles to know a killing blow when he saw one. His hands went for the armrests of his seat, gripping them with knuckle-white strength, and he clenched his jaw. Surely, someone had to have seen the same thing and would be calling for an end to the fight. They had to, otherwise everyone would soon be witnesses to an execution.

But no one moved. “She’s going to fucking die!” He called out in his native tongue, but the clamour of the excited crowd whisked away his voice the minute it left his lips. Something had to be done. By the laws of his native Viserjanta, this would be the moment when the swordswoman’s second would jump in to stop the fight by force if necessary. Applying it here, to Sorian, was foolish – Sjan-dehk knew that even as his right hand flew across his body for the pistol on his left – but to do nothing was a moral wrong.

To take a shot from this range at a moving target, and to hope to hit it, called for more luck than skill. Then again, Sjan-dehk didn’t need to shoot the ring-blade wielder. He just needed to cause enough trouble to hopefully get someone to stop everything. A gunshot would likely suffice in that. Sjan-dehk started to stand up, his hand already sliding the pistol from its holster.

A lion let out a ferocious roar. The ring-blade wielder caught herself just in time. She pulled it away from the swordswoman at the very last moment. Sjan-dehk fell back into his seat, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath for ages. The pistol fell back into its holster.

Silence descended over the arena. For a moment, nothing happened. It was as if everyone and everything needed time to process what had just happened.

Then came the deafening applause and cheers from the crowd. Sjan-dehk didn’t join in; his heart was still racing from that narrowly-avoided disaster. However, he did find it in him to look over to Roman to answer his quip from during the fight. At least, Sjan-dehk thought he had heard him say something; as far as he knew, it could’ve just been his imagination, but he really wasn’t in any state of mind to debate such things with himself. “It was…Exciting. She…Ah, Mayet, has good control. Very close.” Even as the words left his mouth, he wasn't sure if he believed them. A fighter with truly good control wouldn't have needed a literal lion's roar to narrowly avoid killing their opponent. Sjan-dehk couldn't say he didn't understand, however; he doubted he'd be able to keep himself under control in a similar situation.

Not that it mattered, ultimately. It wasn't his place to judge.

He drew in a deep breath. "Too close."

-- Oops, double post --

---

The inherent degeneracy of the two individuals trying to argue over some rudimentary nonsense about hats in the middle of a theatre play was not ignored by the theatre occupants. Many who recognized the all too familiar ferret-faced duke had their eyes rolled all the way to the back of their skulls, cursing to whatever gods or religion why they would put them in the same theatre as the Duke of fucking Vikena. Others close by were visibly uncomfortable, staying mostly quiet so as not to tarnish their names and reputation. However, the commotions seem to suddenly die down as the lady simply just leaned back on her chair and went completely quiet. Just out of nowhere, quiet.

The Duke's lukewarm response combined with him putting his fingers on Ruby's neck made one man sitting on the other end of her suspicious. While he seemed calm afterwards, it is the Duke of Vikena. One has to check twice on him to make sure he sees correctly. And upon shaking Ruby's body several times without response, the man stood up hastily, almost tripping on the seat next to him and hurried outside. She wasn't well!

---

John's strolling did help his exhaustion a little bit. Hopefully things would unwrap itself more after all the debacle the day before. This was supposed to be more of a relaxed assignment after all, even with the sudden responsibility plopped onto his shoulders. He also got to enjoy some of the stuff he actually missed from Caesonia. The food, the view, and people that still remembered him as the son of an innkeeper rather than Dr. John Harling Williamson.

"John, let me just say that if Prince Wulfric or the King found out about your return, they will not be happy."

A man a head shorter than John's walked with careful stride, his aging time warned him of the inevitability. John considerately paced himself to match his steps, and with a chuckle he replied. "Not this time around, Mr. Anderson. I'm their guest. Or part of them."

"Wait..." He raised a finger, confused. "How? I thought you were..."

"I'm a royal physician. They can't refuse me." John said with some pride. "But I met them too, I don't think they even remember me." Probably too used to execute or punish their dissidents already, they couldn't remember the face of those they sent to certain doom.

"Royal Physician..." The older man - the teacher, his first mentor, the man who set the foundation to John's success - stood in awe, eyeing the man over in disbelief, before being corrected by John who realized he didn't specify it was Varian physician, not Caesonian. But still, from a dead man walking to one of the crucial backbones of a kingdom is an astonishing turnaround. "It must have been a tough journey. I'm proud of the man you have become, John."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Anderson." John gave a deep bow upon hearing. "I couldn't be here without you. If there's anything I can do in return, always let me know. A new house? Some money? Or even immigration to Varian, I can always sponsor."

"Haha, I'm good, thank you." Anderson gave a hearty grandfatherly laugh. "My wife and I are good where they are. We are away from the limelight completely, just doing our day job, minding our business. We can go home to die the next day and it would not be a regretful life. No need for glamour or a new home."

Probably for the best too. John let out a faint smile, knowing that his empathy for that statement felt a little bit chilly, for the man was barely over his prime youth, and yet he was yearning for that kind of life. Just minding his business, ready to die a peaceful death if it came to it. What happened exactly to him, very few were aware. The doctor kept it quite secretive as well.

"Anyway, it was nice to meet you John. You know where to find me if you're down for a chat." Anderson gave John a wave before heading off on his own, the doctor stopping in his track, watching him from behind.

"Have a great day..." John serenely waved back. With a satisfied smile, he moved on, looking for more things to reminisce.

Not for long! Duty calls once again. Not of an official capacity, but out of his own volition. A man burst out of the Edin Theatre shouted for a doctor, any doctor. He would look somewhat like a madman if one wouldn't take a plea for one seriously. Hearing the plight, John came over to answer the man. Judging from the ravish looks, nobility was written all over his body, and of course he spoke in flowery language that described nothing of importance. Much that was filtered would be that this lady just dropped to her chair, not responsive. Not exactly promising, but such vagueness of the situation could mean anything.

John quickly hurried into the theatre, past the curious theatregoers, approaching the seats of the patient in question. John slowly recognizing both these individuals. It's that pancake girl this morning, and the Duke of Vikena. The doctor didn't greet the Duke much, however, only an acknowledging nod if he even paid attention. His countenance faced the petite freckled girl. He knelt by her, putting his fingers on her neck.

'Still pulses, good.'

John quickly went through the mental checklist in his head. Next, he would shake Ruby by the shoulder a little, before tapping on her cheeks, more forceful with each tap, hoping she would awake from outside forces.

@SausagePat@FunnyGuy

---

---

Roman continued to watch the match in front of them, Mayet clearly had the upper hand and he was unsure if the she was trying to teach the other girl something or toying with her food. Her shift in posture and attack pattern made her strikes even more powerful and aggressive combining more fast fluid attacks with powerful momentum assisted strikes one after another. The fighting style required quite a bit of stamina that even he was impressed with.

Her lack of armor or protective equipment assisted with her fluid and powerful movements, anyone could see that. Even with that after each strike and each block feint or parry a little more of her blood lust crept out in every strike. The predator inside her showing itself more and more. He could see that even his new friend became enraptured with the fight. The weathering of blows was already beating down the defenses of the other.

Then finally Mayet changed up her storm of blows for one last strike, a strike meant to kill. The look in her eyes told him she was near completely lost to her instincts to kill. The next strike would do just that and he could see the man beside him see the same with the exclamation of something in his native tongue, he didn’t know what was said but knew the tone well enough. Letting his own hand go of the arm rest to make sure that the pistol he was reaching for was not used to end the fight. He had to admit that he wasn’t pleased with this loss of emotional control from the princess either.

Nala saw fit to warn her friend of her current thought process with a roar. This seemed to snap Mayet back to reality and at the last second pulled her strike from it near fatal trajectory. It didn’t even seem like the mediators of the fight knew what was just about to happen or paid to make the princess and her people out to be bloodthirsty thus hurting their image. Politics were always a tricky situation. Sjan-dehk sat down controlling his breathing and commenting on the situation as the crowd cheered and applauded the now finished dual.

“No she wasn’t in control there for a moment.” His tone was somber and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “These people are soft, they haven’t had to deal with a war in some time and their day to day lives are easy. They don’t know what true suffering is but you do, my people do. These people play war but they have never seen it.” Roman turned away from him for a moment to just sort of stare out into the arena for a moment longer before cheering back up again, a few of his internal thoughts seeping out in front of a stranger.

“Apologies as you were saying, yes we do enjoy importing new metals, gems, stone, and wood. Our people are self-sufficient but will not say no to new things to work with or new foods to eat. One thing we do offer is a exchange program of sorts.” Pausing for a moment to remember as it had been some time since he talked about the exchange, it’s not every day you meet a new representative from a kingdom. “With this we send two or three of our master craftsmen to your land to learn your culture and your craft and in turn we would accept two or three of your craftsmen to do the same. This is to grow the bonds between our people and kingdoms. To grow in knowledge of each other, to learn, to become stronger together.” he finished.