Epsir

When the Flames Die

The new opponent rode out, a man in far less shabby armor, ornate and fluted in the styles of the east coast. The heraldry upon his armor was the blue trident of the country of Bureo, signifying his status as a knight of the state. This was Sir Benedict Ansell, a relatively unknown knight with the good fortune to have been born in the peaceful southeast. An interesting breed, the knight had never seen war but had instead spent the majority of his career in the sheltered realm of the tournament circuit, mostly out of obligation rather than any actual desire to compete. He rode to his position at the end of the runway, controlling his dark horse and bracing his lance properly as he waited for the signal to start. The harsh, staccato cry of the trumpets cut in, buffeting the combatants and crowd with their shrill declaration, the round had begun. Benedict rode forth as he was bid, preparing his lance and taking aim at his opponent as he rode in hard on his target. It was mechanical at this point, although he recognized the significance of his opponent.

When the Flames Die

Roderick briefly felt his shield brush against the opponent's lance, but somehow the man had slipped it by. His own struck against the shoulder, far from home, but enough to crack the lance to its core. As the blow passed, it the weapon split and its length fell away, well enough to be qualified as broke lance. More pressing to him at the time was the blow done to himself, as Thomas' lance shattered against his chest in a full impact. Under that tremendous force, he bent backwards and away, careening harshly to the right.but managed to hold fast to the horse and keep himself on. At the time, they were equals, if not in performance then in points, but it wasn't to last. He had been slipped just too far, and before his horse had made it to the end of the lane he felt himself losing control and falling. A loss, but a graceful one for the circumstances. His shoulder clearly touched the ground, but he managed to fall onto his back rather than onto his face, and stand to his feet even as the score was set. An unhorsing was a win for his opponent, and the trumpets were sounding again to show this. Boyle left the field, not quite boiling but discouraged at the least.

When the Flames Die

Sir Roderick lowered his visor as the two of them came into ready, and waited for the signal. The king sat in repose atop the stands, surrounded by his guards and a few choice guests. From where he sat, he couldn't make out the man's face, but he saw him motion to one of the men around him. The trumpeters sounded, a loud shrill blast that signaled the beginning of their tilt. At the sound, he spurred his horse onward, lowering his lance into ready and cradling his shield what little he could in his stiff plate. He had been in few jousts before, and the man before him looked like a force to be reckoned with, but he planned on showing his best for the crowd. Doubt remained in the back of his mind however, his week hadn't been the best and there had been no indication of that luck changing any time soon. He continued to charge at the other, unshielded knight, poising his lance to strike the man's chest.

When the Flames Die

He'd been eagerly awaiting whatever Ragnar had to say further on the matter, but his expectations were interrupted by the infernal wailing of tournament trumpets. A frown dashed his face as he realized what came next. Before he made any further utterances about the tournament, his friend in the blue tie was up on his feet and gesturing for Leid to follow him. "A matter of hospitality," he assured a grumbling Karl on their way away from the table. "Good day to you all," Karl said, making a hurried goodbye to the people who had been at the table with him. The pair then disappeared without a into the crowds, their destination uncertain when they were joined by the second blue-tie, the woman from the other day.

---

Roderick Boyle had been running late all week. First his caravan had been stopped by a lot claiming to be Keilaud gendarmes on the way here, a strange bunch of rangers that asked a lot of questions but explained very little. Second he'd been unable to find lodging, perhaps due to his status, on the day he'd arrived. Now, he was just barely making it onto the field in time when his squire had fallen ill and he'd taken forever getting fitted out for competition. At least his armor was still in working order. He rode out onto the field, taking his position on the runway immediately for his lateness. He was simply clad, ordinary steel jousting plate and an unplumed armet to cover his face. The only livery about him was the crest on his breastplate, a green caricature of a fox. Lance and shield at the ready, he waited for his opponent to mount his horse and ready himself, when the trumpets would blare and they'd compete in front of the king.

When the Flames Die

Accepted, welcome to the thread.

When the Flames Die

Karl listened to Ragnar's report, confusion showing slightly on his face even though he found himself far more possessed by curiosity. His hunch had been right, the troubled Lachne was the topic of the day, but the idea that the ruined country was in the condition to be planning an invasion of one of the most powerful nations on Estovet seemed preposterous. But, if it was true, it entailed that something truly abnormal was occurring in the country. Very few official dispatches had left the nation since the beginning of its civil war a few years prior, and all signs indicated that both sides had eventually succumbed to war fatigue and collapsed, leaving the nation in what might as well have been called anarchy. "Bunch of troublemakers, same as always. Any specifics on this invasion yet, or just the rumblings of some angry warlords?" Karl took the opportunity to pose a question, as his red headed compatriot sat back and apparently thought hard on what he had heard. Ordinarily the woman was the quiet one between his two followers, he wondered what the significance could have been to the retainer.

When the Flames Die

"Ah, House Berning, I've heard the name but I don't think I ever managed to meet one of you," Karl said. "I've heard that there's a whole damn continent up north but I've not been concerning myself with the news from it for a while." Surely the man referred to one of the states immediately north of Keilaudrin, but Leid was more intent to incite further words from the man before he devoted himself to the topic. It was exaggerating his skills of deduction again, but he judged by the martial look the man had that whatever news he was bringing, it wasn't exactly the peaceful kind. That reminded him of something... and his retainer beat him to it.

The red haired man, new at the table, spoke up from beyond his plate piled full of food. "You mean Lachne, right?" He nodded to Ragnar, making sure the man knew he was talking to him. "I'm familiar with the nation, but I haven't heard much about how it's doing now." Mostly truthful, he knew a handful of people who were unfortunate enough to be directly involved in the conflagration. Despite the nation's proximity to Keilaudrin, there had been few refugees on account of the few survivors. The young man looked over his shoulder and leaned forward, looking a lot more interested in what Ragnar had to say. "What's going on up north?"

When the Flames Die

Karl had been about to answer Gareth's question, but his open mouth closed in reaction into a frown when he saw someone approaching the table. The young man from yesterday, red haired and dressed properly, but in a manner that was not popular among the nobility of Keilaudrin. A white shirt tucked into black trousers and, the only detail important to Karl, a light blue tie. "You'll want to head for the front door. The fair ground is just outside the palace, just look for all the tents that have been set up. I'd imagine there's even a crowd on the way there, so it can't be hard to find." He spoke softly and smiled only slightly as he answered the question and took a seat at the table and idly began to fill his plate. Karl deflated a bit, but resumed his interest in the meal. He wasn't sure why he despised his retainers so much, but it seemed far out of place to have him in particular watched within the palace. He almost started laughing when he considered that special instructions might have been left by previous kings.

When the Flames Die

"I'm pretty sure they take applicants down at the fairgrounds," Karl said, shrugging. On the rare occasions when Arduin II had held tournaments, he had never quite paid attention to the ones he'd been in attendance of. He had been about to finally return to the meal when a new stranger took his seat in their quickly growing group's vicinity. A gruff looking, long bearded fellow that he didn't quite recognize, but figured was seeking conversation by the way he had appeared. "'Morning," Karl said brightly, bowing his head in polite greeting to Ragnar before continuing. "The name's Karl Leid. I trust that you're enjoying yourself today?" Truth be told he hadn't seen anyone who appeared the contrary yet, although the absence of dissenters was an impossibility, especially at a time like this. There were a few faces out there he knew would spoil his day, but loud as the man was he had a way with staying out of real trouble that never seemed to carry into courts.

When the Flames Die

Wallace

---

The man stopped his patrolling when Tursgud approached him from the crowd. Wallace stopped for a moment, going through the list of names and faces in his head just to make sure before he replied to the man. "You've come at just the right time, actually. The tournament will begin in short order after this feast, if you're interested in getting there early, the fairgrounds are next to the palace. You'll find that there are clerks there taking in names for the various events." He stopped a moment, almost about to walk away, before he decided that further explanation would be needed. He raised a finger didactically and continued. "There will be a melee, an archery competition, and a joust, of course, but you'll want to ask the clerks at the tournament for a better explanation." He smiled broadly as he redirected the work on someone else. "Do you have any further questions Sir Berning?"

Karl Leid

---

"Well actually it's right after this feast," Karl said flatly. He hoped the revelation that it was so soon wasn't going to discourage the younger man, but felt that it may regardless. He would have continued if the two hadn't been joined at that moment by one of the guests from the night before. The newcomer seemed incredibly young, but in her case it only declared the severity of whatever title she must have held. For a little girl to come all this way with such an entourage, Leid's current bet was sitting on the heiress category. As Gareth introduced him, he nodded his head and affirmed with an. "Expert Ex-diplomat, at your service milady." Never one to miss a chance to inebriate, he celebrated their guest's arrival with another mock toast and a mouthful of booze.