Epsir

When the Flames Die

Nah, if there isn't a player involved it will be glossed over.

When the Flames Die

Hey I'm back, time to get that announcement up.

When the Flames Die

The crowd on foot had proven difficult to negotiate, and even less populated with useful sources. The majority of them weren't affiliated with the court, but that was to be expected considering they were the foot crowd. She shook her head, and momentarily reached for coat pockets that simply weren't there on the white shirt. An utterly exasperating experience, working here. Although, a man so damn reluctant fit the court of this country just fine, she figured. Ultimately, only one part of much larger design. Thankfully, a semi-familiar face soon emerged from the crowd. Some royal guard, Order of the Thistle, big name here in the Keilaudrin. Kingsblood something, Morgan. It amazed her how well she managed to keep track of the orders and houses of the south, growing up there probably helped train that in. She approached Thomas out of the crowd, what little space the man had around him. The fight was still in full swing on the runway, which was surprising in a way. It was the end of her route anyway, in a few minutes the two in ties would be meeting at the palace gates. She decided to stop for the moment. "Good work in the joust, I don't suppose you'll be entering the melee as well?" She asked, beginning the slow work towards asking if the man had seen Leid at all that morning.

When the Flames Die

The woman nodded her head gently to the list of the fighter's accolades. Military at 14, Brass Hand member, obviously a royal guard. Her eyes followed his movements with the spear closely, bobbing around with an interest that didn't match the tired look she wore. As much as she would have liked to be evaluating the technique of the two on the field, the display was more for buying time to answer the girl's question. "Lexine Tristan," She said shortly. After she had introduced herself, she noticed that another man had joined them on the stands, though she didn't recall the name. He seemed to know the princess, for whatever that was worth, and so she left Gareth and Sophia in peace and went on watching the combat in silence. The spear wielder's style seemed familiar, and watching it was less a curious spectacle and more trying to put together the pieces of what she previously understood about the Lyoki. Her fleeting involvement with other continents had lead to some interesting sights, but single combat was rarely among them.

When the Flames Die

Just going by schedules, the next melee will be between Thomas and Hadryn. Does that sit okay with you two?

When the Flames Die

The trumpets sounded up again, a frown dashed the woman's face for the duration of their fanfare, and then the fight was signaled to begin and not end until one side yielded or was rendered unable to fight. The crowd's cheering kicked up to new highs as the men took the field. Jousting was high sport, but this was entertainment, nothing got the blood going like blood letting, it seemed. It was disappointing to hear that Leid hadn't come to the tournament, but expected. There were only so many places for the man to be, however. She stood up and one fist up, touching her elbow with the other hand, and the other man down in the crowd began to filter his way out and head into the castle. Not anything worth panicking over, Leid just happened to be a great host and they wanted him close by. Her colleague would perform a more detailed sweep of the grounds, it was less likely he'd be recognized around here, odd given his actual status. "That's disappointing, I'm looking for him," the woman said, glancing at Sophia. She recognized the man on the field as the bodyguard to the Lyoki princess, as her comrade had detailed. A spear fighter, and an artsy one at that. She smiled, and found a distraction. "Where did he learn how to fight?" She asked, pointing to the princess' guard.

When the Flames Die

Again, the awful wailing of the trumpets called, signalling that the melee was about to begin. The runway had been cleaned and prepared for the foot combat that was about to take place for the entertainment for the court and those in attendance. The man with the horn announced the names of those who were called upon to fight first in his loud voice. "Sir Jezin Tremora, and Sir Jon Easten, please make yourselves ready for combat. The tournament shall resume as soon as the combatants have presented themselves before the stand." And they waited. A fair time would be afforded for the warriors to make themselves ready, given the nature of the melee fights, but the audience waited only with cheers and calls for their chosen combatants.

From within the crowd a woman in a blue tie appeared, dressed in the same as her red haired comrade, and took a seat next to Sophia. She sat casually in the stands, a respectful distance from the girl she had approached. "It's not safe for a princess to be sitting alone," she said flatly, it almost sounded like an excuse. An astute observer might have seen that it was, because a certain red mop could be seen weaving through the standing crowd on the other end of the fairground. "Did a Karl Leid come through here?" The second statement sounded far less mechanical, betraying the speaker's interest. It seemed as though their charge had slipped or been deprived of them somehow.

When the Flames Die

Benedict surged forward as the tilt, began, leaning into his strike and bracing everything he could. His concern for strategy had left, and he was mostly concerned with planting a solid enough blow to throw his opponent. His lance caught, bowed, and in a moment of pure clarity, sprung free down the side of the man's titled body as his opponents lance seared into his braced shoulder, shattering and again sending the man spinning and reeling his saddle. Even his horse bowed slightly under the impact, slowing a bit before regaining its usual pace. Ansell pulled himself up, barely managing to keep his balance, but the trumpets calling the match told the tale. His lance remained unbroken, and he knew full well that his opponent had broken out a win against him. A fighting match, to be sure. The trained response, he bowed slightly on his horse to the victor before his squires led his horse away from the runway and off to his tent. The first bracket of the joust had concluded, and workers took to the field to prepare it for the first round of the melee, which would begin soon. A man with a horn began to speak from the stands, for the whole crowd to hear. "Sir Thomas to take the victory and advance in his bracket! Dear guests, we break now for a moment, to begin the first melee bracket here within the hour. Ready yourselves."

When the Flames Die

Ansell felt practically lifted from his saddle by the impact. Both of them hadn't budged an inch to ensure that their lances struck true, and to say that much was an understatement. He reeled in his seat, nearly toppling as his horse proceeded to the end of the line. Still, he pulled himself up and recovered, shaking from the hit and the resulting adrenaline rush. He looked at his hand, unable to feel through the gauntlet, and saw that his lance had broken down to the hilt, that made them about even then, as he heard no victory trumpeting going on behind him. He took his spot at the ready line as preparations were made for the next round. He was re-harnessed, and handed a new lance for the second tilt. He saw that he had taken his opponents helmet off somehow. That was unfortunate, reflected poorly upon him in particular but he doubted that he had missed, his opponent was both skilled and unlucky enough to have deflected the lance, in this case into his face. Well, he'd seen a strike like that end far more gravely, and was grateful that they could continue with scandal. He checked his new lance briefly, bearing down and preparing to go when the trumpets called.

When the Flames Die

Okay then, hope to see you again someday.