If not for the comforting weight of the hefty axe in her armoured hand, Laurel might have felt nervous as she joined the other Earthican warriors, lining up alongside the Luthran entrants to the tournament. She always felt calmer with a weapon in her hand, even if it were merely the hunting dagger she kept in her belt at all times, the notion of protection a soothing influence upon her nerves; it was why she always carried her bow with her, where possible. The other warriors engaged in their usual pre-battle rituals, praying or drinking or carrying out some superstitious 'lucky' chant or action. Laurel had none of these, she had been taught not to bother with such acts as they often distracted one from the upcoming battle; leaving matters to luck and fortune was a fast way to get killed. At least in this battle failure should not mean death, with all of the weapons blunted as they were.
Not distracted by any preoccupation as she was, Laurel caught sight of the Luthran man swaggering towards her. He had the quiet confidence about him a seasoned warrior possessed and she noted his face for future reference although whatever he had been planning to say to her was interrupted by the announcer going through the rules of the tournament. The restriction of attacks to the head made sense, she conceded, especially in light of the fact few had been given the option to wear a helmet and she was glad for this; the plate was constricting enough and a metal helmet would merely add to the stifling feel of the armour.
"Listen, love, they didn't tell me any women were fighting in this. It's pirate code for me not to strike one, especially one as fair as you. So, I must forfeit." Before she could respond the gates opened and they were ordered out into the arena and whatever else he said was lost to her ears as she filed out with the other Earthican warriors. The Princess, the very beautiful woman Laurel had seen talking to Eve earlier, spoke to them and wished them luck before the fighting commenced.
Perhaps unwisely, the Earthican troupe split away and went after enemies on their own. Apart from the Luthrans it appeared that most of the other warriors were engaging similarly, the Exodus challengers especially appeared to be used to the art of duelling and became flustered when presented with multiple enemies. Laurel, for her part, felled three Primfirans in quick succession as they came for her one at a time although with barely any space to breathe between them with sharp blows to the chest with her axe while knocking aside their flailing attacks with her shield. Vibrations from each blow, both given and taken, ricocheted up her arms but the armour supported and cushioned her and besides, she could feel the difference in physical strength between her and these warriors who had only trained with the sword or spear while she had been learning the art of the bow for her entire adult life and much of her childhood as well; the muscle power of a bowwoman was not something to be trifled with.
An Exodus warrior tried to take her from the side, sliding a spear toward her chest but she batted the point aside with her axe before slamming her shield into the man's chest. Knocked from his feet, the man lost hold of his spear as he hit the ground heavily in a mild daze. Taking advantage, Laurel stomped on the man's already slightly buckled breastplate until it was sufficiently dented for him to be called from the field, defeated.
She paused for a moment, taking stock of the field and barely noticed the swarm of Luthran's sweeping toward her. They were on her before she had time to react and a sword came swinging for the back of her head despite the prohibition on such a move. Ducking, she started to bring her shield round but knew there would not be time and instinctively stepped back to try and avoid the blow. Would it be enough? Time seemed to slow as she saw the blade reaching for her and she realised that she had not been fast enough, the attack already in motion before she had even noticed the opponents bearing down on her.
The man from earlier, the one who smelt strongly of alcohol, dived deftly into the gap and deflected the blow and made short work of his fellows with an impressive display of skill and strength. "Impressed?" He asked, being distracted in the moment, looking down at his fallen countrymen and exposing himself to attack. If Laurel were less scrupulous she might have taken the opportunity but it was not in her nature, nor would it be wise with the eyes of so many royals watching. Eve, surely, would not approve and she would most definitely be somewhere in the crowd; Laurel had not had the time to search those seated in the royal box for her face but was confident her friend would be up there. "They never could deal with a southpaw, poor chaps."
"You do realise that we're opponents in this tournament, don't you?" She asked, bodily pulling him to the side to swing widely at a charging Exodus warrior, hurling the man back and snapping the haft of her trusty axe in the process. She tossed the useless weapon aside, kicking up a short sword one of the Luthran's had dropped. "And that the Mother and Father are watching?" She did not know much of Luthran politics, nor much of any politcs for that matter, but she knew enough to know that the rulers of Luthran were here and would only bother showing up if they wanted to engage in the festival's opportunities and that started with this blasted brawl in the arena.
"I suppose if you're dead set against 'striking' me then we can avoid one another and if we're the last two standing you can, being of a gentlemanly nature, concede the battle." Without waiting for agreement she set off toward a melee between a dozen or so warriors reaching its climax and forced her way in, laying about with shield and sword. The unfamiliar weapon proved ineffective and she swapped it for one of her opponent's maces after pulling it free from his surprised grip and then turned it against him, hammering the side of his armour while heaving one of his fellows bodily off his feet with a shield bash and then finishing the job with a mace blow to the chest. It was a good weapon for the rules of the tournament and she made short work of the combatants facing her, some making the false assumption that a woman would not be of any threat to their prospects of victory and paying for it with an abrupt end to their tournament participation.
The field was thinning out to a small number of remaining foes and Laurel took stock, taking measured breaths to calm herself. In such a place she could not let herself lose to battle frenzy. Without helmets anyone coming across her in such a state would stand no chance and she refused to be the one who caused an incident at such an important event. She did not feel tired, yet, from her exertions as she had not followed the example of many others running around the arena to find a suitable enemy and instead had let them come to her. The weight of the armour did bear down on her shoulders but it was nothing compared to the effort of releasing arrows from a full sized warbow until her fingers bled from the pulling of the string. Much longer and she may become slower as it took its toll but for now she still felt energetic, the thrill of battle rushing through her veins.
Adjusting her grip on the mace she set off at a walking pace toward the next gathering of combatants, watching their movements before charging into the midst of it all.
Exodus truly was a place of overflowing, excessive luxury. It was not the first time that Erasmi had visited the city and nor would it be his last but the first impression he had gained of the place as a young man had not changed. Primfira had its own fashions and exaggerations born of leftover wealth but not in this almost zealous expenditure the people of Exodus seemed determined to adhere to. With their scents and oils, added to their unholy love of bathing in and drinking of blood, always others', he always wondered that they had yet to fall to ruin.
Then his mind and intellect would admonish his personal distaste, pointing out their expansive populace and shrewd finance had given them a strong starting position from which they had only advanced to greater strength. Infighting had crippled Primfira in the early race for power and it had only begun its recovery under his rule, many of his greatest achievements brought about by copying the traits of Exodus he found had merit with a particular regard to their pride as a race. The manner of Erasmi's own rise rise to power had encouraged youths after him to train and become strong, perhaps not to the standard of the naturally powerful Levonian people but enough to raise his nation's status.
He freed his mind of the analysis of times past, this was not a time for such philosophy when the present affair would be crucial to the shaping of the future. With that focus in mind, Erasmi ascended the steps and entered the royal box in the arena. He gaze coolly, calmly over those gathered there with their attention focused on the combatants below. Some of his own warriors fought down there but he had no hopes of victory but the experience would be invaluable to them later so he had encouraged the eager amongst his guard to enter the contest. He had no need of protection right then, after all if anyone was to make trouble it would be himself or the Luthrans and the latter looked to have sent many of their own force into the battle also.
With a wry smile, quickly smothered, he saw Valeri engaging the focus of this festival, the incredibly desirable Princess Amaya, in conversation. The girl worked fast and he had no doubt that he would soon 'discover' his daughter to be a close confidant of the Freyjan Princess. That or her secret lover, depending on which way her desires took her; once she had made a decision the Andoran Princess would get her way one way or another with her infallible guile.
The King turned his attention toward the other royals in the box and made his entrance, his Queen would join them when she so desired, and stepped to the front row where the Freyjan monarchs were seated. Whether or not those particular chairs had been reserved for the hosts of the festival mattered not to him, Erasmi would not allow himself to be considered second although he gave the two a polite bow.
"Your Majesties, I am afraid I must apologise for my late entrance. My guard were rather paranoid over the multitudes your generosity has attracted." A bald faced lie, they had been busy sending disguised groups to places around the city to gather intelligence, but the royals had no reason to believe otherwise. "I confess, I am struck with admiration at the festivities you have manufactured today; your daughter truly has learned well." Without invitation he seated himself next to the Freyjan king, relaxing into the seat. "I wait with bated breath for what other surprises you have in store for our entertainment." He smiled coolly, a polite expression that had little to no genuine warmth in it, before turning to pretend interest in the melee below.
