Fantasy Drums of War [IC][Closed]

[Emperor Sagan]

It was with some interest that Lady Valentova watched the victorious Ser Faralt make his approach to their seating box. Froste's booth was well situated near the ground that anyone could practically leap inside, whether to escape the arena or the boredom of conversation. When it became apparent that the knight was indeed approaching their box directly, her eyes widened in interest and her pulse double-stepped. Was he coming here for her? She was, after all, the only proper lady here. Stunning in beauty as well as mind, a venerable woman who commanded a vast territory, economy, and military might. She may as well be an Empress herself. Vallachia was, after all, a place of great splendor in all things. To bestow a rose upon her was less of an honor to herself and more of one for the bestower. Then she considered perhaps it was for Froste. That made sense as well, though perhaps unexpected, but a champion trying to gain favor - or subtle romance - from a lord was not surprising, either.

And then the rose was being handed away, not to her or even Froste... but to Enya. Valentova laughed, a polite little courtly tittering that was easily lost in the roar of the crowds approval and enthusiasm. She covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes twinkled.

She could taste blood. It was hard not to draw her lips back in a sneer that would spread the blood about her mouth like a monster as her bitten lip quivered. Instead, she licked it clean, hidden beneath her hand and the appearance of a content laugh that was driven not by mirth but by an astounded fury. It was like awaking from a surreal dream and not knowing where to direct her ire, only to realize there was no reason to do so for whatever demented thoughts which had visited her were just that - thoughts. Except here it was all real. Very real, in fact, and real enough that Ser Friar quietly leaned in beside her with a small handkerchief. She snatched it away and stuck it to her mouth as if she were crying in joy, and indeed, she allowed a few tears to fall to further the image.

"How beautiful," Valentova hissed, her voice emerging partly muffled by the cloth but with the depth of an abyssal creature discovering a stray mortal approaching them with a meager match. "I'm just so... moved by such a pure action. What a delightful favor to be given."

She had half the mind to jump from the box and slap that damn knight herself, helmet and all. She would put a hundred men through duels just to wear Faralt down until he couldn't swing a sword any longer. Who did he think he was? That just because he was so good at swinging metal he could insult her like this?

After a moment, Valentova lowered her handkerchief. She licked her lips once again and affixed her stare on Enya, who was wise enough to not look her way. Instead, Valentova placed one hand on Froste's arm again. Just as her rage drove her, she worked through the reality of it and what it could do to benefit her. "It seems our good friend here is now favored by a champion. What a delightful future for her. To spurn such an honor after being seen by everyone... that would be very rude, would it not?" Valentova then giggled to herself again, slightly. "Not that one has no choice in their affections, but it can be a matter of manners."

Another bead of blood swelled on her lip as she smiled at Froste, then she licked it away again, eyes sparkling.

---

Desmond nodded sagely as Rutu spoke, taking in her words with a mixture of stately interested and youthful awe. "I think that makes sense," he said. "There are some that can kill you for thinking about them." He paused for a second, his face going red, before he quickly looked to Marina as if realizing his thoughts were putting him at risk to spirits. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chamberlain. You should meet my sister, I think she will like you."

Some motion beside them brought Desmond's attention to Tamos and Ser Harald, and the young prince turned about, the tassels of his bicorne swinging. "Are you two making a friendship already?" he asked, laughing in a way that was very similar to his sister, but to those who knew her, it lacked the fire and bite within it. "Knights should always be good friends. It helps stop bad wars."

Tamos only nodded curtly as he clutched at his arms as if cold, though it was to stop his trembling. What in the gods is with that wretched man? he thought to himself as Caldar turned away. It was like a flash of lightening, a burst of heat and then gone in an instant.

After a little longer, Desmond turned towards Caldar when a moment was afforded and said, "You should also meet my sister, ser knight. She likes to meet people. Maybe she will invite you to our home and you can have as many treats as you would like."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Siert rolled his head, uncaring about the Lion's thoughts. Not the first time someone has made a threat against him, verbal or otherwise. The sellsword leaned back in his chair, arm draping over the backrest. There was still time before their bout, still time before their weapons crossed. Siert exhaled sharply. Cooling the wrath in his heart, he had ill-need of wanton emotions now. Let the emotions flow like a rushing river, but do not let them spill onto the banks. Coen inclined his head slightly, flapping his wings once, twice. Siert turned his idling attention to his feathered companion, giving the raptor a questioning look. The mercenary has long since learned to put faith in Coen's keen senses; this display is no exception. He outstretched an arm, clinking the gauntlet digits against the wooden table, a perfect display of their improvised cant. He does not know who Coen sensed, but through his intimations, Siert knew someone approached. The chatter of the resting area loud to his ears, he ignored it, walling out the small-talk and the rumour-sharing from the quiet of his mind. Eyes focused.

Until a familiar voice chimed in his ear. The low, whispering voice of his employer, Lord Jomier Kalfas. Siert nodded slightly, saying nothing. Indeed, not even turning to match his gaze, instead dark eyes scanning across the resting area's vicinity. "Bets." Siert said. It was not a question. That must've been his payment sum or a bonus, if Kalfas' words rang true. He hummed aloud, letting the Lordling know that he'll speak. "Compensating." The ghost of a devilish smirk parted his features, before subsuming. "He will be no trifle, I expect there will be... Ample resistance." Siert said, a hard coldness in his voice. "I suspect he won't be as arrogant as I initially assumed. Confident, certainly. That may be the play here. However, I think he'll underestimate me. It would certainly be unwise for him." He trailed off letting the words hang in the air. He flicked his gauntlet, metal digits clicking. "Is there anything prohibited under the rules?" Siert asked.

joshuadim

 

[K0mori]

Calder, eager to move on beyond this unnecessary demolition of a young knight's pride, shook his head and muttered a half-hearted apology into the wind before turning to Rutu. "If you would entertain my curiosity... how does your people's mythos work? Your spirits and all? My people have their own beliefs, though merged with the Old Gods that the North worship, in terms of our ancestoral worship and our folklore. I have not met a Glyrran 'till today... I'd like to bring some stories with me for when I return home."

Rutu swallowed a final bite of fish and gave Calder a smile, as he was asking her a question that she had answered many times before, bringing her back to safe and solid ground. "Ah, stories," she began. "There are few things in this world that feed the soul, and stories, being one, are precious. I endeavor to keep as many as I can carry, so I can give them as alms to the hungering. But I digress- you asked of our 'mythos.' That is quite simple. We glyrrans have five gods, representing the Hunt, the Earth, the Sky, the Fight, and the Wilds," she explained, gesturing about in wide, gentle sweeps as if to suggest the epic size of these gods' domains. "You may ask, 'but what of their names?' I offer this response: I may call them Ka'gan, Orgus, Shal, Vash'ha, and Mik'oho, as did my elders, but you would do us no unkindness to use other names, as the tribes of the Redlands have many different monikers for the same five."

Reaching into a pocket on her billowing garb, she retrieved a small journal and thumbed through the pages, allowing the others, minus Marina, to crowd in for a better look. Numerous glyphs were recorded on the well-worn pages. "These sigils are symbolic of the gods, and when one wishes to appeal to them, one may paint themselves or their spaces with these symbols to seek favor. But beyond the gods, whom are entrusted with great power, are the innumerable voices of the ancestors who breathe with the wind, and wander with the sun and moon. Their song is the one to which life dances. Like the gods, we are beholden to their will... It is the elders who walk on that line between life and death who most easily hear that sacred song. It is by their hand that ritual should be guided.

"But, I am young, as you see," she said, lifting her chin and staring into the middle distance as if facing a long and difficult road ahead. "I am unusual, as I have always felt their will through the pads of my feet, felt their song tug on my ears... I wish to do all I can to bring my people into a state of harmony with the natural world and the Empire alike."

 

[Infab]

"How beautiful," Valentova hissed, her voice emerging partly muffled by the cloth but with the depth of an abyssal creature discovering a stray mortal approaching them with a meager match. "I'm just so... moved by such a pure action. What a delightful favor to be given."

Oliver's father, as well as Titus and Maria, had taught Oliver over the years that knights and those seeking knighthood never did things truly out of purity. Only clerics, monks, and saints bore such purity in their actions. Knights always sought something. Often, it was status. To be separated from the likes of the poor serfs, and bask in wealth and prestige among the counts, barons, and lords of the realms. Other times, it was love. Be it from a lone individual or the love or spouse of another.

This knight had power and prestige already. He could have anyone he wanted simply due to that. What else could he want, as he bee-lined over to a Lord's box and handed Enya, Oliver's guest, a flower?

It was brave, particularly rude, and certainly questionable.

"It seems our good friend here is now favored by a champion. What a delightful future for her. To spurn such an honor after being seen by everyone... that would be very rude, would it not?" Valentova then giggled to herself again, slightly. "Not that one has no choice in their affections, but it can be a matter of manners."

"Manners were discarded the moment Ser Faralt offered the flower." said Oliver, sighing as he glanced towards Valentova. "However, it would be an insult to the Emperor if anything was done in response. The tournament is a celebration, and we should enjoy things while we can."

He then looked to Enya and forced a smile. "It's a beautiful rose, regardless. Hopefully the intent was as pure as Lady Valentova states."

 

[joshuadim]

House Kragh's Viewing Box - The Grand Tournament
Infab [Maria]
​

"Better to know the devil hiding in the shadows than the one in your face." Uchtred concurred with Maria, giving a nod. He spared a glance towards the fight below, which had concluded just as quickly as it began and in spectacular fashion. Ser Faralt bathed in glory and wallowed in the adoration of the masses as he proved yet again his mettle and skill in the ring of honor. "Yet that is what worries me with Landon. He is so brazen about it that I can't help but wonder if there's anything truly restraining him from carrying out whatever plots he might have. Something a more shadow-minded individual like Davin would be wary of." He then let out a sigh before giving another nod: "But, at least with it in the open I can keep tabs on it. Davin's schemes have yet to be unearthed, whatever they may be, and thus represents a threat that must be accounted for."

Both Riseig and Reimar cheered on the spectacle nearby, having watched the Blade of the Southron Wind in action before their very eyes. But their moods quickly dampened and then soured; Uchtred took note of this and followed their gaze to where Ser Faralt was at now. He had offered a flower to Enya, brazenly so, and thought nothing more of it as he departed for the staging ground again.

"...what did he do that for?" Reimer asked with confusion.

Riseig turned to Uchtred with a scowl: "Embarrassing her like that, who does he think he is?"

Uchtred wordlessly turned his gaze back to where Lord Kalfas' box was at, and saw the man giving yet another smug look once more. Uchtred kept a cold stare towards the man, realizing now that this went beyond a simple message. It was a threat. He and the others in their box would also see how flustered Enya became, and saw her quickly excuse herself and leave shortly thereafter. An undignified exit after such a public display drew little attention, thankfully, as Reimar quickly got up. "I'll go to her." he said, leaving the box to find his sister. Risieg, in the meantime, scowled as he looked at Ser Faralt's exit. "I'd have a word with that bastard if I could."

---

House Froste's Viewing Box - The Grand Tournament
Emperor Sagan [Annaliese], Infab [Oliver, Titus]​

Enya remained silent as both Oliver and Annaliese made their remarks towards what had transpired known. She didn't want any of this attention, least of all when wanting to talk to someone she considered a new friend. Now embarrassed to such a degree in front of not only him and a woman who - for some reason - despises her, but also in front of the crowds, it became very difficult to hold back tears. Her eyes began to water as she tried her best to compose herself, only to realize that it was a fruitless effort ultimately. "I... I'm sorry. Please excuse me." she managed to get out, her voice quivering before getting out of the seat and making her way out briskly.

What she wanted more than anything out of the world right now was to crawl into her bed back in Dragonpeak and curl up into a ball. There she would be able to forget about everything else and just be able to forget everything here. Unfortunately, she was stuck here in this city for the time being. But, at the very least, Reimar had quickly come up to the task as he had also walked out the viewing box and joined her in between the rafters of the stadium. Wordlessly the two embraced as the brother tried to comfort his sibling, and she let out muted sobs. "I didn't want this... and now I'm a fool in front of others."

"You're nobody's fool, alright?" Reimar said, "Most people won't remember this even tomorrow." He tried his best to comfort her by then changing the topic: "Do you want to go see the fairgrounds?"

"Anywhere but here, please..." Enya stated, wiping her eyes with her hands.

---

The Staging Grounds - The Grand Tournament
Vexumin [Kyraug], Worthlessplebian [Siert], Breadman [Goldbert]​

And, indeed, Ser Triest looked baffled as Goldbert gave his recounting. He couldn't tell if the watchman was messing with him, but he almost treated it as such until he took a greater measure of the tone of his words as well as the demeanor from which it sprouted. Slowly, he gave a wordless nod as he came around to the truth revealed before giving a short bow. "I'll... I'll be off then. I suppose." the knight muttered, stumbling away to process what matter of horrors lay outside the empire's borders. Indeed, the trolls that lived in the frozen wastes beyond Rainor's protection were of menacing reputation - both in their physical strength as well as their penchant for roasting humans and eating them off the bone. Goldbert had witnessed it firsthand before already.

Jendrick let out a chuckle when Kyraug mentioned interference or tampering, though he did not show any offense to the remark if there was any. In fact, he looked towards the Vayeen with a grin plastered on his face: "All things considered, I would rather you fight at your strongest. How else am I to prove my mettle to the crowds? Especially for a commoner like myself, mixed in with the noble knights and hardened warriors from across the realm. Not to mention, there's no fun in the fight when someone is not at their peak. It's like..." he then said, pondering what analogy would best describe what he meant by this sentiment. "It would be like kicking a cripple after they've fallen. There's no sport or rush in that... it's just laziness on behalf of the fighter." He then turned towards some of the other fighters nearby, some of whom continued to sparingly give glances over to Kyraug, and frowned. "Though, I'm sure many of them don't see you as worthy of that. However fickle that distinction might be.

"Well, I suppose it's the usual." Jomier confided to Siert in the meantime, "You can't strike the groin area... no knight would wish to be deprived of the means of continuing their bloodline. You can't strike to kill... but kicks and punches are allowed..." He then stopped to think for a moment, wondering what Siert was planning for the coming bout. "I suppose this means you're exploring every option available to you. I look forward to seeing the end result all the same." It was then that the triumphant horns sounded, signalling the next round of the competition. Only 32 contestants remained now, which would then be whittled down to 16 after these next fights. And Jomier let out a soft chuckle: "I'll be off now. See you soon." And with that, the lordling slinked back into the shadows to make his way back to the spectacle outside.

Jendrick also bade Kyraug farewell for the time being when the horns sounded, giving the Vadyeen a two-finger salute as he walked off. "I look forward to more conversations!"

---

The Fairgrounds - The Grand Tournament
K0mori [Rutu], Emperor Sagan [Desmond]​

Calder listened intently to Rutu's explanation of her people's mythos, nodding along to her words that any Glyrran could practically say by heart. Some of the details stood out to him as he committed them to memory, making sure to remember them in order to honor such traditions. He held no desire to offend these foreign gods by giving an improper recounting for once he returned home with the rest of House Kragh. He and Ser Harald both leaned in closer to look at the presentation given by Rutu, though the latter wasn't as particularly enthralled as the Wulpine was. Ser Harald said nothing of the matter, but he could tell a charlatan when he met one. Whatever the reasoning for this performance went over his head, but he saw no harm in it apart from some foreign esoteric knowledge being disseminated.

Calder however, was much more inclined on these matters as he himself had participated in a few rituals back with Clan Blackfang. And it was he who had the most to say afterwards: "It's all very fascinating. Thank you for sharing this knowledge." the Wulpine retainer said, his ears flicking to indicate his appreciation. "My people have their own gods, as I said. Though we share many with the Northmen, we also have a few unique to ourselves. We have Scylla, the Moon Goddess. Also known as the Great White Wolf as she runs across the sky at night in pursuit of her endless hunt. We worship her for boons towards our hunts, as well as our feasts, for our bellies would not be full without the instinct she gives us. To this end, we burn effigies and herbs. Then there's also Larios the Direwolf, who gives blessings for battle and death. He takes tributes in the form of blood paintings and animal sacrifices, usually on altars in front of the old eldtrees. And also war paints from said sacrifices... painting stripes and symbols upon our furs."

He then shifted for a moment, as if to signal some mild discomfort towards what he was about to say next. "Then there's also the Black Wolf, Ferris... a dark and fickle god that thrives in the shadows. I wouldn't know much about that worship... it's shunned. And there are already so few who do practice those rituals."

"Because we execute them on sight." Ser Harald then chimed in, crossing his arms as he explained to Rutu. "In mutual agreement between us and the Wulpine clans in our lands. Those worshippers bring nothing but trouble."

"Yes, that." Calder straightened himself and recomposed his stature after that brief lapse. He then turned to Desmond as he saw a chance to mess with the old man. "Would you like to hear the gods of the Northmen? He knows all about them because he's old." Calder motioned to the man-at-arms with a chuckle.

Ser Harald shot an annoyed look towards the Wulpine, giving off a scoff. His gaze signaled: I'll get you back for this.

 

[Breadman]

"Do come visit." Goldbert waved as the young man stepped away. He smiled under the mask as he did so. Slightly unnerving the poor boy was surely unnerved by their exchange, but if he were to ever venture north, he would find that there was very little left out, but now the scoutmaster needed to focus on his next opponent. The horns sounded again announcing the next set of contests.

From where he stood in the arena, Goldbert noticed where his lord stood. Hard to miss the big intimidating man that looked like he was part of the wall he defended, but even among the colorful crowd he could get lost. His gaze shifted towards his opponent. The criers announced him as Kazimir, no titles, only that he hails from the Southron Realms. An opponent that unlike the last one, didn't sound like he'd have a grand goal beyond glory and the winner's purse. Something Goldbert would appreciate. What little he knew about the people of that land was that they were fierce horseback riders, bringing one of the deadliest cavalries known to the empire. Goldbert thanked whatever pushed fate for them to meet on foot.

Before they could exchange words, Kazimir threw a javelin straight towards Goldberd. The scoutmaster sidestepped the deadly weapon and glanced back to where it had landed. Had he been a little bit slower, he would have been skewered. As he turned again he noticed the other man charging against him with another spear in hand. Goldbert managed to deflect the blow with his sword, but was already on the backfoot.

Strike after strike, forced him back further than he liked. He could feel the bounds of their space in the arena getting closer. He needed to take control and he needed to do it now. The temptation to use his gift was strong, but he had to resist for now. Instead he had to use his common skills. Goldbert deflected another strike from the spear and found an oppening to press his attack. He swung his sword downards in an arc that was met with Kazimir's leather shield. A useful piece of equipment for the light cavalry his people are renown for, but in a mellee, it was a whole different world. The blow pushed the Southronian back. Goldbert pressed his attack again and as the shield was raised again to meet his sword, the resistance was lower.

The scoutmaster was nearly impaled again by the spear as he underestimated his opponent, but this made him rethink his assault. He had landed a series of strikes on the shield and had managed to recover the ground he had given up earlier, but this couldn't last. This battle needed a decisive strike. Kazimir lunged again with the spear and Goldberd rolled out of the way. He quicky turned to meet his opponent and charged. Breakthrough. The sword hacked its way through the shield and stopped inches away from the man's neck. Goldbert looked down and he noticed that the spear was ever so close to piercing his body. Again, had he been slower, he would have been impaled. Kazim in turn only smiled.

"I think we can call this one over?"

"Glad you can see reason." Goldbert said with an exasperated breath. Unlike the last opponent, there was no need to bargain and deal. Kazim raised his hand to signal his surrender and got down to his knees. "You're a good sport about it." Goldbert continued "Good fight."

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug listens as Jendrick speaks, talking about the disappointment that comes from gaining an advantage in equal combat. In that regard, Kyraug would agree. It's better when two fighters test their mettle on an even battleground. It shows who will come out on top based solely on their skills in combat. As Jendrick searches for his analogy, Kyraug finds the name of the individual he would be fighting in the next round and then promptly finds the fellow in the crowd, recognizing the crest he bears upon his surcoat.

Ser Rozet of Dragon's Fang Bay. The man was among a few other individuals. Acquaintances perhaps? He was a lean fellow, a short beard styled mustache adorning his face. His black hair is short and swept back. He seemed like an average fellow, but as Kyraug continued to examine him, the knights eyes shifted and caught the Vadyeen in his observation. His head turned and he stared directly at Kyraug.

Rozet didn't seem to look at him with anger or hate, just a sharp and focused gaze. It brought a chill over Kyraug, as if an arrow was flying his way and no matter where he tried to dodge it would curve towards him. This fellow might be his first true challenge. Rozet offered Kyraug a slow nod before he return his attention to the people around him. He seemed to be playing things quite respectfully. He was representing his home quite professionally.

"It would be like kicking a cripple after they've fallen. There's no sport or rush in that... it's just laziness on behalf of the fighter." He then turned towards some of the other fighters nearby, some of whom continued to sparingly give glances over to Kyraug, and frowned. "Though, I'm sure many of them don't see you as worthy of that. However fickle that distinction might be.

Kyraug laughs. "Well, let's just say that I have tricks I've yet to use so far, and I hold them rather close to my chest. I wouldn't blame these lads if they wanted an edge. I wouldn't make it easy for them nonetheless."

Before long it was time for the next fights. Kyraug turned to Jendrick and offered him a nod.

"Seems it's about time for me to return to the field. I hope to see you after all is said and done," The Vadyeen says as the other servants around him begin to reequip him with his armor and weapons. Kyraug looks to Jendrick again and offers a smile. "Keep an eye on this match. I think it might be interesting."

With that, Kyraug makes his way out into the arena. As he walks, Ser Rozet follows up on his right. The man had a plumed helmet on over his head, the visor raised so that he could look Kyraug in the eyes. He carried a spear with him.

"Vadyeen. You should withdraw," he says plainly and with no hesitation. "There are those that wish you death in the coming matches. Your participation is seen as a mockery of the tournament. I have been asked by associates to slay you in this match and claim that it had been an accident. I will not do so, but you have been warned."

With that, Rozet snaps the visor down and moves to his side of their space for the match. Kyraug wasn't quite phased by the admission of plotting in the background. He was sure that there were those who would try and kill him. It was nothing new. Even so, he had no intention of letting down his master or submitting to these dogs.

Kyraug draws his dueling blade and his sap, watching Rozet as the man flourishes his spear and thrusts the point towards him. Then the fight begins. Kyraug leaned forward to charge his opponent, but Rozet was... faster. The knight sped forward, light on his feet despite the armor he wears. The spear in his hands thrust forward as fast as an arrow. It took all of Kyraug's immediate focus just to pivot and dodge the blow to his midsection.

Kyraug began to sweat. He knew that his observation of this man was accurate, especially as the spear began to hunt him. When the thrust missed, that was not the end of the attack. Rozet then put all of his strength into swinging the spear back towards Kyraug. The Vadyeen manages to leap out of range, but not before the blade skirts across his chest piece, carving a scratch into the metal plate.

Kyraug felt at the scratch. The force behind the swing almost felt like the blade had cut through his armor. Rozet was a strong fellow despite his average looking build. The knight does not relent, despite scoring a blow, however small, on his target, and Kyraug was equally as quick to evade. The spear was relentless. No matter where Kyraug went, Rozet was quick to hunt him down and track his movements. Even when he tried to leap back and give himself a bit of space, the knight was just as quick to keep pace.

Seeing little way of gaining an advantage at a distance, Kyraug instead darts into range of Rozet, deflecting the spearhead with his dueling blade as it sought him while closing the space between them. Kyraug felt that he had the upper hand at close range, but what caught his eye was that the knights grip on the spear loosened and its length slid down his grip until the spear tip was held closer to his hand. He held the weapon almost like a knife.

Turns out that Kyraug didn't quite have the advantage he thought as he suddenly engaged in a close ranged duel of blades, striking and parrying blows between them. It was difficult to see past the visor in Rozet's helmet, so it was, in turn, difficult to tell if he was at all struggling with the fight. His technique flowed like water. An expert of his art.

It put Kyraug on edge, but he just had to steel himself. He would get through this if he just remained calm and fought on. Rozet is burdened by his heavy equipment, no matter how little it seemed to affect him. Eventually he would slow from his rapid pace.

And so that is how the fight lasted for a time. Blows taken and blows given. After a short while, it almost felt like the two would not be able to best each other. Rozet's armor was dented in many places and Kyraug showed off various nicks and cuts from narrowly dodged strikes. Some of them could have been quite bad as well. It was as if after all the fighting, Rozet was tired of trying to prevent any serious wounds and just started to go for the what his acquaintances wanted and kill the frog. Yet it did not happen.

After the fifth minute of back and forth strikes, the battle felt like it had gone on forever for the two. Neither was sure who would come out on top at this point. Rozet wasn't quite so confident anymore, but Kyraug's expression never changed. He was determined. From them moment this fight began, he was prepared to dedicate every ounce of his strength on achieving victory.

His moment came as Rozet made to charge forward, delivering another hefty blow... until a stumble. He stumbled over his feet, likely the result of exhaustion. It was such a small slip in his perfect stance that Kyraug couldn't help but lunge after it. Take advantage of the opportunity! He darts into Rozet's range and sweeps a leg out from under the knight. The man falls and Kyraug is quick to mount him, sap raised high above his head. Kyraug was so focused on this moment that he failed to hear the snap over the sound of his sap cracking against Rozet's helmet once, twice, then three times.

That was all that it took to rattle the man, putting him down for the time being.

Kyraug had claimed his victory, and it was a rough win to be sure, and as adrenaline began to fade, it only brought his attention to a pain in his side. Earlier in the fight, he managed to catch Rozet's spear with his blade, chipping the wood near the spear tip. It seems that when Rozet was pinned, he snapped the spear head and started stabbing, using it like a knife. Just as Kyraug had delivered three strikes, so had the knight. The Vadyeen was bleeding profusely. He clutched at his side as his fellow attendants rush into the field to drag him from the arena, just as Rozet's servants drag him away unconscious.

"Damn. Someone fetch me my tools, now!" Healer Illec shouts as they retreat into the shadows under the tournament colosseum.