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On the great Wheel of The Year calender, today is the Turn of Lesus, the Spoke of Mata, the day of Agoraday, in the year of 1512 P.R. (Paphesidon Reckoning).
In the island kingdom of Lind, it is still in the midst of spring. A time of new beginnings, and for those familiar with the lore of the calendar, Mata is the spoke of money, and Agoraday is the day of trade and shopping. In the turn of Lesus, this is the national holiday of Freyday, which celebrates the legendary hero Frey who found a million gold pieces in one day and spent them all in one night.
Freyday is a day of merriment, excess, and most importantly, spending money. Therefore, marketplaces have been erected all over the Lindwyrme Isles, and places of business offer discounted prices and specialty wares to lure in customers.
In the village of Caedwall, one such marketplace has been established in the newly-constructed fairgrounds. It is a modest collection of tents and stalls, and most of the wares on display come from local sources, such as produce from the farms, beer and spirits from the Red House Tavern, and various forms of hand-made folk art such as jewelry, pottery, clothing and wooden toys for children. Spirits are high and the ring of cheer and celebration echo all across the Isles.
As if this were not enough, today is a very special Freyday indeed, for Caedwall has been chosen to host a tournament by none other than Belmont's Company of Heroes, who are seeking new recruits! Those who enter the tournament and win shall earn the chance to become a member of the Company, and be a true adventurer. Spectators may take part by placing bets on who they think will win each segment of the tourney.
Many people are coming from afar to witness this spectacle, and the town has spared no expense in making them feel welcome. Colored banners, streamers, flowers, and barkers and entertainers of all sorts wander the grassy dell. The sun sets the ocean and sky ablaze in brilliant light, emphasizing all the colors of nature. It is a splendid day in Caedwall, and it promises to be a herald of good things to come...
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You took everything he left: his money, his duty, his guns, his legacy. When you showed up at the ministry of war in Adney bearing your father's guns, no one questioned it. They must have assumed he died on the battlefield. In a way, you suppose, he did. For him, there was no distinction. You did not merely enlist, you were hired as a professional soldier. The king has needs for one such as yourself, brave and lucky enough to wield firearms.
Due to your high esteem on the battlefield, you were awarded a squireship in The Order of The Lion, a knightly company in direct service to the king.
Your current assignment from the Order is to accompany your superior officer, Per'Edhel Half-elven, in escorting a strange young woman, who you were told is now "property of the kingdom" and must be protected with your life. The three of you traveled to a remote village on the outskirts of Adney on orders from the Lions, to make yourselves inconspicuous.
When you arrive and news reaches you that a tournament is being held here today by a famous band of adventurers, which will no doubt draw in hundreds of unaccounted-for spectators, it is frustrating to say the least, but you try to blend in as best as possible and stick around. Maybe the ensuing violence of the tourney will prove to be entertaining.
The king was not as concerned with her vision as he was with further harnessing the implications of her abilities. He attempted to have her taken into custody of the kingdom, but the woman refused to help King Edwin unless she could have her freedom. So she was placed in the care of you and your protégé Richard. Your orders were to travel south to the coastal village of Caedwall, where you are to blend in with the local populace as best as possible and await further orders. You were told in private that the seer is considered property of the kingdom, as is to be protected with your life. Any visions she experiences must be reported directly to Herrick immediately.
When you enter the town of Caedwall, the sight is welcoming and pleasant. As an agent of the kingdom, you rarely have the chance for celebration or leisure, and this seems like the perfect opportunity to bring some joy to your comrades and yourself. On the plus side, the warm attitudes of the townsfolk today will make it easier to integrate yourselves. And the chance to meet some local celebrities, Belmont's Company of Heroes, seems like an interesting prospect.
You remember it must have been about a month ago. It felt violating, like being forced out of your very body and mind and watching as something else crawled in. Your consciousness was ripped through time and space to another location, and then you saw it with your own eyes, as if you were there:
In a city surrounded by great white walls, a crowd is gathering. Thousands of people stand in the middle of the city, clamoring for a glimpse of the spectacle they are about to witness. A woman, every bit an elf by her appearance, and young, is bound to a pole of cedar, erected in the center of a platform of wheat. If she is frightened, or angry, her face does not betray her emotions. When men wearing black hoods begin to douse the wheat in pints of oil, she does not open her eyes. When torches are carried in, tears do not form in her eyes. When the flames spring to life under her, and the black shroud she wears begins to smolder, she does not scream. When the pyre reaches the tips of her bare toes, she lifts her head to the heavens. She utters only a few small words, but no one is there to hear them.
The crowd watches silently. Some cry, some laugh, some wail in anger. But all watch.
A black figure riding a dark horse leaves the city, rushing out of the gates as a column of smoke penetrates the horizon. Dusk is blanketing the countryside now. The figure, clad in plate armor, flies away from the city as fast is it is able. The trees of the forest absorb the figure, and after a few more moments of riding, it stops. The figure dismounts, falling to the ground in great spasms. Sobs, from a male voice, echo through the woods, disturbing the silence of the forest. The man, seemingly wracked with agony, wills himself to stand. He calls a challenge to the residents of the forest in a voice full of rage and pain, and it does not take long for them to respond. Shadows creep stealthily along the branches and trunks of the trees, until at last a group of elves, dressed in crude clothing, with wild hair and darting eyes, gather around the man. Without warning he draws his sword and begins lunging at them, and most manage to flee in terror without being wounded. One, however, a young elven child, cannot climb fast enough and is struck in the back of the head with the pommel of the sword. The child falls to the ground and tears swell in her eyes, but she does not make a sound.
"Allow yourself to scream, little one. For it will be the only comfort that I allow you this night."
When the vision ended, you were returned to your body, but you could no longer see. Your throat and lungs burned, as if a scream of your own had risen to match that of the young elven girl. A warm, wet sensation washed over your face, like tears from your eyes. It smelled like blood.
The audience with the king was long and demeaning. He asked you to explain your vision over and over again, and each time it seemed he paid less and less attention. He dismissed your vision away as if it was meaningless, but then said that if you truly were a seer, he would have great use for you in helping him rule the kingdom. He questioned you at length about your knowledge of legends, ones concerning dragons in particular, but when you had no answers for him he grew impatient and demanded you be put in custody. You refused to help him further if he did so, and promised that the only way you would remain loyal is to be granted freedom. The king begrudgingly agreed, and arranged to have you escorted by a pair of guards at all times.
Thus is how life has been since. You were told to be taken to the town of Caedwall where you would be away from the sordid affairs of the city. Upon your arrival, you hear the sounds of laughter and cheer, and smell food and drink of all kinds. You cannot help but be cheered up by the presence of it all. Perhaps this won't be as bad as you had expected.
Freyday is always a large source of income for the tavern, so Thaddeus took responsibility of operating the business himself today, giving you the day to enjoy yourself and the fair. The thought of competing in the tournament tickles you a bit more than it should, as you haven't seen any real excitement since you got here, and becoming a member of a professional adventuring company would be preferable to filling mugs.
The village is alive with the bustle of commerce and celebration. While the few shops here are open for business and seem to be attracting customers, the majority of the commotion is coming from the makeshift fairgrounds on the lawn to the south. Seagulls swarm the small settlement, hoping to pick up discarded crumbs of biscuits and other foods. A cool sea-breeze rolls in from the coast, which is visible beyond the farms to the west.
"Come one, come all, t' the Freyday celebrations here 'n jolly old Caedwall! And when ye've had enough, then stop by the Red House Tavern t' drink yer sore body well again!" shouts a heavyset man with prominent muttonchops, waving a colored pennant as you enter the border of the village. The pennant bears the colors of Lind, violet and gold, with a grey barbican in the foreground. Haphazardly stitched onto the front of the pennant is a patch that's meant to look like a red house or cottage.
Per'Edhel stands tall at 5'2", almost a full head above most of the human company he keeps. His armor gleams, emblazoned with the symbol of the Order of the Lion, and he wears it proudly. His helm held under his arm, Percy's features are sharp and angular, but with a subdued softness. His fair complexion is contrasted by straight black hair tucked behind pointed ears and falling to the small of his back. Verdant eyes gaze over the celebrations, admiring the scenery but also with a practiced knack for seeing hidden dangers. A rapier hangs at his waist. He leads a large white mare outfitted in a light skirt which also bears regalia of The Order. Carefully strapped to the saddle is an exquisite musket in pristine condition.
Smiling broadly, I walk the crowded streets of Caedwall, absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of Freyday. The reins of Arinen held loosely in my hand, the steed faithfully follows behind me, the seer Morla perched upon her saddle.
Turning to young Master Hawkins, I speak in Sheax, "A wondrous throng gathered here, my friend, though we may yet draw unneeded attentions. The Red House Tavern seems as good a place as any to rest ourselves. If you would tend to Arinen, I will make preparations with the tavernkeeper while you and Morla enjoy the festivities." Looking back towards the prophet, "I shall return momentarily, Squire Hawkins will look after you. Do you require anything?"
Ka'ri Ranta's elven features are obvious at first glance. Standing 5'6" she moves with grace and agility through the crowd. Jet black hair hangs nearly to her waist with small braids placed here and there woven with beads, shells and small pieces of colored ribbon. Several small earrings sparkle along her tapered ears. A black kerchief covers the top of her head. Her dark violet eyes are alert as they watch and then dismiss people she passes. Her plain green blouse, black skirt and leather boots are clean and appear to be well taken care of. A rapier and dagger hang on her belt.
Happy to have a day off from the tavern I make my way to the fairgrounds. I enjoy the sights, sounds and smells, many of which are new to me. I stop now and then to greet several of the taverns regular customers. Seeing the many stalls set up to sell wares I head in that direction.
"Riding on an elderly horse that smells of rain and dust almost to the extent he himself does, Richard makes no unnecessary movements. He holds his reins with one hand. His other arm lies under his age worn leather duster coat, out of it's sleeve. His head is tilted low, making the upper half of his face hidden by his hat, the lower half of his face is around 3 days unshaven, the skin rough and emotionless."
Richard dismounts slowly, almost annoyingly so. He nods to Per'Edhel in his typical way, seemingly bored, but to those who know him, obviously keenly aware of his surroundings.
He offers a hand(the one in its sleeve) to Morla to help her dismount without a word.
"Morla takes Richard's offered hand and dismounts gracefully. She pauses momentarily to take in the smells and sounds of the festival. Her bare feet feel earth beneath her as her toes dig into the soil.
Though her eyes seem sightless, they fall on Per'Edhel and Richard knowingly. With a practiced motion, she turns dramatically before speaking, causing her chemise, and long hair to flow as if in a breeze."
((in a theatrical sounding Sheax))"you would leave me in the company of the quiet one Per'Edhel? You know how I adore good conversation."
"Take your fill of local gossip and trade then, this is a time for celebration! I shall return momentarily." Knowing the prophet is in good care I leave Arinen to follow beside them and make my way through the crowd to the heavyset man.
"Well met and good morrow! Might the Red House Tavern have available rooms where my companions may enjoy the festivities at our leisure and stables for our weary steeds?" I smile warmly at the fellow.
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The jolly fellow with the pennant smiles broadly and offers a friendly wave as you approach. "Good afternoon, sir! I seen ya come in from the road there yonder, what leads to Lydney. I s'pose ye come from the king's company, with yer armor and horse, sir? Why I'd be honored to have ye in me tavern, if it suits ya."
He offers a wide, grizzled hand for a handshake. "Ayuh, I'd be Thad Kemp, prop... propa... er, owner of the tavern. It's part of me home, and not really an inn see, as we don't get many travelers down these parts, so we don't have any public rooms. Oh, but I'd be more'n happy to clear some room for ye, if it suits ya, good sir, and ye can stay as long as ye like. Me wife takes up too much room as it is, heheh, er... don't tell her I said so, kind sir. All in good fun eh? I'm afraid we don't have no stables, but old Welan Buss raises horses, so he does, and may have some stables fer rent. Pardon my reasonin' sir, but it don't seem like ye's been here before. It'd be my duty to show ye around, as mayor Rolph is pre... preoccu... busy down at the fair, so he is."
I firmly grip his hand in greeting.
"Thad Kemp, I am Sir Per'Edhel Half-Elven, of His Majesty's Royal Order of the Lion. You may call me Percy if you wish, many do. Though if like Sir Edhel will suffice. My company would greatly appreciate your hospitality. There are three of us; myself, young Squire Hawkins, and our mysterious Moonlight Morla. We have two steeds, which hopefully Master Buss can accommodate. I would ask that you please accept these drakes for being our host." After shaking his hand I will place six gold coins from my purse into his palm.
"As the mayor is busy, we would be honored for you to be our guide. This is my first time to Caedwall, your knowledge is welcome to be shared."
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"This here town used to be a border fort. Lord Sasten Caedwall was the owner of the fort, a man of noble birth. The place had a curtain wall, and inside was a bailey with some houses an' farms an' whatnot. The fort was mostly destroyed by an attack from Valece about, oh, thirty years ago. All that was left was the big manor house, there," he says, pointing a stubby, calloused finger at a large two story house in the middle of the village. Mayor Rolph lives there now. Turned some of the cellar into a jail. Don't see much use though."
He leads you to a farmhouse on the western edge of the village. The sea is close here, and you can hear the soothing sound of the waves from over the rooftops of the farms you're nearing. You continue to a large, red-washed house with a crudely made sign hanging above the door, proclaiming it the "Red House Tavern and Brewery". The noises of a large crowd can be heard inside. "This be the place, me home and business. Me wife and daughter 're tendin' the bar; sounds like they got their hands full, so they do."
"Oh, and right over yonder," he points to a farmhouse surrounded by an acre of field, "That's ol' Welan's home. Ye'll be wantin' to speak to 'im about yer horses. He's a quiet old bogey, stubborn too, but don't put up with no nonsense. If he's got the stables, he'll see it taken care of."
Scattered all around the field, mostly in rows, are many tents and stalls filled with wares. Shouting merchants stand in front of their stores and beckon in customers. The laughter and conversation of the crowd is audible. The smell of beer and cheap wine is strong, as is the smell of fresh fish, meats, fruits and vegetables.
These weapons are heavy child. All of those who truly serve our king bear similar weights. A goodly girl like you should never need to learn their purpose.
"Richard turns his head slightly to regard what Morla might say in reply to the girl, though his face regains it's typical coldness"
This was a gift from the moon my dear, she lent me a portion of her beauty.
"Morla then pauses, gauging the girls response to her story"
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The girl inquisitively studies Richard and Morla for a moment before giggling to herself. "Well, I'm not sure what means, but Granny says things like that sometimes, so you must know a lot like her. Your hair is kind of pretty. My name's Cecelia, by the by. I should be getting home now, I still have lots to do... Oh, but you can have one of these, if you'd like!" She takes two flowers from the bunch, and offers a white one to Morla, and a yellow one to Richard. "Bye! Maybe I'll see you again sometime. Have fun at the festival!"
She tucks the flowers into the crook of an arm and goes skipping into the woods, signing to herself:
"Sun is up and moon is down
Dressing in her funeral gown
Sun will set and moon will rise
Crying for the sun's demise.
Moon and sun, mother and father
Every child sister and brother
Sun and moon, two hearts beat
But in the sky they never meet."
Richard takes the flower and listens to the girls response, and song closely. When the girl moves out of sight, he turns slowly to the horses and takes both reins into his sleeved hand.
He walks up to whoever is closest to him ((and looks like they might be from Caedwall)) horses in tow. As he moves by Morla, he motions for her to follow him.
If she follows he walks, if not he waits patiently for a response.
"A fine community you have here. If you do not mind, I would like to see Welan now to make preparations for my steeds so I may return to my ward and charge."
I listen to the bustle of the throng of people at the heart of town in comparison to the soft rolling of the waves nearby, and take a deep breath. "A fine day for a festival," I think to myself, "I hope that we all will have time to enjoy ourselves."
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Thaddeus bids you farewell with a wave and crowds his way into the tavern, probably for a fresh mug.
Approaching the west side of the community, you see a large sprawl of tilled fields separated by fences and dirt roads. A handful of modest farmhouses, spread equally between the fields dot the landscape. One in particular, a house larger than most with fields of tall grass instead of crops, seems to be the one you're looking for.
As you walk the narrow dirt lane to the house, a tall, scrawny man with a straw hat is leaning against the front stoop. He peeks up at you under the brim of his hat, takes a lit pipe from his mouth and says "G'day, sir. Stables? I got some. Fine stock, this one. Kingdom bred, by the look. Two silvers a night; settle up when you take leave." Without waiting for a response, he clenches the pipe in his stern jaw and leads the horse around to the field behind his house, where you can now see a few other horses grazing on grass.
morla traces the flowers silky petals
"this flower is white isn't it?"
she asks richard the usual gusto of her tone gone. without waiting for his answer she grasps his empty coat sleeve and waits for him to lead her away.
((ill change the part about going to the horse guy since I think Jarrod has the horses right?)
Taking no notice of Morla's hand holding his sleeve, Richard walks slowly and near enough to stalls ect for Morla to see if anything interests her. Richard shows no interest in the wares, street performers ect, and never speaks unless directly spoken to. He stops if Morla stops, and walks along until she says she is done, or something else happens.
((if you think something may have interested him let me know and ill tell you if it would or not. I will ammend the post if something does))
"Aye, Kingdom bred, they have served me well. I thank you." After leaving the horses in the stablehand's company, I make my way back to the crowded part of town to seek out my squire and ward.
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The fairgrounds are a bustling chorus of the senses: merchants from across the sea bargain and hustle in accents strange to your ears, the smells of exotic perfumes and spices waft up from their containers, and the brightly-colored tents and clothing of wealthy people all create a dazzling array of activity.
The stalls offer both the basic and the bizarre, from fresh meat and fish, fruits and vegetables, tools and clothing, to more luxurious wares such as jewelry and scented oils. There are of course carts loaded with wooden crates and barrels, filled with a range of tobaccos and spirits.
Of the more unique attractions, one tent separate from the others has a tower flanked by two shocks of grain drawn on it in chalk and appears to be selling religious paraphernalia. Another tent being tended by a dwarf with a wild, crinkly orange beard hosts a variety of common weapons and armors. A third tent, very small and dark, is operated by a fat, bald man and most of the wares seem to be hidden by a curtain. Only a few crude, risque paintings and sculptures displayed on a table hint at the shop's true nature.
"My friends, I have returned. Our steeds are being tended to by a gentleman called Welan. Have you seen, or encountered, anything of interest or worth buying?"
My eyes scan the shops, and fall upon the chalk drawing, but its origin is unknown to me. Seeing the pointed eared maiden, I whisper to my companions,
I keep myself occupied in conversation, and blush as my gaze passes over the curtained tent's visible wares.
Richard replys without giving any of the wares a second glance.
"Nothing."
On the edges of the fairgrounds, moving among the shadows of the tents is a figure standing at an even 5 feet tall, draped in black shrouding cloth which hangs and shifts with the airy nature of thin cotton. The figure's legs, limbs and hands are bound in lengths of the black cloth, concealing gender and age, leaving the only distinguishing feature of the stranger to be the great unsightly bird perched upon their shoulders.
While the figure's gaze remains fixed forward over looking the proceedings with a cold stillness, the bird's head swivels left and right, tracking the movement of those who walk among the crowd, fixing especially on any who appear elderly or injured. It's feathers shine black and oily, similar in tone to the cloth of it's keeper, head bald of feathers revealing red blotched skin and a smooth hooked ivory beak. Startled by a child's shrill laughter, the bird moves to take off but decides against it, it's wingspan of over 12 feet visible for a moment before it settles once more, head returned to it's pattern of surveillance.
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Serabi: You wait patiently in the forest on the outskirts of the village, remaining unseen as you survey the area. A shift in the wind causes your companion to sniff the air, its bald, skeletal head leaning into the breeze. Its claws loosen from your shoulder for a moment, as if it wishes to take flight, but seems resists the temptation. It swivels its head down to eye level and stares at you inquisitively with narrow black eyes.
Ka'ri: Something shimmering in your peripheral vision alerts you to a male figure standing perhaps fifteen feet away, wearing a plate of steel armor over his breast, the source of the shine. He appears well-dressed beneath the armor, and likely belongs to some form of nobility. Currently he is engaged in conversation with two other odd-looking individuals which you have never seen in the village before, one male who is wearing a long coat of leather, and the other a female with a visible streak of white in her hair.
I take my time and make my way through the stalls. Nothing really catches my eye until I notice the glint of armour. Focusing my attention in the direction it comes from I notice the small group of three strangers. Curiosity aroused at the newcomers appearance, I decide to greet them and see if I can learn anything. I turn my attention to the man in armour.
"Well met travellers and welcome to Caedwall. I hope you will enjoy the festivities and I invite you to visit The Red House Tavern if you are in need of a cool drink. We have a special house brew ale, brewed by the tavern owner himself. I would gladly serve you myself but Tad has given me the day off, however if you are in town for longer than a day I will be back at work on the morrow. Just ask for Ka'ri and I'd be happy to serve you."
"I... erm, well, yes it is a pleasure to meet you, madame. Sir Per'Edhel Half-Elven, Order of the Lion, at your service. I have spoken with the master of the Red House and he has agreed to host my company for the duration of the festivities. So nice to know that Caedwall has such marvels to see, I mean such beautiful sights, erm I mean thank you."
Awkwardly I don my helmet to hide the flush rising to my cheeks and ear tips.
"I assure you the pleasure is all mine good Sir. You must forgive my boldness. It isn't often company such as yourselves graces our humble town. I would be remiss in my duties to not offer you the fine hopitality the Red Tavern offers. Perhaps when you are not busy we might discuss your name over an ale, Sir Half-Elven?"
In elven: "Ja kyllä, on monia kauniita nähtävyyksiä Caedwall."
I turn to the two companions with Sir Half-Elven.
"Might I ask what brings your company to Caedwall? Do you plan on entering the tournament?"
Richard stares coldly at the elfmaiden. He slowly lifts his sleeved hand and tips his wide brimmed hat, though never taking his eyes off of the newcomer.
"In his typical deep gravely voice"
I am here on orders, for my ears only unfortunately.
He gives a stern glance at Morla, before quickly returning his eyes to the elf maid before him.
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A commotion begins to stir as the sound of hooves heralds the arrival of three men on horseback. As they ride down the road and into the fairgrounds, the crowd explodes in cheers and excitement. The horses carry the men out of sight, beyond the crowd and onto the lawn where the tournament is being held.
A few moments later, a series of low horn-calls signify that the tournament is sure to begin soon, and those wishing to attend or spectate should be gathered. The village folk meandering through the market, and even the merchants themselves see a quick end to their business and begin marching towards the tourney area.
"Let us not miss the festivities. Perhaps we can show them what it means to be in the King's service, Master Hawkins." I smile, and making sure Morla is safe, follow behind my company. Though jovial, my eyes scan the crowd to ensure the safety of my vassal and ward.
"morla rubs her arms nervously her braids flicking as she turns her head from side to side trying to make sense of the noise"
Richard, his rough voice oddly softened, speaks while glancing toward morla.
"those are Horn-calls signaling the beginning of the tournament. If you would like, I can give you the details of the battles while we are in attendance."
He then turns to Per'Edhel, and nods toward where the tournament will take place. Richard also makes sure Morla still has a hold of his sleeve before walking.
Bending down slightly, the stranger at the edge of the fairgrounds allows the great bird on their shoulders to dismount and when the bird finally rises to its full height, it stands almost at eye level with its handler. The pair begin to move towards the sounding horns of the coming tournament, the figure's slow even strides juxtaposed by the bird's ungraceful hobbling gait.
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As you approach the tournament ring, you can barely see over the heads of hundreds of spectators a ring made of fence posts and colored ribbon. On the eastern side of this ring is a large table, perhaps ten feet in length, with four chairs facing the ring. Sitting in one of these chairs is an aging man with shoulder-length graying hair and a nearly-white handlebar mustache. As the crowd begins to draw near, he rises from his seat and holds his hands aloft, addressing the crowd:
"My good people of Caedwall and our most humble of visitors, I welcome you this fine day to the Freyday festival and tournament!"
There is a resounding roar of cheers, and a hundred flagons of ale are lifted to the sky, drenching many spectators in the golden, sticky substance.
"I trust you have all been enjoying the festivities we have provided, courtesy of Belmont's Company of Heroes--" the old man is cut off briefly by more shouts "--Who have arrived just recently and are preparing for the tournament!
The tournament shall consist of three separate contests of skill. First is the contest of archery, in which participants will be given a bow and arrows and are to aim at a series of targets for points. The contestant with the most points at the end of the tournament shall win the contest.
Second is the contest of dueling, in which the participants will be matched one-on-one against another and are to fight to first blood. Weapons will be provided for those who require them. The contestant who defeats all others shall be the winner of the contest.
Third and last is the jousting competition, in which Belmont's Company will be personally competing! Horses and armor will not be provided for this contest, so only enter if you are equipped! Each participant will be matched against another and allowed three passes at their opponent, scoring points for each successful dismount. The participant with the most points shall win.
Those of you who wish to participate, please form a line beginning right this way so that the Principal of Arms may record your name and coat of arms for enrollment."
The crowd gives a final spasm of applause before they settle in preparation to witness the tourney. A few heads can be seen moving through the crowd towards the enrollment line.
"Master Hawkins, perhaps we can try our skill? Though we cannot compete at the same time, as one of us must stay with Morla for her safety and to describe the festivities. Archery seems more suited to your talents, and jousting to mine. Would you care to enter?"
Richard replies in his typical un-enthused way.
"Id rather not Per'Edhel"
He then nods to percy and motions with his sleeved hand toward the line.
"don't let me spoil your fun though"
Nodding, I smile warmly and step into cue with the gathering contestants, entrusting my wards to keep watch over each other.
Following the three strangers to the tournament ground I watch as the line begins to form up. Taking only a few seconds to make up my mind, I head to the end of the line.
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The enrollment line is perhaps 20 or so individuals long when Per'Edhel and Ka'ri arrive. A few stragglers stand off to the side of the line glancing nervously between the tournament field and those already lined up, apparently apprehensive at testing their skill.
Eventually the participants are filed away into two groups, and it is down to Per'Edhel and Ka'ri. Stepping up to the short wooden table, you see a bald elderly man with a long lock of white hair under his chin, giving him a goat-like appearance. He clutches a quill with a gnarled old hand, which has been used to make marks of the participants on loose leaves of paper. He greets you warmly with a smile and says "Good day, young man! Which of the games will you be taking part in today?"
"Good day and greetings my fine man. Though I do not claim to be the best marksman, I shall try my hand at all three of the contests! Sir Per'Edhel Half-Elven, Order of the Lion, here to test my skill. I've my own steed for jousting, and armaments, as you can see."
I glance around to see who my competitors might be.
Moving up within sight of the filing line for the tournament, I look to Ilk, ruffling a few of his neck feathers to gain his attention"Am I to understand this to be the reason you've led me here? I'm not interested in becoming a spectacle for these people but I suppose if I must I could test my bow once more. Your thoughts?"
