The yard is dark, the gray-black sky overhead hanging without a single light in the sky. There are torches planted in the ground around the stomped part of the yard that has ever been the most suitable place for a melee, in addition to the torches that normally light the area. The yard itself is eerily deserted, with the exception of the stands…the spectator stands have a smattering of knights waiting patiently, some with coin purses sitting between them, others with a Lady or two come to watch what the rumors have promised to be a decent showing.
At the appointed hour, the knights who took up the quiet call to arms file in, squires in tow, and wait in the center until all have arrived. The first to arrive is Farin Prester, dressed in darker crimsons than usual, with Urron Greyjoy behind him, nervously shifting from foot to foot in his combat leathers, a blunted tourney axe in one hand, and a shield bearing a crude depiction of the gold krakken of his House on the other. They wait silently, though a few knights from the stand do jeer that they came to see Squires, not prissed up ironmen. Urron weathers the insults with incredible stoicism. (for him.)
Near as tall as a man grown, and sporting what could generously be called a beard, the heir to Acorn Hall enters the western yard flanked by two of his Bracken cousins. Barion Smallwood’s His mop of unruly chestnut colored hair is uncovered and tugged at by the odd gust of wind, as his helm rests in the crook of his arm. Pausing on the edge of the practice field, he sniffs as he examines the other squires gathered there and when one of his cousins whispers in his ear he guffaws loudly, then with head and shoulders back he makes his way to join the rest of the squires and their knights in the yard.
Upon reaching the other squires, he turns to one of his cousins, who carry with them a monster tourney sword that the brawny youth unsheathes with unsettling ease, before planting it’s point in the ground and leaning on the hilt. He tosses his head back to shed some stray locks of hair from in front of his eyes, as he takes in Ser Farin, without a hint of a glance towards Urron. “So Ser, when do we begin?” his glance lingers on Farin, but a keen observer might catch his eye wander in a quick scan of the crowd.
Standing beside his mentor, Ser Alek Reyne, Albin Sarsfield is trussed up in plated leather armour. Mainly concentrated around the chest area, the plates have the symbol of Raventree Hall emblazoned on them. The young lad also has a blunted axe in his hand, looking a little scared if nothing else.
Alek is standing quietly, arms folded, wearing his normal red and gold, although dulled considerably. He places a hand on Albin’s shoulder encouragingly, bending to whisper something into his squire’s ear.
Arriving shortly after and making their way to the center is Lord Jarmon Buckwell and his cousin Coland Sunglass at his side. There is a soft murmuring and exchanging of words as they walk. The occasional hand motion to assist in some sort of explanation. The Squire is clothed in gold and blue, his shield depicting the Golden Antlers of House Buckwell upon it. In his other hand is a flail, hanging down by his side.
The Prester knight looks around at the knights who’ve brought the young men that strive their best to follow their mentors’ examples (with the possible exception of Farin himself). He gives a nod to someone off to the side, and himself takes to the stands, gesturing for the other knights to follow, leaving the squires behind. The figure that he nodded to comes striding further into the light: it is a broad, barrel chested man of decent height, and an enormous mustache.
The man reveals himself to be a Herald of some sorts as he calls out, “The challengers have arrived!” A muffled cheer from the audience rises up in response. “4 fine lads have graced us here this night to test martial skill against brute force for your enjoyment! They are the great Barion Smallwood!” A cheer. “Coland Sunglass!” A cheer. “Albin Sarsfield!” A cheer. “And Urron Greyjoy!” Not so much cheer. “As there are only 4 of you boys, each take a corner…there’s a good bunch of lads…now, when I give the signal, advance and beat down any challenger you like, with any non-lethal method you desire. Team up. Stay apart. Defeat everyone. Last man standing is the winner!” Another cheer. “Is everyone ready?”
Urron does as he’s told, though he takes a chance to sneer at Barion as the Smallwood heir approaches. “Thought you’d pansy out of this one, Smallwood. Glad you’re here; we’ve got business to finish.” And then he’s in his corner, waiting, and ready.
Barion drives his sword a bit deeper into the dirt, before he lets go of it and dawns his helm. “Miss this?” he says with a twist of his lips that a fool might take as a smile. “Never.” He finishes with the last of the straps and then brushes out some of the wrinkles of his new surcoat, emblazoned with the Smallwood arms quartered with red stallion of the Brackens. Satisfied, he looks the gallant warrior, he pulls the blade from the earth wipes off the tip and takes to his corner, bruising the air with a couple of test swings of his blunt edged greatsword.
Coland eyes Barion and Urron, seemingly quite content to be assured that they will engaging quite soon and that he is not apparently going to be the initial recipient of either of there boisterous bravado. He tosses a glance over to Albin and gives him a quick nod as he raises the flail with a twirl of his wrist letting the spiked ball swing a bit in a few rotations at the end of the chain.
The flail is then raised so that the ball dangles before his face, a murmured, “Soon enough my friend..soon enough. I know. Your anxious to cause some pain. Be patient.” Yes…he was talking to the weapon. He reaches his corner and turns, hitting his shield with his forearm once and letting the flail dangle once more to his side.
The boys take their places, and the storm begins to brew. The herald cries out “BEGIN!” in quite a bombastic manner, before fleeing the field of vision of the spectators, many of whom eagerly lean forward to watch the destruction.
It being a melee, Urron is quick to decide that he who stands the best chance of winning is he who survives the longest. Sizing Barion up again, he takes to the center and heads towards Coland instead, hoping to get a good hit on the older boy before retreating a step or two. Taking a center cut and chopping down, Urron aims his axe towards Coland’s waistline…
Urron attacks Coland with his mass weapon…
...and sees his blow go astray!
Seeing Urron has gone off to engage Sunglass in battle, Barion decides to whet his appetite for swordplay with Albin. He stalks towards the Sarsfield squire, with the great sword gripped hilt and blade in his gauntleted hands. Closing in suddenly, he strikes, feinting a blow with the blade but in truth bringing around the hilt to slam it into the youth’s face. “Yeah! Make him bleed Bar!” shouts one of the Brackens from the sidelines, clearly favoring their cousin over the kin of their hated Blackwood rivals.
Barion attacks Albin with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Well that went as planned. His initial thought of not needing to engage with Urron or Barion is at least half right. When Urron makes his way towards him, he simply stares him down, awaiting the attack from the Axe. At the last moment he is able to raise his shield arm and deflect the blow aside, coming in with his other hand to try and strike the weapon wielding arm with his flail, “Nice try…
Coland attacks Urron with his flail…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
The tides of battle are swift, and there’s so much footwork being done in the field already that Urron finds himself closer to the other pair of challengers as he reels from the slight hit he weathers from Coland. He can already hear the shouts from Farin, “Come on! Do /not/ just take that!” But, it’ll take a moment to catch up with Coland again, so Urron tries for the next best thing-striking out out Albin, instead.
Urron attacks Albin with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Cutting an austere figure in black lamb’s wool, and a thick black cloak lined with wolf’s fur, the Warden of the Kingswood slips into yard from north with a care towards not drawing too much attention to himself. Drawing back his hood and revealing hair the same midnight shade as his clothing he slips his way through the press of knights and other spectators while keeping his eyes fixed on the fights going on in the yard. Emerging from the press at the edge of the crowd next to his cousin Farin, he says in sidelong greeting. “Coz. I hope I haven’t missed too much.”
“Get him, get him!” shouts the other of Barion’s Bracken cousins, as Barion pursues Albin across the yard. Though when he spies Luthor he elbows his cousin and nods in the bastard knight’s direction, before edging off towards the far end of the spectators.
Barion for his part curses as Urron invades his swordplay. “Fight your own foe squid,” he curses swinging a blow meant for Albin high and fast over the youth and bringing crashing down in Urron’s direction.
Barion attacks Urron with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Coland watches As Urron /flees/ a from his flail’s strike, “That’s right…go fight someone you can actually hit. Stop wasting your time with me.” He carefully strides in pursuit, but upon seeing Barion choosing to engage his prior foe, Coland turns his attention to Albin and with a twirling of the flail moves to try and strike his legs, just above the knee.
Coland attacks Albin with his flail…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Albin is driven from the saddle!
Jarmon shivers at the hit from his cousin, not being able to withhold his outcry, “There you go Coland! Earn their respect!”
“Coz. I was wondering when you would show,” Farin greets, though watching the field with rapt attention. The cracking of the plated leather that Albin wears greets the knight at this time, and the westerman all but winces. “Good showing, so far. Barion looks like he could tear the head off a direwolf, but that Coland lad just got the heaviest hit thus far.” He pauses only to turn to Jarmon, yelling, “He is a man grown, what did you expect!” ...to which many of the other knights yell back that Urron shouldn’t be fighting anyway, which silences Farin well enough.
Albin, sadly, is knocked out cold by the devastating effect of all three other boys having ganged up on him, even if involuntarily. The nearest knight rushes forward to drag him out of harm’s way, as the other three continue to circle and leap over around and under each other.
Urron, for the most part, is saved by Coland’s blow to Albin, which blocks the attack that Barion had meant for him. Ignoring the Smallwood completely (for what better taunt is that?) Urron pays keener attention to the man that just insulted him. “You wanna see what I can /hit/!?” he bellows, swinging his axe in a deadly uppercut towards the top of Coland’s chest, a head’s length beneath his throat.
Urron attacks Coland with his mass weapon…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Luthor frowns as the young Albin is sent to crashing to the dirt knocked senseless. “He’s too meek,” he murmurs to Farin. “Alek should have never put him up to this.” Then, eyes back on Barion, Luthor nods. “Strength has never been something Barion lacks, but control, that’s something I’ve yet to… oh,” Luthor begins but pulls up short as his squire doesn’t do as he expects and presses the attack, but instead steps off and lets Urron face, Coland alone, waiting patiently for his foemen to wear themselves out before he rejoins the fight.
Judging by his smirk, the Smallwood heir thinks this the height of cleverness.
Luthor frowns as the young Albin is sent to crashing to the dirt knocked senseless. “He’s too meek,” he murmurs to Farin. “Alek should have never put him up to this.” Then, eyes back on Barion, Luthor nods. “Strength has never been something Barion lacks, but control, that’s something I’ve yet to… oh,” Luthor begins but pulls up short as his squire doesn’t do as he expects and presses the attack, but instead steps off and lets Urron face, Coland alone, waiting patiently for his foemen to wear themselves out before he rejoins the fight.
Judging by his smirk, the Smallwood heir thinks this the height of cleverness.
Coland does not notice that Barion has decided to have a /tea party/ and await for a foe to come to him weak and half defeated. What he does notice is the Axe coming towards his chest. Coland has always been about deflect and respond. And that is what he does, raising his shield once more to try and defelct the incoming blow. A loud *CLANG* can be heard as the Jarmon’s cousin responds once more at the axe wielding man.
Coland attacks Urron with his flail…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
“Too meek indeed. Alek just needs to…” Farin falls silent as Barion backs off and stands there. Everyone watching knows what’s going on, and after a smoment of semi stunned silence for Barion’s recent development of tactics, Farin’s voice is soon joined with many other shouts: “GET HIM! GET THE BUGGER!” And then, “No offense meant, Coz,” Farin says sidelong with a sheepish grin.
Urron, backing off yet again after another quick smack, twists and dashes around, running in an arc that puts Barion between Coland and he. “Oy, Smallwood! Do something useful, will you?” he calls out, hoping that Barion will think to look at Coland, then jumping forward to deliver a blow to Barion’s back.
Urron attacks Barion with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Luthor barely seems to note Farin’s encouragement for Urron as he watches Barion and shouts out at the last second. “Behind you!”
Barion wheels, swinging his blade wildly as he turns an angry glare upon Urron. Oblivous to the fact he’s turned his back on Conland to do so.
Barion attacks Urron with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Turning his back is right. And there is actually a moment where Coland looks as tho he will not take advantage of such a presented target. However, it does not take long for him to make up his mind, swinging at the back of Barion.
Coland attacks Barion with his flail…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
Barion is driven from the saddle!
“OY!” Urron bellows as Barion takes his blow. “I said /USEFUL/, not /STUPID/!” The yells are more a distraction from the massive amount of pain that crashed into him from Barion’s greatsword; he’d always been good at dodging it, but today was a bad day to piss Barion off, it seems. He collects himself after another moment of hissy-fitting, then runs (see: hobbles quickly) around the other side of Barion, leaping to swing at Coland as he does so. “He was MINE!”
Farin, for his role, has his face in his glove. “How long does it take before they always forget their training?” he asks to the open air, sullenly.
Urron attacks Coland with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Luthor’s face turns grim when Barion is driven to his knees with a flail blow from behind. Though what opinion he has of the maneuver is kept to himself. Barion’s Bracken cousins are less restrained and call Conland all manner of names from where they stand among the spectators. Barion for his part, groans, and struggles to his feet winded, and for the moment out of the fight as he gathers himself for a return to the fray.
Pain. Lots of pain as the downward strike hits his shoulder and almost causing him to drop his flail. However, th squire is able to hold onto it and swings back at Urron, “I did not know they let Ladies onto the battlefield. A little harder next time, I have an itch.” His flail is swung towards his ribs.
Coland attacks Urron with his flail…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Urron is rocked back in the saddle by Coland’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
Sarya slips into the stands with her guards and her hand maiden. The Baratheon maiden settles in quietly, her sapphire eyes finding the action, watching silently with her hands folded properly in her lap.
“Ha-HA!” Farin cheers as Urron’s axe finds Coland’s shoulder, but his triumph is dashed just as equally. Urron takes a flail to the gut, throwing him back a few paces. The Greyjoy near back flips, twisting instead most of the way to the ground, catching his balance in his axe, and pushing himself up again with an extremely strained “Uuurgh!” The crowd cheers as Urron as hit, and then is silent again, not many expecting to see such fight out of the non-squire. As he regains his footing, a smattering of cheers erupt; that is, Farin, and anyone who was just here to see a good show, or who bet on the Greyjoy.
Urron is angry. Winded, but the adrenline keeps him moving. “Don’t worry then,” he growls, advancing. “I’ve got just the /scratch!/” he cries, and swings again, this time looking like he’s aiming high, but cuts it low, towards his thighs.
Urron attacks Coland with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Coland is driven from the saddle!
Barion grins as Coland goes down under Urron’s axe. He advances then, pausing a moment to leer down at the fallen squire and smile. “Rest up, I’ll be back for you in a moment,” he says before carrying on towards Urron. “Just you and me for the moment,” he taunts. “I promise I’ll make it quick.” Then, true to his word he’s on Urron, greatsword flashing brightly as he swings it in wicked arc for Urron’s shoulder.
Barion attacks Urron with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
Urron is rocked back in the saddle by Barion’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
The cry from the stands is heard by all as Jarmon exclaims his displeasure, “Oh come on…that was a low blow..” He turns to a young man sitting beside him and nudges his shoulder, “Did you see that?!” He shakes his head as Coland goes down, and then looks closer a bit of a concerned look until Coland rises.
Coland slowly gets to his feet and staggers a bit. He looks a bit drunk, but shakes it of and raises his flail once more.
Urron smiles dangerously back, eyes gleaming with a murderous heat. This is clearly his element, something all Greyjoys are born to do. “With small wood like yours, it /has/ to be quick, don’t it?” Urron taunts back, reading himself for Barion’s attack. He attempts to block it, but raises his shield just too slowly, and the blade goes over it and connects just below his shoulder. Most of the arc was absorbed, but the rest is enough to push Urron very nearly to the ground again, caught and saved by his axe for the second time. A little less cocky, but still fire-branded, Urron gets back up, wobbling a bit. He opens his mouth to make some witty comment, then shrugs and lashes out instead, trying to hit Barion right where he did before he was knocked out the first time.
Farin is silent, but on the edge of his seat.
Urron attacks Barion with his mass weapon…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Sarya ooos softly as she watches her eyes keeping on the squires as they beat each other senseless. She looks to her maid and scoots up to the edge of her seat, a soft smile curling the corners of her mouth.
Barion brings around the blade to stop Urron’s axe as he grins. “Small wood? Have you no other song to sing? You seal-fucking, spawn of a kracken and a Lordsport slattern,” Barion returns with gleeful vulgarity, as he locks sword with axes and strikes out with a guantleted fist.
Barion attacks Urron with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Urron is driven from the saddle!
Jarmon spies the young girl and makes his way through the stands to sit behind her, a slight smirk as he murmurs, “Told you. There is that wild spirit. You find this amusing..” His eyes drift to the battlefield once more as Coland stares at the two.
The Squire raises his flail again and looks to Barion, “Such language. Meet My Manner Maker!” He swings at the man, attempting to hit his ribs.
Coland attacks Barion with his flail…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Farin actually throws his head back and laughs as Urron finally takes a spill, not from a greatsword, not from a flail, but from a simple punch. His eyes take him over the stands, and noting the new arrival, Farin nods his greeting to the young Baratheon lady from where he sits, not having expected for the event to garner the attention of a Greater House.
Urron, having spent so much heroic effort in remaining on his feet, takes this moment to crawl away from the immediate combat, resting…or at the very least, testing to see just hoe much bruised muscle is still operable. The knight that pulled Albin away comes to meet him, but Urron nearly hits the man with his axe, and a good number in the stands laugh, patting their coin purses.
Barion grunts as he’s struck another blow with the flail. He whirls and while still favoring his injured side he grins. “Manner maker?” he asks as he begins to circle his foe. “Then I shall name my sword Silence, and shut your bloody mouth for you.” He feints high, and then brings the pommel thrusting out to make good on his promise and bash Coland in the mouth.
Barion attacks Coland with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
The sword’s pummel comes forth and he moves his head to the side as it barely grazes his cheek on the way by. The results in a sticking out of the Squire’s tongue, “I suggest you rename it…perhaps Urron. As it does nothing.” His flail is then swung again at the man’s other rib side.
Coland attacks Barion with his flail…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Barion is driven from the saddle!
Sarya looks up at Jarmon and flushes a bright shade of red, adding color to her pale cheeks, “Well I’m not to keen on the language that they are using, but I suppose that cannot be helped.” She scoots over a little bit making room for Jarmon, “How are you Lord Buckwell?”
Farin looks to Luthor, his own expression seemingly emotionless, though Luthor himself might know Farin well enough to see this as as close to pity as the Prester knight will ever get. “He is a man grown,” Farin offers as way of consolation. And then silence.
Urron, on the other hand, is perfectly content to get up, and take advantage of the situation. While everyone’s backs are turned, Urron attempts to repay the favor the knocked Barion down the first time, dashing forward to deliver a heinous cut to Coland’s spine with narry a word but the silent wind of treachery said on his way.
Urron attacks Coland with his mass weapon…
...and misses by a narrow margin!
Barion goes down clutching bruised ribs and and coughs loudly, and curses. When the fight moves away from him his Bracken cousins come forth to help him to his feet only to be shoved (painfully) away. Then on his own he manages to take to his feet, and make his way off the field, pausing only once when he sees his mentor and cousin, Ser Luthor watching him. There is a momentary look exchanged before he limps past, and follows after his other kinsmen to have his wounds tended to.
“Barion’s nearly a man,” Luthor replies to Farin after the exchange of looks with Barion. “And he has a lord’s pride, that Coland is a man grown won’t matter.” He shrugs. “Seems Urron’s improving though,” he says with an abrupt change of subject.
When Barion goes down, Coland turns his attention to his cousin in the stands, seeking approval. However, it is the eyes widening of Lord Buckwell at the impending blindside attack that cause Coland to sidestep at the last second and deliver a back elbow to Urron’s face.
Jarmon on the other hand takes the offered seat and smiles at the reactionary move of Corland, “I taught him everything he knows…well not really. Not much at all to be honest. But for the sake of conversation…can we believe such?
Coland attacks Urron with his flail…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Farin is about to respond, until the savage elbow sends his ward reeling. “You were saying?” Farin mutters darkly. “Barion would not have made that mistake.” This is said without pity or consolation; it is a simple statement of fact, and one that Farin takes coldly. He finally glances at his cousin, and then back to the field. “The fops up there can say what they want to, though. Urron is no squire, but how many beyond Urron and Barion do you know who would leap at a chance to fight a man like Coland?”
Urron does indeed reel, nearly face-planting into the ground. That face is bloodied, from a great amount coming from one of his nostrils. The blood is smeared instantly onto one side of his face, covering a huge patch that blocks the use of one of his eyes. In a bizarre fit of irony, the lad trained by the Bull is now seeing red. “He was /mine!/ Urron cries out again, still discontent to let Barion have been someone else’s victory. He swings again, and in a bitter (and half blind rage) lashes out with his full might as mid level.
Urron attacks Coland with his mass weapon…
...and has his blow intercepted by Coland’s shield.
The blow hits the shield as another loud *CLANG* rings out. Coland looks at the man before him and steps in, going for that rib shot that has seemed so effective, “Sorry my friend.”
Coland attacks Urron with his flail…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Urron is driven from the saddle!
“True,” Luthor admits with a nod of his head as his attention turns from his squire to the fight. “Some would jump at the chance, but few I think, at least few their age,” he gives the lads grudgingly, before he falls into rapt silence while watching the fight. When Urron falls, Luthor flinches. “Well that’s done then,” he says to his cousin with a bit of a sympathetic frown.
Looking to Jarmon Sarya gives a little smile and says, “We’ll pretend sure.. only if we can pretend me some nice warm wine and some lemon cakes on a silver plate while we are at it.” She turns her attention back to the.. melee? or what ever the hell we’re doing here and says, “So who won?”
Lord Buckwell laughs softly at her comment, shaking his head slowly. He holds out his hand flat as though he is holding a platter, his other hand pinching the stem of an imaginary wine glass and offers them both to Sarya, “The finest wine and the…the lemoniest lemon cake..” His eyes drift to the melee again and he smiles proudly, “My cousin. Of whom we have decided I have taught everything.”
Mid level works, and Urron is thrown back like so much alcohol at a frat party. Dazed and bloodied, the Greyjoy doesn’t get up this time. Such is the price one pays for fighting to the bitter end.
The giant mustached man reappears, shouting for all to hear: The Melee is over! Coland Sunglass is victorious!! The Great Squire Fight is now concluded! My lord of Prester is truly grateful for all of your attendance; and we look forward to hosting future melees. A good eve to all, and a huzzah for Coland Sunglass and the Buckwell colors!”
“Done indeed. Urron will be proud that he lasted so and fell as he did, I should think. Will you come to the next such melee, coz? He will undoubtedly want another one.” As if on cue, Urron is dragged over to where Farin sits on the front row. A few light smacks on the face sets him to glaring. “What?” Urron asks, looking up. “Don’t mind me; I’m dead.”
Coland makes his way slowly to the stands to a few light cheers from Buckler supporters. A glance from his cousin and a salute of approval and and the Squire makes his way out to clean up and rest.
Luthor glances over at his own squire who is being tended to by Watty, Luthor’s Dornish servant and former acolyte of the citadel. “Barion will want to fight again as well,” he says with certainty before glancing back at Farin and nodding. “I will be there.” Then to Urron, he smiles faintly. “Don’t worry, what’s that thing your people say? That which is dead may never die?”
Sarya ooos softly and takes her ‘lemon cake’ from Jarmon’s platter and says, “Oh thank you Kind Lord.” She takes an imaginary dainty bite of her invisible cake and turns back towards the cheers and lends hers to it, proper cheer which is a golf clap.
If what’s left of Urron’s face could register surprise, it would be filled with incredulity. “You know the…words?” He chokes out, staring at the Rivers bastard. He says nothing else before he’s carted away, still staring at Luthor, until Farin gives him a small salute. And then Urron Greyjoy, the terror of the Red Keep, finally looks somewhat relieved, perhaps even satisfied, before passing out. Farin smirks again as Urron is taken. “Barion would not have passed out so,” he mutters, trying to contain his pride.
Jarmon slowly rises and stretches his arms a moment, “I feel like celebrating. It is not everyday that such glory is brought to House Buckwell.” He looks down to Sarya and inquires, “Would you care to help me remove the liquid from the inside of a wine bottle?”