Time to hit people! Or for other people to hit people. Deva is perched at the seating with the best view in the house, of course. Her dog, an ever-growing ball of white fluff that is really too big to sit on her lap but is anyway, watches people arrive with perked ears and a floppy tongue. Her flask is within arm's reach, as is some paper and a pen ready for note taking. Her hands look red and raw, like she maybe just finished punching some things herself. "Grab a drink first, or not," she gestures broadly toward the sides of the arena. "Give me some names -- who wants to fight tonight?" she asks, sliding a look from her scribbled notes out toward the crowd.

Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven have been dismissed.

Cirroch has left the a cluster of stone benches and tables with accents of House Sanna.

Cirroch has joined the arena floor and pit benches.

Rosalind has joined the arena floor and pit benches.

Cirroch strides into the arena, with a set of Sanna's kitchen staff wheeling a large casks of whiskey in behind him. He points them over to the Sanna benches, "Put it over there." Then he stretches a little, a nod is given to Deva as he heads to the floor to get in on the fights.

The event certainly had promise for it's entertaining qualities, which is what probably drew Nazmir and Ivy here today. Coming in, arm in arm, the larger Prince is murmuring quietly to the Lady beside him. Then, there's a quick grin given as his gaze darts about the area and his free hand lifts to wiggle fingers in the direction of the people he knows. That done, he's then angling off to find himself seating in one of the spectators sections.

"Nazmir!" Deva points her pen at him, then the arena. "Pleaaaase. You want to see him fight, don't you?" she looks to Ivy with such hope in her eyes.

Delicate slippers may not be the typical footwear to tread upon the sandy floor, but they help to establish the young woman as a spectator. Wearing a friendly smile on her face, red hair identifies Aine as someone who ought to be familiar with the Redrain grounds. As she enters the Arena, it is clear she is less familiar with the place itself by the expression on her face. Dark, wide eyes soak up the atmosphere, glancing around from the seating area to the fighting pits, as she navigates her skirts, so not to pick up dirt with their hems. Hearing the call for fighters, she shakes her head quickly, as if there might be doubt. The young woman lets her smile remain as she makes her way to where spectators situate themselves. Catching her house colors accenting a cluster of chairs and tables, she identifies herself by sitting there.

Aine has joined the a cluster of tables and chairs with accents of House Halfshav.

Rosalind comes running in with a big smile on her face. She's a northerner. There's supposed to be fighting. OF COURSE SHE'S HEAR! "Am I late,"she calls out to anyone. Spying Deva, she waves. "Oh! I should head THIS way,"and dashes to the pits. Practically bouncing on her toes. "Can I get a drink first? Can I fight WITH a drink?"

"Of course you can fight with a drink," Deva tells Rosalind, waving her flask at the woman. "In fact, that gets you bonus points in my eyes. Rosalind with five extra points," she starts jotting that down. Is there a system? Does the system make sense to anyone but her? Probably not. "Anyone else?" she calls out, looking around.

Raven arrives, sans her usual armory but bundled against the cold, all but her nose and verdant eyes peeking out through her coat and hat, shivering and desperately scanning for the nearest source of heat to thaw herself out by.

Cirroch smiles to Roaslind, then points at the large cask of whiskey at the Sanna stone seats. "Have at it!" Then looking over to Deva, "Of course there's points, right! We're just going to start drinking then!" He raises his arm and Ansgar is bringing the cask over to the benches by the pit. "This is easier."

Raven calls out, "I'll fight! Apologies, ice in my ears!"

Piccola has joined the arena floor and pit benches.

Raven has joined the arena floor and pit benches.

Looking over in the direction of Deva, Nazmir is barking out a laugh at her, "People are not yet ready to see my style of dance fighting, Cousin! Plus, it looks like you're getting some fighters in there now, anyways." A grin is flashed and upon his way towards some of the seating, he's snagging up a drink in the process.

Ivy chuckles at what's murmured to her, giving him a nod and smile before looking around for any familiar faces. The sound of her name has her looking around before blinking, "Oh no. Naz is no fighter. Its part of what I like about him. I patch up fighters all the time. Its nice to have someone I don't have to patch up." She flashes a brief grin towards Deva before moving with Nazmir towards some seating.

Rosalind winks at Deva, grinning. "Sounds good to me." She doesn't have to understand the point system before darting off to grab that whiskey first. "Best. Idea. EVER!" Recognizing Ivy, the tall Ravenseye lifts her hand in a wave. "Hi Lady Ivy! And her betrothed!" There's a flash of a smile at Raven too. "Hi again, Raven. It's been a long time!"

Someone who doesn't look like they're here to do any brawling is Cristoph, who comes wandering in from the street. He's probably fairly out of place among the Northerners, but he's making an appearance. A wave is given to Deva but he doesn't move to interrupt her hosting duties. He dips through the crowds, another wave offered to Ivy and Nazmir before he finds Aine over at the Halfshav table and decides that's a suitable place to settle down for the time being. "Hello, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it, Lady Aine?" he wonders as he takes up a seat.

"Go say hi to Lady Aine!" Deva sends her dog, Avalanche, over to run toward the Halfshav table. She waves at the woman with a smile and her pen in hand. The fluffy puppy bounds across the way to go greet her.

Nazmir has joined the opulent box seating bearing the sigil of House Redrain.

Cristoph has joined the a cluster of tables and chairs with accents of House Halfshav.

Raven waves to Rosalind as she strides towards the arena, "IT has been a while! Good evening, My lady! You're looking well! Lovely as always!"


When //isn't// Piccola attending some sort of martial contest?

Seriously, the Littlest of Snakes always seems to join these bouts. Does she win them? Hardly ever. She probably just enjoys mixing it up with people. And why not? What nobler pursuit could there be for a small woman that going toe-to-toe against men and women bigger than her? Is it not in the nature of pomeranians to pick fights with bigger dawgs? Yeah.

Anyhow, from the door to the ring she goes, mumbling to no one in particular: "Sorry, I'm late."



"Hello Lady Rosalind! Good luck in the ring!" Ivy calls back with a smile and wave towards the Ravenseye. She likewise picks up a drink on ehr wave, lifting a wave towards Cristoph with a smile, "Hello Duke Laurent! Lovely to see you here!" Then she's looking to Nazmir, "I recognize more people than I thought I would..." Just then, Piccola enters and she's lifting a hand towards the lady, "Hello General!"

"Mmmhmm. No patching me. Don't worry about that, Ivy." A grin is given to her and then Nazmir catching the wave from Cristoph and he's lifting his hand, to return it, along with, "Duke Christoph. Welcome!" A glance over towards Rosalind and there's a quick laugh, "Hi!" When his gaze slides over towards Cirroch, there's a wicked grin and he's lifting his voice to call out to amongst the others, "10,000 silver to whoever lands a hit on that short Sanna over there!"

"OKAY." Deva yells this in an effort to draw some attention to herself, because she's supposed to be running this show and all. She rises from her seat and leans a hip against the table, looking down at her notes before she shrugs and drops them to the table surface. "Welcome to the fight, blah blah, we're all here to punch something or watch people punch something, right?" She looks around as if to verify this. "Marquis Cirroch and General Piccola, you fight each other. Or not. Lady Rosalind and Raven you fight each other. Or not. Honestly, I'm not here to tell you how to live your life. If you decide you want to start-- I dunno. Throwing chairs or something," she looks around, eyes slightly narrowed. "That might be cool." Is she drunk? She might be drunk. "So yeah, just like... start fighting and stuff. Bonus points for cool shit." A hand lifts to push her hair out of her face before she slumps back into her chair.

Deft fingers unbutton her coat, as she settles down at one of the chairs, careful to guide her skirt in the process. It isn't a few moment that she hears a familiar voice and she looks up to see Cristoph settling down in her section. Her smile widens at the sight of him, "Duke Laurent, lovely to see you again. It has. It's amazing how quickly life can cause us to get caught up in it. And how have you been? Fairing well, I hope?," she is polite and friendly. And while she gives the man most of her attention, it's quickly diverted towards the fluffy and excitable ball of fur dashing towards her. Catching sight of Avalanche's owner, she flashes an ever brighter smile at Deva, waving across the arena before her hands are busied by greeting the animal. "Aren't you a darling," she says to the creature, before looking back at Cristoph to catch his response.

Half way through his first /sip/ of the Sanna whiskey that wass brought with and he's already trying to contain his laughter, snorting on some of the drink. Looking up at Nazmir in the stands, "10,000 silver is all I'm worth to you?! You can do better than that Naz!" He's then looking towards Raven, and pointing at himself. Replying to only those at the pit benches.

Raven's head tilts back and laughs when Cirroch indicates himself and salutes with her whiskey, draining it and looking around to Rosalind, "Well, my lady, it seems we are to dance. Do forgive me if I'm not the challenge these notherners would be."

Nazmir is overheard praising Ivy.

Nazmir is overheard praising Deva.

Nazmir is overheard praising Cirroch.

Ivy turns towards Cirroch and grins, "We have a wedding to pay for! Be glad he's willing to part with that much!" Chuckling, she looks back to Naz and murmurs something to him, giving a squeeze to his arm after.


Well, her name was called.

Piccola casually begins to drop her weapons down on a bench at the pit. She knows Raven and Lady Rosalind, so the gentleman present must be her fight partner. "I suppose this would be a poor time, m'lord, to suggest that we discuss trade arrangements? One of the first people I met almost two years ago was your sister, Lady Tila, and we talked at length about an agreement between House Tessere and House Sanna." Beat. "Should we take off our armors and formally do this? Else, we could simply brawl and see which one of us taps out, yeah?"

She wanders off to find a tankard of ale meanwhile.



With a variety of waves and greetings given, Cristoph leans his elbows onto the table and begins to speak, only to be distracted by the arrival of Deva's dog. He leans a bit over to the side to catch a glimpse of Avalanche, smiling briefly as he glances over in the direction it came from. Then it's back to Aine again, "I've been well enough, all things considered. I've been trying to make the social rounds. I need to head to a meeting shortly but I would be a terrible friend if I didn't at least make a showing to Princess Deva's event. Have you had the opportunity to say hello to her yet?" he wonders, gesturing the woman that is currently relaxing in her chair across the weay.

Rosalind gasps at Raven! GASPS! "It will be fun no matter what,"Rosa declares with a nod of certainty. There's a familiar voice causing the redhead to turn her head. "Hi General Piccola! How are you?! I haven't seen you in a really long time! How are you!"

"Well, if you want, Cir, I could lower it to 5,000?" A grin tugs back to his lips with that and then Nazmir is leaning in to listen to what Ivy murmurs to him as he settles back into his seat.


*** Raven has called for an opposing check with Rosalind. ***
Raven checks strength and brawl at easy. Raven is successful.
Rosalind checks strength and brawl at easy. Botch! Rosalind fails badly.
*** Raven is the winner. ***

"If she's too much I'll call her back!" Deva calls out to Aine across the way, giving the woman a smile as well as Cristoph, accompanied by a brief wiggle of her flask. "FIGHT!" she calls out, impatiently so. "Bonus points to the first person to throw a punch!" There we go.

Raven grins at Rosalind, "Well yes, I came to have fun and get hit in the face a lot. Hopefully I'll leave better unarmed than I came, hopefully you won't hurt my pretty looks any!" She gives a broad cheeky grin and trots to a patch of the arena so they won't bump into other combatants.

Cirroch smiles to Ivy then finishes the first drink. "Ivy! We'll send something over via ballista, rain some diamonds upon the house? Yeah?" He then hands the goats horn over to Ansgar to get another pour as he looks to Piccola. "This is an negotiation that I can understand. Brawl and agreements, with plenty to drink." The marquis then starts to strip out of his armors, left bare chested with leggings and the house sigil hanging from his belt.

As he's heading over to the fighting pit Ansgar hands him the refilled horn. Nodding to the cask and Piccola, "Ansgar. Make sure that the General gets some whiskey as well. This IS a trade negotiation after all."

Raven has left the arena floor and pit benches.

Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven have been dismissed.

"Winner gets to fight me!" Deva yelp. Is this really incentive? Who knows. She looks really squirmy in her seat though.

One hand scratches lightly between the dogs ears, while the other rests politely in her hand. The dog enjoys the attention no doubt, ignoring the conversation as it unfolds at the table. "We've exchanged a number of missives, but our adventures have yet to unfold. I suspect it will be the most fun, when it does," the young woman talks in a comfortable and casual manner, at her table. Noting that Cristoph has a meeting, Aine offers some conversation in the meantime. Catching Deva's shout, Aine is quick to shake her head. Her warm smile to Deva is response enough that she enjoys the company of the pooch. Aine doesn't seem the type to shout, but manages her communications clear enough. Her eyes drift to the combatants, and her brows lift in unison. "Are you familiar with all the contestants, Duke?," she asks of Cristoph. "I'm afraid I've only met the Marquis, so I can't say who might be favored." Aine chats quietly.


Under her armors, Piccola's wearing light, airy clothes.

"Lady Ravenseye," she calls out, holding up her free hand, the other being laden by her tankard. Then, back to business. "If you will, m'lord, I prefer ale before a good fight." She appraises him, shrugs her shoulders, and calmly undoes the top of her tunic. If he's going to go bare-chested, so will she. Breasts bared -- calm y'selves, she ain't blessed with vast tracts of land -- the Lycene warrior tilts her tankard up and drinks down her ale like a woman possessed. Glug, glug, glug. After, she belches thunderously, and then says, "Time to tumble, then."

So, she hurls her tankard in Cirroch's direction, and then rushes at him.



One hand has a glass of whiskey, the other is--well---nothing. When Raven strides into the ring, Rosa is ready and immediately darts forward, fist raised. But for some reason, the Ravenseye is a bit more exicted than usual. Or it's the drink. Because she goes flying. FLYING FORWARD. Causing her to crash into into Raven. Her drink spilling all over, drenching the other woman. The balled up fist, it may have grazed her, while falling.

"YEAH! Get into it, Rosalind!" Deva should not be as pleased about spilled alcohol as she is. "Show her what's up, Raven!" There are scribbles all over her page now. Bonus points for everyone.

As the brawling begins, Cristoph peers over at the people fighting. "This is very different from our own martial events," he says to Aine. "I don't know them too well, but I'd say General Piccola has a good fighting chance. Especially if anyone underestimates her." Then he leans back in the chair, his eyes traveling over to Deva. Something causes him to laugh and he reaches into his cloak, fishing for something. From it he pulls out a pack of playing cards. He waits until the Princess is looking at him again and he gives them a little shake. Like he's deliberately /goading/ her about something. Then he turns back to Aine, "She's very good company," he says of Deva.

Deva shouts from nearby, "FIRST PERSON TO GET MY CARDS BACK FROM DUKE CRISTOPH GETS EXTRA BONUS POINTS."


Cirroch nods with a smile, "Ale. Noted." Off to a great start... Tila would be so... /happy./ He sips at the Whiskey as it Piccola raises her tankard, then is side stepping as he watches it start to fly at him. Goat's horn in one hand, wiping his chin with the other. He curiously watches as she rushes towards him and starts to laugh. "We should get you a plushie to throw too!"

"GET YOUR OWN CARDS BACK," Cristoph calls back over.

Deva plants her palms on the table and sits up a little as she yells, eyes narrowed at Cristoph. Did he sign up? No. Too bad. She does crack a smile though, which might make it really hard to tell how serious she is or not. Back into her seat she plops, ink smeared across her scraped knuckles of her left hand and flask in her right. As he yells back, her eyes flare open with challenge. "FINE. I WILL." She rises -again- and, well, she rushes madly for the Duke to get her cards back. There will probably be chairs tipped over in her wake.


*** Deva has called for an opposing check with Cristoph. ***
Deva checks strength and brawl at easy. Deva is successful.
Cristoph checks strength and brawl at easy. Botch! Cristoph fails completely.
*** Deva is the winner. ***

"This-isn't-going-as planned,"Rosa gasps, as Raven is clearly definitely, most certainly, showing her 'what's up'.

Soulful eyes dart from combatant to combatant and while the young woman isn't surprised by what she sees, she doesn't look like one to have much experience with it. At the explanation of General Piccola, her attention diverts to the other woman, watching her with interest for a moment. About to nod in understanding to Cristoph, she hears Deva's words carry across the Arena. Her brows perk once more and her smile brightens, she doesn't know what's going on, but it still looks like fun to her. She speaks with a lean to Cristoph, "it looks as though you've a mark on your head Duke. I'm afraid I won't offer to defend you, House loyalties and all," she says with sincere apologies, masking her laughter. As Deva lunges towards Cristoph, Aine goes silent and her eyes wide, lips part in a gasp, about to enjoy a front row seat.


*** Cirroch has called for an opposing check with Piccola. ***
Cirroch checks strength and brawl at easy. Cirroch is successful.
Piccola checks strength and brawl at easy. Botch! Piccola fails badly.
*** Cirroch is the winner. ***


With her tankard thrown, it is -- or will be -- fightin' time.

And that means that the General doesn't respond verbally. She has all of the scrappiness of a guttersnipe urchin. To say she is physically overpowering would be highly misleading; rather, in more modern terms, she is a striker that relies on her speed and tenacity to win the day. Tough? Oh, sure, she looks the part, what with all of those scars on her body, the signs of the various battles she been in and mistakes she's made. But today, a straight-punch to the chin catches Piccola just //so//, and fells her on her ass in one shot.

Stunned, and staring up at the sky, the General reproaches herself eloquently: "Fuck."



Cirroch has fought Piccola before, and was prepared for this to go much longer than... well, one punch. He finishes the /sip/ and tosses the horn over towards Ansgar. "Refill that!" then he's looking to Piccola, offering a hand up. "We can try again after some more drinks if you'd like."

Deva is overheard praising Piccola: YEAH!

Deva is overheard praising Rosalind: Splash damage.

Deva is overheard praising Cirroch: Oof!

Cirroch is overheard praising Deva.

Guess who absolutely didn't expect that Deva would get up from her chair, cross the room, and literally tackle him out of his own seat? Yeah. That person is Cristoph. He's knocked CLEAR from where he was sitting having a conversation with Aine, after having made the dubious decision to turn his /back on Deva/. "Yeah, what is she going to do? She's hosting!" He doesn't see this coming at all. Oh, Oathlanders. He doesn't see the lunge. In fact, he's /laughing/. Right up until the moment that "OOOOF," he goes down in a flailing of limbs and furniture. There is now a mad scrabble on the floor as he attempts to keep his hands on the deck of playing cards. But she can probably pry them free from him, she has a serious advantage here.


Piccola pulls herself up with Cirroch's help.

"Oh, maybe, but -- " She shrugs. " -- I lost. And this is a tournament." She chin-bobs towards Raven. "That's your next opponent, m'lord. We can fight again or talk -- " The General checks her mouth, and dabs at where it is split. " -- talk about trade later." Beat. "The Blackheart awaits. Then, after that, the Princess."

"Once she's done beating on the Duke of Bees."



Rosalind mutters not happy at all. Not that she lost. But because she wasted whiskey! "I'm really sorry, Raven,"Rosa apologizes as Rosa herself is rubbing her face. "Good luck with Cirroch there,"and hurries off to get another drink. TO NOT spill.

Rosalind has left the arena floor and pit benches.

Rosalind has joined the a small gazebo with a sea motif in the style of House Ravenseye.

"Do it again!" Deva yells at those in the arena while she runs, perhaps claiming the title of the Worst Hostess Ever. She does mouth a 'sorry' at Aine because the woman is right there at the same table as the Duke she's about to literally tackle to the ground. It might be alarming how... feral she seems in all this, like something has snapped inside her. Who knows what she was up to all those years she's been away! "Aaaaah!" Yes, there are triumphant sound effects. "Give them back! GIVE THEM BACK!" she thumps Cristoph's arm, smelling of whiskey and sounding like an angry little bear. There is literally nothing ladylike about anything she's doing right now, and she's throwing all of her (too scrawny) frame into this. Breathless, she seizes her deck and rolls away, sprawled on the ground. Her expression is a strange mixture of pride and frustration and weirdly, fear? She's a mess. "Anyway." Breathe in, breathe out.

Cirroch has his whiskey refilled and nods to Raven. Turning to Piccola first, "We can talk later then." Back towards Raven, "Where's your goat horn? It should be filled."

Didn't Cristoph say when he got here 'I have a meeting tonight' because he still does have that meeting. Except now he's definitely going to be late because he got involved with rolling around on the actual floor of this place with Deva. Strangely, this doesn't come across as... wholly unexpected? Now that the initial shock of finding himself on the floor has passed. "NO!" and then another, "No!" He scrabbles for the deck but in the end, she has it in her hands. He flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Then he's looking around at the floor, which has floor stuff on it. Stuff that is now on him. He lifts an arm and realizes it's damp with some ale that was there. "Oh, good." He lets his arm drop and turns his head to stare at her and exhale breathlessly, "You win."

Aine's resolve is impeccable, she sits perched in her chair, hands clasped together in her lap. Her back is arched and her shoulders straight, the picture of a lady as she watches Deva attach Cristoph. Her smile doesn't waiver and she shrugs off the silent sorry she missed. This was after all a fight, and a fight she gets to watch. Aine spectates the chaos at her table, brushing her skirt slightly, so no one catches up in it. The young woman seems keen to see who emerges the victor, but it's obvious, that though it's a difficult choice, she favours Deva. When Deva seizes the deck, Aine is unsure what to do, so she reverts back to years of etiquette classes, and she gives a polite clap, "bravo," she says to the winner, Deva, acknowledging her feat.

(repose for winging it!)

Cirroch has his whiskey refilled and nods towards the benches, unable to spot the next contender. Then turning to Piccola, "We can talk later, first, get some whiskey! You're going to need your fight back in you." The horn is then slammed, there is NO SIPPING. He downs the entire flagon of whiskey and holds his eyes shut for a moment. The burn in Sanna whiskey is real folks!

"DEVA! Who shall I punch next?! Is there one here other than the little bee man that you wish to see in a fight?"

"It's kinda gross down here," Deva tells Cristoph matter-of-factly, turning her head long enough to wrinkle her nose at him. One hand drops to her chest as she catches her breath, or tries to. Leaning in closer, she murmurs a few words to the Duke. Then she tosses the deck of cards up into the air with her other hand, catches it, and then drops them unceremoniously onto Cristoph's chest and gets up like nothing just happened and she didn't just pin him to the ground. She takes a moment to dust herself off, or try to, her hair half-loose from the leather that was holding it back. "Sorry Lady Aine," she smiles awkwardly at the Halfshav. "ME." That's the answer for Cirroch. She runs -again- like a woman on fire with too much energy or frustration or anger to burn. She even leaps over the railing as she rushes for the Marquis.


The General is anything //but// a lady tonight.

She sits heavily on a bench, still punishing herself mentally for not putting up enough of a fight. This is intolerable. With her tunic stripped down to her waist, and chest bared, she fitfully drinks from a tankard that someone brings her. As one might expect from a Lycene woman, she does not bother to cover up until the fighting's over, and so watches as the Marquis and the Princess engage in MORTAL KOMBAT.

(Cue the Utah Saints theme here.)



"It is kind of gross down here," Cristoph agrees but hasn't made an effort to get up yet. When she murmurs to him, there's an expression on his face that looks just mildly incredulous and is of a 'really' quality. But before he can address it, she's slapping a deck of cards back down onto his chest and taking off. He palms it into his pocket and shifts into a sitting position. Some of the floor grit is dusted off, but much remains. He pats Avalanche while he's down there and gets to his feet. "Well, Lady Aine. It's been nice seeing you again," he says, like a man that wasn't just knocked onto the floor. "Hopefully we'll run into each other sometime soon! I better get to that meeting." Dust, dust, dust. Floor grit remains. Oh, well. Off he goes!

Cristoph has left the a cluster of tables and chairs with accents of House Halfshav.

Rupert, the Laurent Archivist, 2 Valardin Knights, 1 Laurent veteran guards leave, following Cristoph.

Cirroch watches as Deva charges the field and takes a step backwards. He looks at the horn and shrugs, "Piccola, I'm stealing your attack!" And throws the ornate goat's horn at Deva then taking up a stance. He hasn't a clue what to expect other than what little he's already witnessed, the Princess attacking the little bee man over a deck of cards.

The young woman reaches up to brush a single rogue lock from her face as the two part ways and the brawl at her feet is over. Aine's smile never fades and with her conversation partner gone, she diverts her full attention to the fight. Though she does look over at Piccola briefly, seeming to admire the woman's resolve, but unfamiliar with her, she doesn't comment. Rather, back to the exchange between Cirroch and Deva, her interest perked, she clasps her hands and rests them in her lap.

Rosalind starts to dart out, shouting over her shoulder,"Kick his ass,"she cries to Deva. Shameless.

Rosalind has left the a small gazebo with a sea motif in the style of House Ravenseye.

Connal, a Northern Wolfhound, Honeymare, 1 Ravenseye Warrior leave, following Rosalind.


*** Deva has called for an opposing check with Cirroch. ***
Deva checks strength and brawl at easy. Deva is successful.
Cirroch checks strength and brawl at easy. Cirroch is successful.
*** The rolls are tied. ***


"Ha, ha, very funny."

Piccola snorts and remains hydrating herself after her battle with ale. MORE ALE. As if she can sense eyes on her, the Lycene General looks over her shoulder towards Aine, and bobs her head to her. Maybe that moment of recognition was misplaced; maybe not. The small woman otherwise puts her attention back on the fight, to see whether the launched drinking horn causes enough of a distraction to tip the fight in the Marquis' favor.

It seemed a good idea at the time.



There's a remarkably unstable air about Deva. She's not okay. She's probably drunk, or maybe just half-drowned in a barrel of whiskey. Regardless, she uses her momentum to her advantage and more or less flings herself at the wall of a person that is Cirroch. Luckily, the horn is dodged and she does not lose an eyeball to the thrown object. "AAAAGH!" punctuates a ram of her shoulder into the man. She does flash a look toward Piccola, as if trying to absorb some tips via telepathy. This is clearly not her expertise, not even close. Any success she has against the Marquis is based on luck or sheer feral ferocity. She flails. She kicks. The princess needs an outlet!

Nazmir's been over here in the Redrain seating, watching the whole affair and simply sipping on his drink, while conversing quietly with Ivy. When Deva launches herself into the ring, there's a laugh and quick arch of his brow, only for him to give a boisterous cheer, which he's following up with, "That's it Cousin! Take him down!"

Cirroch has a moment of starting to laugh as he hears the princess yell at him then the wind is knocked out when she collides. "Ooof" Regaining his footing Deva is pushing him backwards though not off of his feet. He pushes her head back with an outstreched hand watching where her kicks and punches are aiming for. As a couple would have landed in softer bits if she were closer, "Hey! That one is uncalled for..." Then he pushes her back to give them both room to try this again.


*** Deva has called for an opposing check with Cirroch. ***
Deva checks strength and brawl at easy. Deva is successful.
Cirroch checks strength and brawl at easy. Cirroch is successful.
*** Deva is the winner. ***

"Get your fucking hand off my head, that's bullshit Cirroch!" Deva snarls angrily, and suddenly whips her arm around to smack his hand away. Rude. Taking a few steps back, she jogs in place a bit, tilting her head from side to side and loosening up for a moment or two. There is suddenly a deeply intense, dark look in her emerald eyes. She's a woman on a mission, all business, all focused on one thing: taking Cirroch down. With perhaps surprising grace and expert, pointed movements, she throws a punch and ducks and weaves until she can wrestle the man into a merciless headlock and get him to the ground. She went from 'drunk and laughing' to 'vicious killer' in maybe ten seconds tops. Where did she pick this up?!

"Uncle always said to use my height to my advantage!" There's a quick glare to Nazmir in the stands. Turning back he takes a swipe and misses Deva, leaving himself open for her to climb him and drag him down to his knees. As she wraps her arms around his neck, he's grapping at her arms, though she's just too wiley for him. Cirroch lands face down into the field. A puff of the dirt sent upwards and around him. The first noise from him is a long burp, the second is laughing as he rolls over. "Well done!" He stays laying on the ground for a moment.


While the combat continues, the General seems to get lost in the spectacle.



Aine watches the fight with avid curiosity, eyes darting from one combatant to the other. She notes their exchange, watching things connect, wondering who might win until the the outcome becomes more apparent. The young woman says nothing, rather she takes in the excitement. Her brows perk upwards when Cirroch hits the ground and her lips curve into a smile. She lifts her hands to clap at the close of the fight.

Piccola has left the arena floor and pit benches.

"What height!?" That's called down to Cirroch in a teasing fashion, only for Nazmir to then watch as Deva manages to wrestle him down to the ground. There's a little blink at that and then a warm laugh before he's calling out, "By the gods, Deva! That was something else to see." Lifting the tankard back to his lips, he's polishing off the remaining drink within before setting the empty aside.

A wiley mess. That's Deva. It takes her a long moment to realize they're done, that she doesn't need to assault Cirroch any further. Her eyes are wide and filled with mild panic as the adrenaline starts to wear off. Releasing the Marquis from her arms, she drags herself away in the dirt and finally starts to push herself to her feet, breathing still rough and labored. "So ah... I'll get the tab in The Spirits for a couple of days. Thanks everyone," she offers awkwardly to the crowd, one hand lifting to push very messy red hair out of her face. From her cheeks to her neck and probably further down, her skin is a red that rivals the hue of her hair. Looking a little lost, she starts to stumble away to go grab her things from the table.

Aine stands as she claps politely, a smile on her face, "well done Princess Redrain," she applauds the woman. "Well done Marquis Sanna," she offers to Cirroch, with an equal smile his way. The young woman seems to be ready to part, now that the event is over. She buttons up her coat, preparing for her short walk back to House Halfshav.

Cirroch pushes himself up from the sands. Watching Deva trudge off, calling after her, "It was a good fight Deva! Have some whiskey!"

Aine has left the a cluster of tables and chairs with accents of House Halfshav.

Nazmir has left the opulent box seating bearing the sigil of House Redrain.

Treb, a restless direhorn, Rascal, a large striped skunk, Dash, a Kite of the Cloudspine leave, following Ivy.

Jenkins, an armed champion, Talidan, a crotchety old man who shakes his cane, Ivy leave, following Nazmir.

Deva stalks away to have a moment to herself to calm down from... from whatever was going on in that head of hers. She tries to wipe some of the blood from the reopened wounds on her knuckles onto a napkin, but she ends up making more of a mess of things. There's dirt smeared all over her face now, too. She waves after Aine, smiling distractedly, and then nods to Cirroch. "Yup. Gonna have more," she concludes while reaching for her flask. More indeed.