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Eswynd Feast - Last One Standing

Join the Eswynds for food and drink in the courtyard as challengers compete to be the last one standing in the training field. All are welcome to come as participants or spectators! The winner will have 25000 silver donated in their name to the charity of their choice.


May 12, 2021, 8 p.m.

Hosted By



Haakon Savio Zakhar Ian Piccola Thea Cesare Raven



Arx - Ward of House Thrax - Eswyndol - Walled Courtyard

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

Savio takes golden ritual trident.

Savio has joined the line.

Ian has joined the line.

Zakhar has joined the line.

The late afternoon sun is still high as summer nears, but the spring breeze keeps things cool in the Eswyndol courtyard where a feast has been arranged. In the grassy area beyond the training yard, a few tables, chairs, and benches have been arranged for people to partake in the roast pig and fish, assorted vegetables, potatoes and the last of the winter squash. Servants are on hand to provide drinks. Medeia stands ready to greet people as they make their way through the hall. "Hello, welcome! Please come and eat your fill! If you are competing in tonight's contest, please tell Loryk." She gestures at the tall warrior beside her.

On a warm, breezy evening, Haakon has no qualms stripping down to his trousers and tattoos for the night's festivities. The (very noble, very refined) half dressed barbarian has kept his sword at hand where he leans against the rails. Those who know him well might recognize a new spiral arm added to the sprawling tattoo work over his left chest, shoulder, and arm. A cask of dark beer has been opened, flowing freely for the asking.

Newly minted Lord Savio Proscipi has been here in the courtyard for a while, holding Medeia and Haakon's little baby daughter. He hasn't been out and about much; among friends he is still trying to remember how to smile, and among strangers he has been more reclusive and aloof than is his usual wont. But at least he's out here for the party, the sparring, the SPARTY if you will. Like Haakon, he's wearing trousers and tattoos; his ink is a snake coiled over his left shoulder. Some prodigal nonsense. He is talking to the baby in another language, and pointing things out to her, like green grass, golden trident, her ridiculous father.

Zakhar mutters, "No... You cannot ... ... my shoulder, look ... try to ride upon my ... and ... ... ... find ... ... no ... to ... don't look at me ... that... ... fine... to ... head? ... you ... to sit there?"

The old man known as Whitebeard to Eswynd and most of those that frequent the house ambles through the house and back to the courtyard talking to the cats that follow him, with the uniquely carved femur that he uses as a cane occasionally. It must be something about the weather as he's stripped down to a pair of trousers and a leather vest which happens to have several small loops sewn to it with pockets where many of his well known improvised weapons are tied, hanging, or otherwise stored. Waving at a few of the guards and giving a little grim nod in their direction before looking directly towards Haakon and Medeia, in a gruff and mildly quiet voice trying to wrap his lips around the Avarni dialect as best he can with very little of something that sounds very old, "The pots been staying on the ground lately. Thought you'd like to know yer roof is safe for a bit." He then turns to Loryk, and not as quiet announces that he'll be entering the contest. When asked what his weapon is, in his usual mixed Shav and Avarni dialect, "One bent up and bleeding spoon." He then sheds the leather vest, exposing his full back and mostly covered chest of shav marks from a long forgotten tribe.

A sure way to get Ian to attend a social event is to promise him a chance at a fight, and so it is now. He keeps an eye on his own footsteps as he comes into the walled garden, especially when the ground underfoot becomes less even. He's still got his coat on and buttoned up (not that this is reasonable weather for it), but that, presumably, can come off. He angles towards Loryk when pointed in his direction, says a few words, and then goes to find a place to settle in.

Haakon eyes Savio deadpan, sniffing in affected annoyance/amusement, before greeting Ian, "Sword," and "Whitebeard-" his eye lingers on the spoon. "Sea and Sky strike me down if I lie: I hope you win with that fucking thing. Start a bloody trend for the nobles."

Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven arrives, following Raven.

For any who are concerned, Miklos - the elder of the twins, is safely ensconced in the arms of one of the Eswynders walking along the outside of the rails to the training yard. Much like Savio, he is pointing out pieces of armor or weapons and naming them. One of the servants brings Medeia a glass of wine and she takes a sip before wandering toward Savio and Savja. "We'll get started shortly! It looks like Haakon has chosen to be the first in the contest! I'll announce who his opponent is once Loryk gives me the list." She smiles at each new arrival. "Messere Zakhar, it has been a while! How are you? And glad to hear our roof is safe. Lord Ian, welcome! You'll be entering? Splendid." She leans toward her daughter in Savio's arms and says, "It will be very good entertainment tonight. We'll cheer for uncle Savio, hm?"

Finn the large Northern hunting dog with icy blue eyes, Rocco, the rascally assistant arrive, following Thea.

"Separating ye and yer house out, fuck the nobbies. If they haven't sorted out that ever'ting is a weapon by now then they deserve whatever their commoners hand to them." Zakhar brushes at his nose with his thumb, while wrinkling up his forehead into a scowl for a moment, taking a little sniff then clearing the open nostril to the grass nearby. He looks to Savio and the child then pointing at what cleared from his nose and in another language says what it is. Glancing up to Savio for a moment with a faint curl to corner of his lip.

Dolente, a mourning dove, Dolce, a collared dove arrive, following Cesare.

If there is a contest of arms, bet that there's a general about.

In this case, two. Piccola shows up in her customary black, tip to toe, with her hood up and her weapons bound, but in plain sight. She pauses for a moment by the edge of the courtyard, whereupon she spies Thea coming up just a few steps behind her. "You're not following me, are you?" asks the General mildly to the other General because, generally, they always seem to be lurking around these sorts of events.

Or any sort of competition, really: drinking, farting, fighting, whatever.

Savio kisses the baby he's holding on her fuzzy little baby head, gaze dropping a moment -- perhaps to avoid discussion of nobles and commoners, though he does help out with Zakhar's vocabulary lesson by adding an Arakkoan term. As the contest looks set to get underway soon, he reluctantly hands Savja back to Medeia. "Cheer for everyone," he advises in that weird lilting accent, but at least in Arvani again. Waiting to hear the list of combatants, he picks up the trident again, though seems prepared to hand it off to whomever might need to borrow a weapon of appropriate caliber.

Savio drops golden ritual trident.

They'll cheer for Savio?? "Hey-" Haakon starts to object, before pausing and shrugging, "Eh, fair enough." A sharp sniff and he picks up his broadsword in the left hand, rolling his wrist to loosen up the joint and let the hefty blade swing in a large figure-eight. Zakhar earns a sharp, short lived laugh as the reaver walks fully into the field to meet his opponent.. (It's Savio).

Ian eases into a seat. "Everything is a weapon," he confirms to Zakhar in a level tone of voice. "Not everything is a very good weapon."

Savio takes golden ritual trident.

Savio wields golden ritual trident.

Haakon wields old-fashioned broadsword.

Raven has joined the line.

Thea has joined the line.

Piccola has joined the line.

Turn in line: Haakon

Turn in line: Savio

Thea winks at Piccola, catching up to the General. "Of course I am, General. I haven't seen you in so long, I figured this was the best bet,"the Wyvernheart teases. Walking further in, she greets Medeia and Haakon with a wave and brief smile, grabbing a drink as she does. "Hello,"she greets.

Savio has joined the training yard.

Haakon has joined the training yard.

If anyone tonight visibly less suited for combat than Cesare is here - it's probably that baby. Look at his hands, those precious hands, the cuticles and nails so carefully cared-for. Those hands may never have held anything more lethal than a dinner knife in their life! But if there is one golden rule about combat, it's this: Watching other people beat each other up for fun is /delightful./ And if there's another golden rule, it's that Cesare has a curious streak about a mile wide. So in he steps, all sunset silks, flowing glossy hair, and softly fluttering wings, ready to assess what game is afoot.

Raven paces in. She's sans her entourage of reavers but somewhere there is a Moonsilver perched and keeping a sharp out for unattended snacks. She carries in hand a large staff and her usual collection of swords, but not her steelsilk save for a bandana which is tucked into her belt.

Savio squints a little at the trident he's borrowed from Medeia as though it's only now occurred to him to wonder about how to use a trident and exactly how catastrophically different from a rapier that it. Well -- it's fine. It's fine. The weapon is hefted up and he steps out to join Haakon as first contestants of the contest. Just a couple of prodigal dudes expressing a deep and abiding friendship. THROUGH HARM!

Raven jangles a bit as she strides in, picks out the likely participants and strides her way to join them offer a tenative grin all around.

Haakon, in tattoos and trousers, scoffs aloud (or was that a laugh?) when Savio is announced as his opponent. "Alright then, I see how it is. Go on then, cheer for the little shit!" he challenges Medeia and both babies. "I'd bidbyiu cheer for the fucker-" he informs Thea, "But I know you'd do it anyway. So fuck you." Haakon: insulting everyone for fun.

"It's funny how a woman in black can be so easy to find."

Piccola isn't without her self-deprecating moments. She briefly smiles at Thea, and then turns her attention to the two men about to spar for the first round tonight. "I always enjoy seeing old men fight," she comments to her friend, as an aside. "They always seem to be so very serious about it. It's even funnier when they start pulling beards."

She's probably just trying to be funny.

Medeia helps Savio settle her daughter back in her grasp - baby in one arm, wine glass in the other hand like a professional mom. She finds a good spot to settle and watch the fights as more people arrive. "Piccola! Thea! I'm so glad you're both here! She raises her glass to them and then motions toward Loryk. "Let Loryk know if you're competing." Then she spots Raven. "Hey, you made it! Good to see you!" Spotting Cesare, she tilts her head. "Oh! I saw you at the shrine! Welcome to Eswyndol, I am Lady Medeia Eswynd. If you are here to spectate? Come, eat, drink, cheer loudly if you wish." Finally Loryk brings the list to her. "The first bout: Haakon and Savio!"

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Thea has joined the intricately carved wooden benches.

Piccola has joined the intricately carved wooden benches.

Medeia helps Savio settle her daughter back in her grasp - baby in one arm, wine glass in the other hand like a professional mom. She finds a good spot to settle and watch the fights as more people arrive. "Piccola! Thea! I'm so glad you're both here!" She raises her glass to them and then motions toward Loryk. "Let Loryk know if you're competing." Then she spots Raven. "Hey, you made it! Good to see you!" Spotting Cesare, she tilts her head. "Oh! I saw you at the shrine! Welcome to Eswyndol, I am Lady Medeia Eswynd. If you are here to spectate? Come, eat, drink, cheer loudly if you wish." Finally Loryk brings the list to her. "The first bout: Haakon and Savio!"

"I'm cheering for you," Ian offers to Haakon, in the bland voice of someone who has possibly never cheered for anyone, ever. "Lord Savio got pretty close to beating me last time we sparred."

Savio heard that, Ian! "Only because you were easy on me," he replies to the Kennex lord in a dry voice that approaches, but does not reach, an Ian-like level of its own! To Haakon himself, wielding and beginning, he remarks, "I have no idea what I'm doing," but since when is that new?

Raven grins at Haakon, "Spin a ditty and do a dance and then someone might cheer for you. Until that happens Savio has all my cheers forever and always." She exhales and looks sidelong to Ian, "I had to stop calling him wastrel once he proved he could knock me on my arse."

Thea snorts at Haakon. "Always the opposite of you,"grinning at Piccola. "Old men, yes. Beard pulling is when you know it's gotten bad.." Seeing Raven, she nods her head. "Messere Raven, good evening. Lord Ian, hi..."

Haakon hollers back to Raven, "You bid me dance, and I but scoff. And as for ditties you can fuck right off." He actually grins through the glower.

Haakon checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Critical Success! Haakon is spectacularly successful.

Haakon remains capable of fighting.

Zakhar takes a propped seat, mostly holding himself up with the femur cane, with the spoon tucked into his hands as he watches Haakon and Savio head into their fight. He calls back to Haakon, "Ay'll cheer fer ya!"

Haakon checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Haakon is successful.

Haakon remains capable of fighting.

Savio checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Savio is successful.

Savio remains capable of fighting.

Savio checks 'unconsciousness save' at daunting. Savio marginally fails.

Savio is incapacitated and falls unconscious.

Ian has gotten his hands on a glass of something alcoholic, and lifts it to Thea before taking a drink, setting it down, and starting to unbutton his coat.

Ian wields Blunted Practice Sword.

Cesare steps over to Medeia and sweeps a low, graceful bow. "I will cheer as loudly as the set of lungs I have been gifted permits me, my lady," he says with a half-smile. "I'm less-than-suited to participate, but I do appreciate a good contest of martial skill. And I hope that Archlector Giada was able to offer wise words to you. Now I'll let you get back to your duties as hostess!"

He bows once again and casts an eye toward both the combat ring where a bout is nigh to begin, and the refreshments, before deciding... a fortified beverage is in order.

Savio and Haakon share something special, which is a total disregard for their friend's safety or best interest. Who wants a weak-ass fight?! Nobody wants a weak-ass fight! Haakon gets scratched first from the points of the trident but is fast to repay Savio in kind, who is wielding his unfamiliar weapon in an improvised style that's leaning hard into speed and reach. Physical power is not his thing.

From there they proceed to just knock the ever loving shit out of each other.

It's close, it's excitingly close, with both looking like they might hit the sand, but in the end it's Savio who ends up in the dirt. "Ow. Shit," he sums up that experience, and exhales a laugh. "Gods damn you, Haakon, you ungovernable assbasket." Aw, but he laughed. First time in a long time.

Savio drops golden ritual trident.

Haakon is an aggressive fighter when armored and carrying his familiar round shield... but absent those and when facing Savio he is somehow even LESS defensive than usual. Both warriors are clearly enjoying the bruises that nearly every pass doles out,with neither caring much for the arts of defense. While not without skill, the match bears a certain resemblance to a pair of rabid squirrels dueling with knife, fork, and matching deathwishes. When at last Savio falls, Haakon barks back with clear good humor, "Savio, you irredeemable fuckwit." He gives the smaller Prodigal a hand back up to his feet and gives the other a clap around the back.

Savio is overheard praising Haakon.

Turn in line: Ian

As Medeia and Savja watch the fight between Haakon and Savio, the warrior holding Miklos comes and sits with her so the children can watch together. She smiles up at Cesare. "All are welcome to our hospitality. We're just about to see my husband," She points out Haakon, "And my dear friend," She means Savio, "Start off the evening." As the match continues, her lips press thin. "It seems we owe your brother a silver, hm?" Teaching the two-month olds to bet on fights. She's an excellent mother. She looks up to Loryk to announce the next bout: "Lord Haakon and Lord Ian!"

Raven watches the fight with interest-blinking right off the bat and asking no one in particular. "Where in the name of all that's holy did that man get a damned trident?! Is the bloody thing /gold/!?" she falls silent and watches tensely as the pair go around and around. She sucks in a breath and winces a bit as Savio gets soundly clobbered and then goes down, "Well fought! Don't worry, Lord Ian'll avenge you!"

Thea watches the fights and--sighs. "Damnit Haakon,"shouting over to Savio. "Just know, I was cheering for you." Lowering her voice to Piccola, Thea tells her,"I suppose the scratching could be a bit kinky, yeah,"taking a drink. As Medeia announces the next contestants, she's already calling out,"Ian, please kick his ass!" Thea isn't going to break her streak now..

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Ian uses a combination of the arm of his chair and his cane to push to his feet, then takes his coat off and leaves it behind, draped over the back of the chair. No shirtless and showing off tattoos for him; under his coat is a loose fitting, off white linen shirt, and he leaves that on. He unstraps the practice sword from the outside of the bag that he brought, and hefts it for a moment. Then, his footsteps a lot less certain without his cane, he starts towards the fighting ring. "Don't make any promises I can't keep," he cautions to Raven. "I just watched how he came at Lord Savio."

Zakhar calls out to Savio after watching silently, "Gud. Now come over here and we can drink till the scary mother leathers doc calls for the spoon to take the field!"

After the fight ends, Piccola looks to Thea.

"Have you ever seen two tomcats in an alley?" she asks of the other General. "It is quite a sight. At first, they stick their asses in the air and hiss at each other, then there is the perfunctory yowling, and then, after a brief melee, they go their separate ways as if nothing at all had happened." She shrugs, and then looks back to the ring.

"I think I need to give Lord Eswynd and Lord Proscipi the gift of cats, or suggest that High Lord Victus do so."

There's a laugh from Medeia as she hears Raven's question. "Oh, the trident is mine, and yes it is gilded. Was a gift from Haakon." She's terribly proud of that weapon. She raises a brow in Zakhar's direction before asking Savio, "Need medical attention?" Piccola get a glare. "Please, no more mean cats in the house! The one Princess Alarissa gave the marquessa is plenty. My poor girl lost nearly all her progress in liking people when it came to live here."

Haakon chuckles flatly, plainly enjoying the evening's heckling banter. To Ian, he greets, "Sword. Your cheering worked." Raven is given a merry middle finger. Or as near merry as Haakon gets. Back to Ian: "Shall we?"

Raven Snorts and lifts her chin calling, "If you don't I will!" as if she's a ghost of a chance to best Ian muchless anyone who might might best him-but hope springs eternal for Raven. She looks tp Piccola and notes, "Careful there, he's got a feathered companion and finding his friend became his new pets dinner ain't much of a gift at all."

Ian lifts his sword to Haakon in a mix of a lazy guard and a lazy salute. "I'll consider myself your good luck charm."

Savio makes a gesture back at Haakon that seems unlikely to be positive, but is issued with clear affection. Wandering back over toward where he left his things, he pulls a shirt on, placing a ring back on his left hand, and shakes his head at Raven. "It is not my trident, it belongs to Lady Medeia, our hostess. But it is lovely isn't it?" There is attention on him, Thea's note about cheering, Raven -- Normally one to lean into that, he seems a bit uncertain about it, but dips his head in a nod to it, and hah's at the next pairing. "Ian is hard to hit, he'll see this done." Piccola receives a smile. "Is this different from the way female cats fight? Please forgive me. I am not an expert in cats. I did not realize their behavior was so dimorphic. Very interesting."

He shakes his head for the offer of medical attention, and seems ready to step toward Zak, but pauses to offer a bit of a smile to Cesare, whom he does not know. "Perhaps you will join us?"

Haakon checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Haakon is successful.

Haakon remains capable of fighting.

Haakon checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Haakon is successful.

Haakon remains capable of fighting.

Haakon checks 'unconsciousness save' at hard. Haakon is successful.

Haakon remains capable of fighting.

Haakon checks 'unconsciousness save' at daunting. Haakon is successful.

Haakon remains capable of fighting.

Savio has left the training yard.

Savio has joined the large stone grotto.

Haakon checks 'unconsciousness save' at daunting. Haakon fails.

Haakon is incapacitated and falls unconscious.

"Absolutely," replies Piccola mildly to Savio.

"Not that you would want to get into a fight with a wildcat, m'Lord. Or watch one." The General makes a flicking gesture with her fingertips. "There's the blood, the fur, the guts on the floor. Horrible, really." Shrug. "Tomcats vye for dominance. Wildcats fight to kill. Different motivations oft lead to different results."

She returns her attention to the yard.

Zakhar has found a drink and is in the process of sizing up just how much of it should be in him, by taking quick shots of it. Until he winces a little, "Ah! There's the sting!" He looks back to Medeia and the child with a silly smirk, waving his fingers at the child then pointing a Savio, "Uncca Savie needs a giggle frem ya." As he spots Piccola, he gives a nod towards her and raises his drink. "Ginrel!"

Beverage raised halfway to his lips, Cesare raises his eyebrows and says, "Me? Why certainly, I'll join you. As far as cats go, there's generally a lot of ass-waving and terrible yowling from both sides, so in the end I think the differences are negligible. They say the queens hold grudges longer than the toms, but I never put much stock in that, personally." He slants a wink in his somewhat battered new friend (?) and his somewhat intimidating (tall!) companion, and gestures with his free hand. "Lead on, please. I'm Cesare, by the way."

Haakon continues his rabid-squirrel-with-a-deathwish style of dueling as the Eswynd and Kennex begin. He continues his reckless aggression, heedless of the fact that Ian is winning in a death of a thousand cuts, while Haakon isn't hitting his foe at all. Well, at least until he does, and that one is a wince-inducing blow.. but Ian is beyond being dropped by any single swordblow, and with a cackle in his throat and a groan on his lips, Haakon at last loses his feet.

Raven wields curved scythe-like steel sword.

It was questionable, how this was going to go, when Ian walked into the center of the fighting area -- or it would have been, at least for people who haven't seen him fight before. He's not any more certain on his feet than he's ever been. The injuries that left him reliant on that cane and the braced boots haven't gone away, and footwork is still beyond him. But his sense of the fight is what it always was, as beautiful as a very utilitarian piece of performance art, and he seems to react to Haakon's actions before he even starts making them, half the time. Rather than direct parries, he leans on more nuanced beats and turns, guiding his opponent's sword where he wants it to go, creating a situation where the only actual dodging he has to do is pretty rare and can be done in careful steps. As the fight picks up, he becomes more aggressive (not that any of that aggression is visible on his calm visage or in his focused eyes), pressing in on Haakon's guard aw the fight gets closer to its completion. It's in this moment that he gets the hit scored on him, a hit that knocked enough of the wind out of him that if he hadn't already been in the middle of the swing that was destined to take the other man down, he might have been in trouble. Apparently, he's also his own good luck charm. One way or another, he's touching his side a little bit as Haakon drops, and there's a breathlessness to his voice when he says: "Well fought."

Savio listens to both Piccola and Cesare, brows lifting a little bit. "Oh, queens absolutely hold grudges," he agrees. "I don't think a little bit of ass-waving and yowling is a bad thing. It does seem wiser to resolve a fight with less damage, where possible. Best for everyone."

The fight between Haakon and Ian resolves about the way he thought it would, and a smile tilted toward both mentor and friend suggests fondness for both of them. Away from the arena, introductions are made. "It is good to meet you, Cesare. This is Zakhar. I am --" Who even is he anymore. "--Savio." Lord, that can be sorted out later.

Turn in line: Zakhar

Raven watches Haakon and Ian with avid interest, verdant eyes following both and biting her bottom lip as it all happens so fast there's not the time to study and take notes. She rocks back on her heels briefly and lets out a soft, impressed whistle, wholly engrossed in the showcasing of expert weaponskills.

Savio is overheard praising Ian.

"Signore Zakhar."

Piccola lifts her voice, but doesn't seem the sort to shout. She does not have a glass herself; perhaps she wants to keep her focus on the battlefield, as a general ought. Studying? Yes. But she's seen Ian fight before, and doesn't seem surprised at all that he comes away with the victory. When the weathered mercenary is called, her eyes narrow and her expression becomes thoughtful.

Perhaps she's never seen him fight before.

Loryk is already looking at the list to announce the next combatant before the fight between Haakon and Ian is officially over. "Lord Ian and Whitebeard!" Zakhar, for those who don't know. Medeia gives Zakhar and Savio a smile, seeming relieved she doesn't need to give any medical attention just yet, though a concerned glance flicks toward Haakon at the end of the fight.

Raven is overheard praising Medeia: The lady knows how to throw a party!

Zakhar has joined the training yard.

Ian looks at Zakhar. Then he looks at Zakar's spoon. Then he looks at Zakhar. There's a pause, while he takes a moment to parse that yes, this is really for real happening right now. "If you try to dig my eyes out with that thing, I'm going to be annoyed."

"I didn't say queens didn't hold grudges," Cesare replies, countering Savio with a tip of his glass. "But a tomcat with a high opinion of himself remembers things that even the gods themselves have forgotten." He shrugs loosely, an easy fluid movement, and concurs, "I'm from the school of ass-waving and yowling myself, so I'm inclined to agree."

Speaking of which - the fight between Haakon and Ian seems to surprise him more than anything, but as soon as Zakhar's name is called, Cesare appears to decide that since Zakhar is standing nearest to him, that's who he's rooting for. Cupping one hand to his mouth, lets out a whoop of stunning clarity and volume, before turning back to Savio with said hand extended for a shake as if it was nothing at all. "Let me get you something to drink? You deserve it after all of that...what's the opposite of ass-waving and yowling? Biting and clawing?"

"Try? The edges are sharpened to give little nicks. May look like nothing..." Zakhar grins a little and responds with his mixed accent dialect. Looking at Ian for a moment, then putting the femur cane to the side and giving a little hop to the center of the field favoring his right leg.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Zakhar checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Zakhar is successful.

Zakhar remains capable of fighting.

Zakhar checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Zakhar is successful.

Zakhar remains capable of fighting.

Raven blink-blink-blinks and her head tiiiilts, "Well. Huh. Gods, I love old timer's confidence."

Zakhar checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Zakhar is successful.

Zakhar remains capable of fighting.

Zakhar checks 'unconsciousness save' at daunting. Zakhar marginally fails.

Zakhar is incapacitated and falls unconscious.

Savio wields Sympathy from the heart with many bones.

Zakhar gives a light lick to the spoon, then runs his thumb over the well of the spoon before giving a smirk back to Ian and diving straight at the man. No hopping, no running, not even a bow before the fight. Just a waist level dive at him while attempting to stab and slice with the spoon, and the weirdest battle cry to boot, "Shekies! Nip his toes!" Though the old man has for lust of the fight, he is also an old man and can be bested easily when one realizes that he's trying to not straight up dig Ian's eyeballs out and is attempting to make slashes with the spoon that has been used to cut thumbs, ears, testicles, and even eyes out with.

Savio laughs quietly at Cesare's comment for tomcats with high opinions, again a soft sound like someone sort of remembering how. Like he hasn't been much around people or it wasn't good when he was, but certain touchstones and foundations remain, rediscovered. Cesare's hand is shaken; his own are calloused in a way that suggests strings and swords were involved. "I wouldn't say no. Thank you. Lord Haakon is a properly ferocious person, truth be told, there is bite within his bark or else he would not be barking. He does have a charming command of the Arvani language though, most creatively employed. I love that for him." He is watching the fight, but seems dubious about the spoon's chance against Ian... even if it is a spoon used to dish up nightmares. Which it is.

Ian has a more than small advantage over his opponent, not in terms of the viciousness of his weapon, but in terms of its length. (Stop laughing. You know who you are.) With someone less familiar with shorter weapons, that advantage wouldn't be worth quite as much, but it's pretty clear that Ian knows exactly what to do with a reach advantage, and what he does with a reach advantage is make getting close to him impossible, rewarding each attempt with a strike with the flat of his blade. He also may be motivated by the fact that he's dealt with eye-gouging spoons enough times to take them fucking seriously. Doesn't matter if Zakhar's going for his eyes. He COULD, and that's the point here.

Raven exhales slowly through her teeth and reflects over towards Savio, "Is it strange that somehow went better for Zakhar than I thought it would? He must be quite skilled with...utensils."it's not zo much judgement as absolute puzzlement in choices being made tonight.

"I would---well I wouldn't pay you, but hey! Want to fight my cousin and his mug,"Thea shouts from her seat next to Piccola. She's laughing a little, calling too,"It's not the size either, it's how you use it!" She watches, still, still surprised at how the spoon actually DOES!

Haakon has over a dozen blooming bruises already visible as he leans on the rails and accepts a flagon, which is drained in a single, long gulp. Forgoing more clothing until he stops sweating, the reaver sets aside the empty cup and settles in to watch the next rounds, contributing his charming command of the Arvani language. "More fucking blood!" with a barked laugh.

Turn in line: Raven

Medeia watches with a grimace, sending Savja and Miklos back inside as she gathers up her medical bag from nearby and settles it closer to the training yard. She leans near Haakon, saying something quietly as the next bout is announced by Loryk: "Lord Ian and Raven!"

Zakhar has left the training yard.

Zakhar has joined the large stone grotto.

"A moment." Cesare disappears and returns laden with beverages, with the sort of discretion that suggests he is particularly good at doing things for people without being ostentatious about it, except when he wants to be. A glass of something cool, refreshing, and alcoholic is pressed into Savio's hand, and there's a flight of three more shots of Zakhar's spirit of choice waiting, as well as a second drink for Cesare. "Oh no, no no, I wouldn't be so rude as to call anyone here a spirited tomcat, I don't know anyone nearly that well. That's the kind of compliment I save for those I know /personally./"

He shakes his head at the outcome of the fight. "I'd always root for a man who brings a spoon to a knife-fight, you know. There's something so strangely poetic about it." This last accompanied by a strangely itchy-fingered gesture, before Cesare turns to pierce Savio with a sharply incisive gaze. "Ah, I remember where I've heard your name. But that's a conversation for another time. Drink."

Cesare has joined the large stone grotto.

Raven waves a hand dismissively at Haakon, "Yeah, yeah, hold onto your britches, bloodthirsty rubblerouser. There's soon to be plenty enough of it here in a minute." She flashes a grin towards Ian and strides to join him, bowing to Ian and straitening, flicking her braid over her shoulder, "Fortunately I look good in red. One of these days it ain't gonna be my own." her stance and position of her blade signals to Ian her readiness and the bright, eager light in her gaze suggests win, loose, or draw-this'll still be the highlight of her evening.

Zakhar brushes himself off and stands back to grab at the femur cane. Now, he gives a nod to Ian. "Lordship. Well fought. Next time we'll see how you fair against the kits, eh?" There's a small wink with a curl of his lip as he heads off of the sands and heads over to Savio at the grotto. He sits down with his feet dangling into the warm waters.

Ian inclines his head to Raven when she joins him in the middle of the fighting area, and once again lifts his sword in that half-salute, half-guard, all lazy gesture. "Lord Haakon's orders aside, I promise not to draw blood, if you do." His sword's pretty blunt, so he probably can't draw blood, anyway.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

"Mugs are effective weapons," replies Piccola to Thea laconically.

The series moves on, and so does she. She shifts where she sits, as if to let another part of her body hold up her weight. "If you crack the edge off, it makes for a nasty punch weapon," she explains, to no one in particular. "A broken mug in the face will leave you maimed and incapacitated, if one is not careful." This is why people bring her coffee promptly in the morning. "A friend of mine called it a face-shredder once, and then showed me why."

Just a hint of a shiver.

Savio tilts a smile toward Cesare for the remembering where he's heard his name, but this time there's bitterness at the edges of the expression. "No doubt from many in the population of Arx, of late, pleased as they are with what I've done. But as you say, it is a conversation for another time." He hears and obeys; he drinks. Quietly, "Thank you."

They are joined, and Savio nudges Zakhar with his foot. "You and your cutlery." It sounds like approval. "Did you miss introduction, so quick to run into the end of Ian's sword? This lovely person is Cesare."

Raven checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Raven is successful.

Raven remains capable of fighting.

Raven checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Raven is successful.

Raven remains capable of fighting.

Raven checks 'unconsciousness save' at hard. Raven fails.

Raven is incapacitated and falls unconscious.

Medeia happens to look over at Cesare holding all the drinks. "Messere, we've servants for that!" She's not scolding so much as offering a light hearted reminder that he is a /guest/. She won't be accused of making guests work while attending her events. Then she looks over at Thea and Piccola. "A smashed wine bottle is a horrifyingly effective weapon."

Raven's expression is somewhat wry, "I can promise it ain't gonna be my intention but I think only one of us is skilled enough to make that promise and it ain't me." She is somewhat more guarded than her usual cocky, aggressive style but even so she can evade his blade but not for very long. Her attempted strikes sing and whoose harmlessly by or are terminated in a jarring clang or slideas Ian easily diverts her blade and gives firm but of course careful rebukes to her unarmed self. She hardly even has time to get winded though there's a flush of exertion and she flashes Ian a grin, bowing, "Gods. I'm always of mixed minds how easy you make that look, my lord." And off she goes to find a drink and a seat for herself.

Cesare gives a yell of approval as Raven enters the ring, making sure to tilt it away from Zakhar and Savio so they don't receive any of the brunt of the volume - so gentlemanly. Just as quickly, though, his dark gaze is back on Savio, and with it, a hand lands lightly between Savio's shoulderblades. "Quickly," he asks. "How is a raven like a writing desk?" Before turning to Zakhar and waving his fingers in greeting. "Cesare Whisper, Master Zakhar. I very much like your spoon." He indicates the procession of shots lined up for Zakhar to destroy. "I brought more drinks."

Ian seems to have a lot more trouble than he did with Zakhar, just landing hits on Raven, and it's not for a genuine lack of trying. Probably. It's hard to tell how invested Ian is in pushing his attack in any given fight, because his expression never changes from flat calm, and his eyes never change from peaceful focus, and the lack of footwork gives him a peculiar kind of stillness. But he's very clearly looking for ways through, turning aside her strikes with calculated motions of his own blade, and having limited success in making the kind of openings that he can capitalize on, at least at first. But as the fight proceeds, it's clear that he's choosing his strikes and beats on her blade to throw her further and further off balance, and at the end, he's able to use the difference in reach between her curved blade and his straight one to take advantage without risking another potentially match losing hit like the one that Haakon gave him. "Not as easy as you think it was."

"We can write poems on both?" Savio suggests to the raven/writing desk bit. "That particular Raven is a friend. And one I've written on, even, I used to torment her with little songs and ditties." He lowers his voice then, to speak with the gentlemen at the grotto.

Turn in line: Thea

Raven's head whips around and her gaze locks on Savio, "Oh gods. What now?" but then Savio's lowering his voice an she notes his company. Deciding not to crash in on the conversation she moves to claim a drink and a perch to watch the remaining challengers.

"Lord Ian and Lady Thea!" Loryk's voice yells out.

Thea wields Raptor Dagger.

As Zakhar takes the next series of shots that have been lined up for him, he nods to Cesare before downing the first. As he's onto the third, he calls out to Ceasare and Savio, "Why would you be writing poems on Raven like a desk?"

Thea swallows the rest of her drink and hops to her feet. "Right...well lets get this over." Her lips curve into a smile, slidding her dagger from thigh.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

"The beauty of that riddle," Cesare says, "Is that there are many possible answers, none of them precisely correct. Yours, I like, Savio. However, my preferred answer: Both can produce a few notes, though they're very flat, and are never put with the wrong end in front." He winks, and then lowers his voice in turn to respond.

Thea checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Thea is successful.

Thea remains capable of fighting.

Thea checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Thea is successful.

Thea remains capable of fighting.

Thea checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Thea marginally fails.

Thea is incapacitated and falls unconscious.

Piccola takes golden ritual trident.

Piccola wields golden ritual trident.

Turn in line: Piccola

Piccola has left the intricately carved wooden benches.

Piccola has joined the training yard.

Thea wasn't kidding. Getting ready, dagger in hand, she braces heself. Stance ready. She's not AWFUL with it, but she's not great either. Watching Ian closely, she dodges, jumping back to avoid being hit. But that can only last for so long you know. He knocks her pretty well, causing her to wince. But there can only be ONE! ONE! And Thea finds herself in the sands before you know it..

Reach advantage, as it turns out, isn't everything, especially when you're a guy who kinda just stands there going up against someone with a fast, stabby weapon. For all his skill with a sword, Ian's lack of mobility costs him here as Thea is all over the place, coming at him seemingly from multiple angles at once. He's able to turn back, or sometimes even sidestep, most of her hits, but a couple of them get right past his superior reach and his guard, and he's definitely going home bruised tonight. And maybe a little bit bloody, depending on the level of stabbiness of the dagger. He's starting to show some signs of wear by the end of the fight.

Piccola's seen Thea fight before, and it shows.

There is a mild level of surprise when Ian is victorious again. "Well, fuck." Ever the succinct and eloquent woman, the Littlest Snake sighs and lifts herself up from where she was sitting. "And I think I need an appropriate weapon." That's when someone, so solicited, tosses her the golden trident to use in the ring. This causes her to frown, and crook an eyebrow upwards. "I'm not going fucking fishing, you know," she comments with a snort and a shake of her head. But, having said that, the General unclasps her cloak, and holds it firmly in her right hand like a net, as if she maybe has some familiarity with gladiator fighting.

Then, to the yard she goes, to be the final contestant for Lord Kennex to lay into for the night.

Savio is overheard praising Medeia.

Zakhar is overheard praising Medeia.

Raven drains her drink and rises, serking out one of the servers and snagging a waterskin if it's to be found, meandering towards the practice grounds and scanning the crowd to see if an yone else has lined up to challenge Ian.

Thea has left the intricately carved wooden benches.

Finn the large Northern hunting dog with icy blue eyes, Rocco, the rascally assistant leave, following Thea.

Ian watches Piccola approach with that trident in hand and the cloak as a makeshift shield (or possibly net) in the other. He wipes at his forehead, takes a breath, and lifts his sword again. No reach OR thrusting advantage this time, and probably not a lot of experience with gladiatorial combat, but he's here for it, anyway.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Medeia finishes her glass of wine and hands it off to a servant to be refilled. "Thea, do better!" Just as she is a good mother, she is a loving friend. And then it is Piccola's turn, as announced by Loryk. "This should be interesting."

Piccola checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Piccola is successful.

Piccola remains capable of fighting.

Piccola checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Piccola is successful.

Piccola remains capable of fighting.

Piccola checks 'unconsciousness save' at hard. Piccola is successful.

Piccola remains capable of fighting.

Piccola checks 'unconsciousness save' at daunting. Piccola is successful.

Piccola remains capable of fighting.

Piccola checks 'unconsciousness save' at daunting. Piccola is successful.

Piccola remains capable of fighting.

Piccola checks 'unconsciousness save' at daunting. Piccola fails.

Piccola is incapacitated and falls unconscious.

The line has been dismissed by Medeia.

The truth is that women who shoot bows from horseback aren't very good with tridents.

Especially not Vipers. Skilled and athletic, Piccola manages to not look like a complete ass in the fight, but the fact is that she's unfamiliar with her weapon and defensive guard. About the only thing she has going for her is the fact that she's uncommonly difficult to put down. This is likely due to all of the pent-up frustration and anger manifesting as an otherworldly will to defy anything at all. Also, stubborn: it could be that she's uncommonly stubborn, and simply will not go down. Even when the sword blows start to bloody her in the duel.

It takes one last, fifteenth strike to finally get the General off her feet, to which she responds, while face-down, with: "Fuuuuuck."

Raven lets out a low whistle, "That was damned impressive, my lady." She might mean something other than the weaponskills on this occasion.

There's a lot that could go wrong for Ian here, between the tines of the pitchfork that could trap Ian's sword and disarm him, and the cloak that could entangle Ian's sword and disarm him, not to mention the general stabbiness of the trident. But even though he's definitely showing some signs of fraying around the edges after so many successive fights, he negotiates these obstacles well. The way he finishes this fight isn't nearly as elegant as the others have been, however (well, it's more elegant than when Haakon probably cracked one of his ribs while he was in the middle of a strike, but otherwise less elegant); he's able to get past the tines of the trident partway through the fight, and then just grabs the haft and fends off the cloak while he puts Piccola down. He goes down to his knees once she's on the ground.

Raven lets out a low whistle, "That was damned impressive, my lady." She might mean something other than the weaponskills on this occasion. She steps over towards Ian, "Hand up or water, your choice, my lord." waterskin in one hand, the offer helpfully offered.

Medeia cheers on Piccola, but even the lady's exuberance isn't enough to pull the win. "Lord Ian, you appear to have won. Congratulations!" She steps forward to collect her trident, looking at it thoughtfully, then shaking her head. "I'll get your prize for you."

Piccola drops golden ritual trident.

Ian takes a minute to gather himself and then, with effort, gets back to his feet. With the fights all done, he goes almost in a dime from an easy self certainty right back to his usual awkward state of 'I don't know what to do with myself right now'. After a moment, he decides to return to where he left his coat, and put that back on.

Medeia takes matched smallsword and parrying dagger with gilded hilts.

Medeia takes golden ritual trident.

For her part, Piccola looks okay.

But that's only because she wasn't hit in the face. She's clearly not moving well at the moment, but she waves off any attempt to help her up, or help her look dignified, or help her at all. "Well-fought." That's all she has to say about that. "And now, I think I will go and soak somewhere and see what parts of me are bleeding." This, she suspects. "Would you excuse me, all? I must find my horse."

And, so, off goes the General to nurse her wounds.

Piccola has left the training yard.

Haakon drops old-fashioned broadsword.

Savio takes old-fashioned broadsword.

Raven hands off the waterskin, she herself has no interest in water she finds another server and claims some libation and makes the rounds-though before she can get very far she's approached by a messenger. Reading the note she frowns briefly and glances about before politely excusing herself and slipping off into the night.

Savio has been drinking over there at the grotto with Cesare and Zakhar, but seems to have backed himself into a conversational corner, all by himself, that he now needs to escape. Not the fault of either companion, he's just skittish and weird, jumping away at the shadows in his head, ghosts of things he isn't talking about. Fighting is better than talking. Fighting makes sense. "I'm sorry. I'll -- I'm going to ask our hostess for a dance," he apologizes to Cesare and Zak, then stands to approach Medeia, the hostest with the mostest!

To her, Savio bows, and then musters up a little bit of a smile. "My lady, I know you've missed having some fun, and you are maybe the only one who knows how to use the trident. Do you care for a dance?" He straightens and looks to Haakon, "Can I borrow your sword while your wife beats me up?"

Haakon sniffs sharply and passes his sword to Savio, sparing a moment to glance about for who has the infants, at present. "Aye, stab her if she lets you," he deadpans to Savio.

Running away in the face of a conversation about feelings is an impulse which Cesare has seen enacted many, many times, and it does not phase him in the slightest when Savio decides to put down the words and pick up the s-words again. With a grin to Zakhar as quick and fleeting as lightning, he takes advantage of the fact that Medeia is in the ring to clear away their clutter of empty glasses and bring back another round of drinks to the stone grotto.

The infants have been brought back inside and Medeia is passing off a heavy coin purse to Ian when Savio approaches her. "What? Me? I haven't fought since..." Months ago. "I'm out of practice. But. Well I won't get /in/ practice any other way." She nods her agreement, looking down at her dress. "Yes, just like this." THere's a moment of pause while she tests her grip on the trident.

Savio wields old-fashioned broadsword.

Medeia wields golden ritual trident.

Zakhar looks over to Savio and picks up Ghest, throwing the cat at the lordling. "Make use of the kit! He'll distract her!"

Ian thanks Medeia when she swings by with the bag of silver. He's clearly all too happy to settle back with a drink and watch Savio and Medeia fight.

Klavdiya, who is definitely a handmaiden and not a reaver have been dismissed.

2 Eswynd shieldbearers have been dismissed.

Loryk, a cocky but amiable reaver have been dismissed.

Fluffy, the wary wildcat have been dismissed.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Cesare barks out a laugh, giving Zakhar a slap on the arm as he quite literally tosses a cat in the direction of the ring. "I like you," he says, handing the slinger of pussy a fresh drink. "Tell me about yourself. Something interesting, anything will do. Where are you from?"

"Just like this," Savio promises Medeia with one of those little smiles that, if not as bright as before, is on the mend. Collecting a sword from Haakon, he flings off his shirt (not his shirt) again, and makes ready, picking now to try to figure out tactics, "Ian, what the hell do you do against a trident?" As for the protection of the cat, he protests, "Zak, no! I couldn't!"

Zakhar deadpan stares at Cesare, "Me?" Then looking over to Savio, "Yes! you can! It's Ghest or Floof, Shekies will just curl on her foot." He turns back to Cesare with a thoughtful look.

"Treat it like a spear," Ian suggests to Savio, helpfully. Not really all that helpfully, but he's using the tone of voice of someone who thinks he's being helpful. "Only don't let your blade get trapped between the tines. Easy to disarm you, that way."

Zakhar looks like he's thinking, if thinking means drinking more, quickly. He then pulls out a small leather pouch from the vest and proceeds to roll a thick and plump smoke of haze. "Ay ain't nearly as young as I look." He says with a bit of a slur before lighting the smoke.

Medeia checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Medeia is successful.

Medeia remains capable of fighting.

Medeia checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Medeia is successful.

Medeia remains capable of fighting.

"No," Cesare says in total seriousness. "Him, behind you." There is nobody behind Zakhar. His expression remains totally guileless as Zakhar continues, and he nods very thoughtfully. "You must tell me what you use for your skin. It's so smooth and glossy. Like a baby's bare butt."

Medeia checks 'unconsciousness save' at normal. Medeia is successful.

Medeia remains capable of fighting.

Medeia checks 'unconsciousness save' at hard. Medeia fails.

Medeia is incapacitated and falls unconscious.

"Mostly blood, some milk and honey to clean off the others blood. They tend to just start gushing it after a simple ask if they'd like some tea." Zakhar responds simply between puffs upon the smoke.

It's possible that Medeia's usual lack of regard for her clothing - she's tended bleeding wounds in honeysilk and delivered babies in duskweave without a thought, doesn't extend to her seasilk tonight. Or the months of being out f training has definitely left a mark on her abilities. Or, truly, Savio is the more masterful combatant no matter the scenario one might wish to paint. She has to respect the man's ability to not be where her trident strikes - all air, every time. On the other hand, her slowness is a detriment and he lands hit after hit against her. Even so, she doesn't give up easily, a wicked grin curling her lips as the match continues. Until her legs are taken from under her and she lands on her ass. "Oof!" A blink of surprise. Then peals of laughter. "Thank you." She lays back on the ground, looking up at the sky, trident across her stomach. "Thank you."

"Ahh, a tried and true secret," Cesare replies thoughtfully. "I find it isn't as effective for me anymore, you know? But perhaps it's the blood I'm using. Or maybe the cutlery." He leans his chin on his hand, pursing his lips, and frowns slightly. "I'm going to have to re-evaluate everything."

"Why is this so heavy," Savio complains about Haakon's sword, which is meant for a person like, y'know, Haakon. Not a Savio. He manages, though his technique with a different weapon probably gives Ian some things to cry about, and bats Medeia around until one last good whack to his friend's legs sends her to the floor. There, her laughter sparks a little ghost of a laugh from him too, and he reaches to help her up. "You are most welcome."

Ian has spent entirely too much of his life messing with Aethan through small acts of intentionally bad form to shed any tears about whatever Savio's been doing with Haakon's sword.

"You're teaching too much!" Haakon scoffs back at Savio. "Swing with your fucking hips!" Haakon had not dealt with Aethan. A tight curl bends his scarred lip as Medeia's laughter ends the match.

Zakhar is lost in his own little world mixed with drink and heavy hazy smoke to really pay much attention to the fight. None of the cats are being used and he's got someone else to keep his attention at the moment.

Swing your hips?! Savio doesn't know what you mean, Haakon! Or does he, and he's just being an ass? He definitely swings them to sashay over and give the sword back. No comment. Hips swung though, sir. A brief smile appears that almost looks like Savio before the siege, then he steps over to put his shirt (not his shirt) back on, and gather his belongings. "I should go." That's quietly to all and sundry, though Medeia gets a kiss on the cheek. "Orland will be waiting. Thank you for having me." A bit of a wave to Ian, Cesare, and Zakhar, and then he slips out.

Medeia accepts the help up, grinning. There's dirt on her dress - hopefully someone can get the stains out. She allows Savio to help her up, returns the kiss to his cheek, and then wanders over to Haakon. "Well, I'll be joining the trainings when I've time, it seems."

Savio has left the large stone grotto.

Ian grins as Savio hip-swings his way back over to Haakon. He shifts in his chair and then, taking up his cane, pushes to his feet. "Thank you for the invitation." The thanks is equally given to Medeia, Haakon, and neither of them, and then he's on his way out, as well.

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