A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.

Natalia has arrived to the area and taken up her position in the High Seats. The princess is not super hyper and warm today. In fact, she's a bit subdued and silent. Her eyes move to watch people and the field as there is movement.

Has been here for quiet some time already, overseeing to ensure that the areas are prepared for the particulars of this competition. There is a raised dias, a roped off section for combat, and then there is a track with cages at one end. Whatever beast is in there remains silent for now, even as Freja walks past it and heads for the Judge's booth. She wears a hooded obsidian gown of black leathers and furs. The voluminous hood leaves only her lips visible as she weaves her way, offering smiles here and there in greeting where she may.

The honour guard that seems intent on following Dawn everywhere these days is left behind, which means that Grayson's Voice enters without large men and women in chain and plate armor looming around. She's a spot of white against the grounds, fire and ivory, with her hair let down and woven through with silk ribbons to match the sweep of her heavy coat. Fine attire, for one who should probably be viewing... and yet the Lady lingers near the edge of the field. Reluctant to settle, perhaps, or possibly considering including herself as a participant. Freja's progress past leads Dawn to tilt a smile in her wake, eyes sharp, expression attentive.


    The booming chuckles of the Highlord of Redrain preceed Darren's entrance, the man arriving with Isolde on his arm. He was laughing to her about -something-, his grin wide and bright. He was likely regaling her with some sort of story, the ass-end of which was caught as he boasts to the Mirrormask on his arm, "And then I told her, Freja, it'd be completely unfair of me to compete. I'd whip the competition without even trying. Better I host, keep it a level playing field." There's nothing but amusement and good humour in Darren's face and posture as he directs Isolde over to the stands. "You're going to sit with me, right?" he asks Isolde, brows lofted.
    Not far behind them, a large muzzled bear looms along with Isolde's guard. Thankfully the thing appears docile.

Far from the brightest man in the city, Hammar still realizes if he wants to be a legit champion for his liege, the giant of a man needs to try and win a competition to get his name out there, so Hammar, running a bit late, literally comes running into the Tournament grounds. "HAMMAR EXCUSE.... HAMMAR EXCUSE!" Hammar bellows out loudly, massive hands pushing the common crowd that is filtering into the grounds out of the way. "HAMMAR COMPETE!" He waves his left hand above his head excitedly. "HAMMAR COMPETE!"

    There's a light laugh that answers Darren's, and the Mirrormask pats the PRince of Redrain's arm. She shakes her head. "Mmmm, I'm sure you did, darling. I'm sure you did." She grins widely at Freja and waves to her. "Did he do such a thing?" She looks to Darren, suddenly offended. "You need to ask? Of course I shall."

Hammar has joined the Field.

Dawn has joined the Field.

Serafine has joined the Field.

Niccolo arrives to the tournament grounds without his usual retinue of guards. Whether the duke came by himself, or his guards were left outside it would be impossible to tell. Still, the man continues on his way through the grounds with a glance to the fields. But rather than go join the competition, he continues on towards the seating area to claim a spot for himself.

Niccolo has joined the General Seating.

Silas strolls onto the tournament grounds, not dressed in anything different than the sort of attire he usually wears: armor. He does have a hyper corgi nipping at his heels, but thankfully the canine isn't especially disruptive and seems smart enough to quickly deduce and heed his orders to stay while his own takes the field.

Silas has joined the Field.

Darren has joined the Judges Booth.

Oh look, a champion! Or, rather, her brand of champion. Dawn's grin is bright and unfeigned as she slides through the crowds to stand near the very large, very enthusiastic Hammar. "I hope I wasn't supposed to bring a weapon," she murmurs to the big guy, even as she lifts her hand to give a bright sort of wave towards the stands.

The tall Northern Princess steps forth, dressed in an obsidian leather and fur gown that allows only her mouth to show out from the shadows of its voluminous hood . Her words come steadily, carrying out over the murmurs of the crowd as she introduces the event:

"Welcome participant and spectator, commoner and noble alike. Tonight's competition is focused on House Redrain's greatest heroes renowned for strengths beyond that of physical and martial prowess. The North is a cruel mistress, her lessons even crueler. It is not only the bite of our steel that we measure, but our resolve and outright refusal to yield when others would flee. We stand, until the last. What is hidden in snow, is revealed at thaw. " A pause." Thank you all for joining us to honor their memories and their lessons." Her lips curl slowly into her rare and heartbreaking smile as she asks, "If you are competing, please step forth and into the field." A tilt of her head indicates her shifting of attention as Darren moves to join her at the Judge's Booth accompanied by Isolde. A nod of her head and she waits for those who are competing to step forward.

Calypso steps in to the tournament grounds a little late. Not wanting to disturb the tournament in progress, she finds a seat for herself to watch from.

Calypso has joined the General Seating.

Damon smirks at Calypso as they arrive, "I think I'm going to compete." He laughs to himself and heads down to the field!

Damon has joined the Field.


    "I'll take her lack of an answer as a resounding yes. Yes I did do this thing," Darren replies to Isolde with a wink, though he only says it after Freja's made her announcement. He glances out onto the field, noting a few that've gathered already. He waves a hand to Dawn, and then looks out onto the stands, where he catches sight of Niccolo. The man gets a friendly wave too, before he steps up onto thejudge's booth and holds his hand out to Isolde to help her up and onto one of the seats. No one can ever say the North does not make gentlemen!

Serafine is deeply amused that several of those on the field are fellows she's fought with sparring already. The inked and scarred woman grins at Hammar as she passes, and winks at Damon as well. "Alright, this should be interesting."

Isolde has joined the Judges Booth.

Oh look, a Dawn. Hammar almost looks ecstatic to see Dawn and pats her lightly on one shoulder. "Hammar hi lady!" He exclaims and then at her words, Hammar shrugs. "Hammar have knife and smaller warhammer Lady use." Hammar offers to his supporting lady. Hammar then notices the tattooed woman that he had fought and points a sausage thick finger toward the woman and speaks at Dawn. "Hammar whack her." As Silas steps onto the field with a cat-dog thing, Hammar looks a bit confused toward the cat dog. "What dat."

Noting Darren's wave, Niccolo offers a wave of his own to the man and a warm smile to his daughter with him. His attention turns to Calypso at the general seating with him, and quiet words are exchanged. He nods to whatever she replies to him, before his attention turns back to the field and he looks over those that are already gathered, pensive.

"Valeria Redrain, the one and only ever Queen of the North, marshalled and united every tribe and Northman under one banner to march against the demonic host that trickled and then flooded forth from the Everwinter. They obliterated them at the Battle of Redrain Vale, where she herself slew their commander and sealed their defeat. A feat in itself that we still carry close to our hearts, but closer still is the lesson to remain as one. To fight as one, until the last." Freja echoes her house's famed words there and then smiles warmly. "The task in her honor is to fashion a speech yourself, here and now as if you were faced by a threat that would eradicate everything you hold dear. Rally your troops under one banner and leave no man unswayed."

((ooc: @check command + leadership and please try and keep it limited to one pose please for time's sake!))

Considering the rough-and-tumble (rambunctious, if we are being kind) reputation of House Redrain, perhaps it is unsurprising to find the presence of a Mercy of Lagoma -- just in case. That it is a bundled up Princess Sophie, particularly, is for others to notice or not. The excellent cut of her winter coat is obscured by the pristine white tabard overlain that denotes her vocation. Slung across one shoulder, as is typical, is a handsome leather medical satchel filled to the brim. She stands aside, afield, observing.

Silas smiles at both Hammar and Dawn, who were the familiar faces on the field, but it fades somewhat at Hammar's confusion at his pet. "Eer, it's a corgi. A dog." Said cat dog thing cants his head in confusion from where he sat at the edge of the field.

Dawn somehow manages not to crumple under even the "light" weight of Hammar's hand. Her grin matches his enthusiasm. "A knife, perhaps, and it's kind of you to share, Master Hammar. My thanks." Her waving shifts to mark Darren's arrival, the High Lord given the pair respect of a finger wiggle. Then, after a quick aside of, "A dog. They're very good ratters, that breed," for Hammar's sake, she shushes to listen to Freja's instructions.

Maximilian has joined the Field.

Dawn checked command + leadership against difficulty 15, resulting in 54, 39 higher than the difficulty.

Silas checked command + leadership against difficulty 15, resulting in 20, 5 higher than the difficulty.

Damon checked command + leadership against difficulty 15, resulting in 18, 3 higher than the difficulty.

Serafine checked command + leadership against difficulty 15, resulting in 12, 3 lower than the difficulty.

Natalia watches the field from her vantage point. For now, she is just a specator in an event.

Maximilian checked command + leadership against difficulty 15, resulting in 34, 19 higher than the difficulty.

Hammar checked command + leadership against difficulty 15, resulting in 9, 6 lower than the difficulty.

Calypso keeps an watchful eye on the field. A test of leadership! How intriguing indeed.

Maximilian is late - but unhurried as he makes his way into the field. A tankard is in one hnd, and he seems to be finishing off a sausage in the other. He just sort of ambles up to the others - and gets the idea of whats going on. He listens down the line, then steps up. "The men of the North!" He declares, lifting his tankard. "Remember this. Remember that though the enemy comes, remember that though the enemy be fell, and though the enemy be numerous! Remember that though the odds be long and the night be dark."

"Remember that we are the men of the north! Remember that we... are the spark of fire in the darkness. REmember that so long as we stand together, stand united!" He thrusts his mug in the air, a bit of rum sloshing out.. "That we cannot. WE CANNOT. BE. DEFEATED!"

A pause. "Only killed, so fight like sons of bitches."

Maximilian quaffs the remainder of his tankard, then hucks it to a servant.

Falling silent when Freja begins to explain things, Hammar listens intently and being a minion and not a leader of minions ever in his life, Hammar looks utterly distraught as to how in the hell he's supposed to make a speech to encourage everyone. There is a very long pause and finally Hammar seems to think he has come up with something. "Bad monsters come, they want take all good honey cakes, they want burn honey cake maker house..." He pauses to think a bit longer. "They want do naughty time to your pretty girls, we not want them take HONEY CAKES!" Hammar reaches up with his right hand and draws that massive warhammer that juts over his left shoulder. "HAMMAR WHACK MONSTERS!"

Esera has joined the Far Stands.


    Up at the Judge's booth, Darren's kicked his booted feet up and looks quite comfortable as he casts his gaze across the field to those who are competing. There is a prompt rather loud laugh at Hammar's attempt at a speech. "Naughty time to your pretty girls?" he looks amused, grinning at Freja and Isolde both, "Sounds pretty damn inspiring to me."


     LEADERSHIP? Serafine lead six men or so out in the wilds but... they're talking about an army. She doesn't panic, she just racks her brain trying to figure out what on earth would she say. What would a bunch of worked up men and women fight for? She clears her throat and approaches the place of projection, her long knives strapped to her thighs, long dark hair streaming out in a high tail. She raises her arms to her 'army', and begins:
     "My people! What is it we treasure the most? Our lives! And... our families! And our ... air! And we should fight for these things! Yeah! And you should all-.... fuck it."
     Serafine unless her jerkin and raises her shirt and shows off her very bare, finely tattooed, very well proportioned breasts. "YEAH! OK LET'S FIGHT!" and she drops her shirt, raises her long-knives, and-
     -charges back down to where the others are standing, replacing her clothing and sheathing her weapons. "Speeches. It had to be speeches," she grumbles.

"A legion of adverse is on our doorstep. A legion, that if they break past our defenses, means nothing but death for you, your families and everyone you hold dear." Damon starts, quite the dramatic speaker, "I don't accept that, do you? I refuse to hide and wait while death simply washes over me. I refuse to allow my home to be molested by those who wish harm upon it. I was born here, and by the pantheon I will die here, but today is not the day that I die. And it won't be yours either. We stand together, there isn't a foe on this world that can stop us, but only if we stand together. Now, who here would like to take up arms and send those fuckers back from whence they came!!?"

Calypso rises from her seat at the general benches, giving Duke Niccolo a little incline of her head. Silently she makes her way down from the stands and out in to the city once more.

Calypso has left the General Seating.

Silas clears his throat and begins to crack his knuckles. He turns to his imaginary troops, blue gaze stern and steeled. "Men, it is time to abandon the fear ebbing away our courage and face the night with all of our strength, to fight with all our strength to see the dawn which inevitably follows. Either we end this battle, or it ends us; regardless of the result, it was an honor to fight at your side. Onwards, for the dawn!"

The hooded Freja just shakes her head and allows her lips to twitch with amusment. "Naughty time to the pretty girls? I take it castration is not an option? I always thought it my fail safe..." her words trail off as she listens to the rest of the speeches with rapt interest, applauding for each one as they are made.

This might be the first and last event where Dawn does well. Realizing this-- she is nothing if not practical-- the Lady opts to do it well. She waits until the roaring has died down, between one speech and the next, the cries of the crowds, the cheering. And into that natural hush sshe draws a breath and begins to speak. There is volume enough used to help her voice carry, without seeming to shout, passing over the crowds as her own gaze does when she turns to face those in the stands.
    "There is not a one of you here who has not seen, heard or felt the touch of strange things in your life. Dark things. Things that prey on us with a weight greater even than grief or fear. A thousand years ago, King Alar Grayson called his banners and forged the Compact into a weapon the likes of which the world had never seen, and we stood fast against demonspawn spit out of the Abyss. Five hundred years ago, after the loss of her entire family, Queen Alarice the Great, of Grayson, called her banners, and reforged the Compact into the weapon our people, /our people/, needed it to be. And today, tomorrow, every day from this one, I call on you again. Let us not only be a weapon but a shield, against what comes, because together we will face it and together, once again, we will stand on the other side the victors."

Hammar points a sausage thick finger at Serafine. "Boobs."

Serafine looks up at Hammar and grins. "Aye, rumor was I had four. Now everyone knows."

Among those moved by Lady Dawn's speech is Princess Sophie, whose summer sky eyes cut across the brisk winter air, most keenly regarding the Voice of Grayson.

Niccolo returns Calypso's nod as the lady leaves, and his attention turns back to the field. His eyes remain on Dawn when she gives her speech. His head lifts and he looks from her to the others, studying each of the other participants with judging dark brown eyes.

Ianthe meanders in in her own sweet times, but, luckily, does not miss much of the speeches. While not competing herself, Ianthe does seem interested in seeing how the others fair. Most of the speeches have her applauding, nodding, but it is Hammar who makes her grin and Serafine who forces her to cover her mouth with a gloved hand to stop a laugh. While the two might not be inspiring men to great acts of heroism any time soon, they were definitely amusing. Ianthe takes a seat in the general seating area and grips her plain woool cloak more tightly around her slight frame.

Ianthe has joined the General Seating.

"The round goes to the Lady Dawn for her rousing speech. They are forged under one banner now for you, dear Lady. But for pure brass...we give points to the Princess Serafine as well who was willing to bare all in the face of adversity." Freja shifts her weight to one hip and rests her hand on the pommel of her sword, pointedly conceding the limelight to Darren as the competition progresses with a tilt of her head.

Maximilian folds his hands behind his back now - just under the silver buttons in the lower back of the flowing leather coat, waiting for the next bit of instructions. It's all fun and games until someone looses an eye.

Then its just a game - Find the eye.


    On that cue, Darren will hop to his feet, his booming voice raising over across the field. "Valeria may have struck the iron, but the metal was still hot and the scourge of the demonic host was not yet entirely at bay. Weohstan Redrain is a knight renowned for slaying lingering demons and beasts that lingered in the Northern countryside after humanity's victory at Arx. He is honored amongst our family as a demonslayer and one of the few credited with slaying a dragon. Our scops sing of a 'a great, black wyrm that ignited forests with a roar'. He sliced it through its black heart with a lance, but in its death throes it melted the metal of his armor to his skin. Weohstan did not flinch but held on until the deed was done and the beast defeated." Darren recites this all with distinct pride in his voice, a wide grin upon his lips as he continues, "We honor his endurance, his courage to press on no matter the price and what ailed him. Tonight, can you run the gauntlet against our own black wyrms? Can you endure?"

    The 'black wyrms' are in fact large, hungry looking black hounds off to the side, prepared and ready to chase the competitors down a stretch of track. Most likely, the worse they will do is nip at the heels, herding and quick hounds that they are.

((ooc: @check stamina + atheletics and pose it up!))

Hammar checked stamina + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 22, 7 higher than the difficulty.

Silas checked stamina + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 24, 9 higher than the difficulty.

Dawn checked stamina + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 12, 3 lower than the difficulty.

Serafine checked stamina + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 12, 3 lower than the difficulty.

Damon checked stamina + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 14, 1 lower than the difficulty.

Maximilian checked stamina + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 30, 15 higher than the difficulty.

Now that's a dog, unlike Silas little thing, a Hammar sized dog. Hammar moves out toward the stretch of track that he has to try and get away from the hounds on. Fully armored, other than removing his helmet and uncovering his crushed skull, Hammar, likely to the surprise of those who have not fought him is quite fast and Hammar begins to try and out run the WYRMS in the obstacle course. "HAMMAR FAST!" He bellows as his massive feet make heavy sounds with each hard step.

hounds? Dawn, flush from her victory in the first round, sees her grin go decidedly crooked as she looks over this next course. If one were to look closely, they might spy the Lady giving the judges' booth a narrow sidelong look. With a wriggle, she shrugs out of her heavy opera coat and hands it off to an attendant. "My courtier is going to -kill- me," she remarks cheerfully. Why? Because that dress! Even with the skirt semi-gathered up to clear her ankles, it trails behind her in such a fashion as to tempt the dogs to bite. And /tear/. Fast as fast can be, she's just /not/ going to make it without damage to her wardrobe.

Silas has had some practice for this event on his way here! He quickly dashes the reflex to simply bat the hounds away with his blade and sprints away from the furry 'black wyrms' in a clamor of steel armor.

    His corgi attempts to join in, but having stubby legs means he lags far behind his larger canine peers.

Better the Lady's wardrobe than the Lady herself. "This feels oddly familiar, Lady Dawn!" Sophie can't help but quip at the poor fate of the gown in question. "And here I am, with no spear!"


     And just like that Serafine is tearing across the field. Or she tries to. She gets about half way before she trips, a dog nipping at her heels and then sailing over her as she slams into the turf. The hound turns around and Serafine -snarls- at the beastie, at least enough to give it pause. She grabs the hound and bites it on the nose, a resounding -YIPE!!- resonating across the field.
     Whether it runs off or not, it goes away but then more hounds. She's on her feet again but fairly far behind, though she's covered in dirt, grinning, and there's a black hound trotting along next to her with a big lolling tongue grin, staring at her just because she's awesome. But she is definitely not the first to get to the end. Damn.

Isolde bursts out lauighing at the Judges booth, grinning widely to Freja, and nudging Darren, with a mock disapproving look.

As he steps up to the line, Damon is furiously checking his pockets in his long coat. Then his eyes go wide. Ah ha! He grins to himself as he approaches the starting line. He gets ready to run, and when he does he takes off in a sprint for about ten yards then turns around and leaps onto the dogs! A each of his feet on a dog, he rides the Wyrms as his Namesake implies. "Wyrmguard fears NO dragon!" he cries as.. well the dogs do eventually carry him to the finish line, but he it's not like he.. escaped the wyrms at all...

The Count of Darkwater, eyes the competitors - then eyes the dogs. "Mmm. Don't have to outrun the dogs." Says Max aloud, so that Serafine can hear him, but few others, as he pulls on a pair of leather gloves. "Just have to outrun -you-." and with that, the count takes off at a sprint as the dogs lunge behind them.

His coat flaps behind him as he comes to one of the larger supports for the overhead awnings, and with the alacrity of a sailor, he climbs the shrouds. From there, it's end over end over end, from rope to rope, with the smooth competence of a man who's done this most of his life, to the end of the course. With a flourish, he drops down with a thud of boots on cold winters ground.

Cheating? Perhaps. But effective. Veerrrrry effective.

Max brushes off his gloved hands, looking at the ohers.

Freja is in the middle of pretending to retch, making an overly dramatic gagging sound at whatever was said at the judging booth. One of the Redrain guards produces a whiskey bottle and extends it to her, misinterpreting whatever was going on. With a shrug the scout takes it, uncorks it with her teeth and takes a hearty swig.

Ianthe cheers loudly for Hammar, clapping her gloved hands for the big man as he at least appears to offer a good show for the event. All of the competitors earn cheer and applause from her, but, for Serafine, there is an incredulous laugh and a shake of the head. Maximilian is grinned at and she lifts her brows. Whatever else might be said, Ianthe is definitely enjoying watching the competition.


     Serafine trots over next to Hammar and tries to dust herself off.


    And then of course there is Darren, stuck between the retching Redrain and the faux-disappointed looking Velenosa. He mocks innocence, before jumping to his feet to congratulate the racers. "What a race!" his voice booms across the field, as he brings his hands together in applause. "Except for you over there. Biting the wyrms, tsk. Could've lost your face," he points to Serafine, though his disappointment is only in jest, as it is followed by warm chuckles. "But the winner is Count Maximilian Darkwater. And we're awarding some points for... creativity... to Lord Damon, for his spirit." Then, he nods to Freja, as he retakes his seat.

When Serafine bites that poor (okay, that might be relative) hound, Sophie is trekking over to the handler, offering to take a look at any injuries.

Maximilian doffs his hat and bows to the judges, before glancing sidelong to Damon and giving an approving sort of nod. "LEts see what comes next, my scholarly friend." he says, before looking to Serafine. "When I suggested hair of the dog to cure a hangover, lady..."

Hammar leans down to speak quietly to Serafine once more, apparently he likes the woman enough after having sparred with her that he'll hold a conversation with her between the events

Serafine says, "I didn't bite -that- hard."

Damon can be seen petting and stroking his Wryms at the finish line before he returns to join the rest, dipping his head at the announcement of his bonus points.


The Grayson knight arrives at the finish line near the front of the pack, but not quite in the lead. He does manage to outrun the animals, but he gives a few of them some friendly stitches and ruffles before he ushers his own pet back to the sidelines.

"While we are not without our steadfast and consistent alaricite resolve, we are also not famed for a lack of...controversy in our methods." says the Northern Shaman of all things. Freja quirks a brow with a wicked smile. "Fyrva Redrain was one of those that is as much honored in the North as he is hated in the west. He was one of our greatest raiders, and even lead the king at the time to offer his daughter's hand in marriage to whomever could 'stop that bloody Northman bastard.' The invasion into Redrain territory by the rest of the Compact has been described by historians as 'the greatest fiasco since the First Valardinian Crusade' and by Warchief Fyrva as 'hysterical', and created the maxim to all military planners that the wild northlands with its high mountain peaks, narrow and defensible passes, and vales perfect for ambushes, is a land that is, as Duke Rodrigo Velenosa described it, 'sheer idiocy to invade'. Ruthlessly abusing the defensive nature of the North, Fyrva held off the rest of the Compact for years, provoking them into ill-prepared winter campaigns." Freja laughs brightly here and then brings it full circle, "He was finally done in by charming assassins, poisoned by silks. It was the only way they could beat the man, as low as it was but still..we celebrate him, knowing that he was never beaten in war, never lost a battle, he died laughing knowing that the North will never, ever be slaves."

She smiles and sighs, "Charm your way out of the poison, darlings." And here some women in questionable winter attire approach and offer them cups..

((ooc: @check charm + manipulation and pose away!))

Hammar checked charm + manipulation against difficulty 15, resulting in 22, 7 higher than the difficulty.

Damon checked charm + manipulation against difficulty 15, resulting in 14, 1 lower than the difficulty.

Dawn checked charm + manipulation against difficulty 15, resulting in 15, 0 higher than the difficulty.

Silas checked charm + manipulation against difficulty 15, resulting in 15, 0 higher than the difficulty.

Maximilian checked charm + manipulation against difficulty 15, resulting in 15, 0 higher than the difficulty.

Serafine checked charm + manipulation against difficulty 15, resulting in 14, 1 lower than the difficulty.

For the records of Vellichor, let it be noted that the token Valardin seems utterly impassive at mention of the First Crusade. Then again, she is busy cooing over a fearsome 'wyrm'.

Good looking women he does not know are quite honestly Hammar's downfall a good one hundred percent of the time, his already befuddled mine gets more befuddled to the point he cannot speak. Hammar, as if in some stroke of genius gives his yellow-toothed smile, places his horned helmet back onto his head, removes his backpack from his back and pulls out a honey cake to offer to the woman coming to poison him. "Hammar going eat honey cake for supper, but Hammar full on pretty lady beauty." Hammar tells the woman and then points to the warhammer he carries. "If not try kill Hammar, Hammar make sure no one want hurt you." Hammar then leans in to speak quietly to the woman. "Want go see Hammar naughty hammer?"


    Darren reaches to take a swig of the bottle of whiskey that one of the Redrain guards has brought over, just barely managing to swallow rather than spit it all out back over himself when Hammar tries to make the women swoon. He laughs, a -lot-.


     Serafine watches the woman approaching her, cup in her hand, and ... forgets what she's supposed to be doing. Maybe she got the prettiest one of the bunch, or maybe they just picked a woman that reminds her -so- much of that one lass she made out with in her Uncle Niccolo's bed that one summer, but ...
     "Hellooooo," she croons and takes the cup, knocks it back, then grabs the woman and kisses her passionately. Yup. Fail. What's charm?

Dawn has spent these last few minutes trying to inspect the damage done to the hem of her skirts. There are rips, and there are tears, but the silk is wispy and finally she gives up trying to turn around to capture the hem. She will simply pray it looks whimsically deconstructed, because now they are being faced with a new challenge. The women approach and they are decidedly lacking in anything approaching proper coverage against the chill of the day. When Dawn's coat is returned to her, rather than slipping it on, she plays the gallant and drapes it about her server's shoulders. Of course, the woman keeps trying to press the cup on her, and Dawn just keeps fussing with the fit of the coat, and time winds down with neither of them really accomplishing their goals.

Silas looks uneasy at his chances at winning such a contest when a group of nubile Northern women approach him, though the initial allure was somewhat dampened with the knowledge that they were presumably trying to poison him. He offers them a bright, wide smile and raises his hand to refuse the offered cups. "Sorry ladies, I have a long ride home and I need to be clear-sighted. Perhaps I could interest you in an inn room instead?"

Damon waves his hand, "Oh, no thank you. I had a big lunch." But the lady insists, so he takes the glass from the tray and puts a mouthful in, lifting his eyebrows and nodding humming his satisfaction at the drink, he raises the glass to take another drink but simply spits it back into the cup, "So good. Just wonderful thank you..." He places the glass back on the tray and coughs, holy shit what was in that thing?

Max is not much of an actor. He's really not. But he gives it the old Thraxian try. Which is to say, he grabs the cup and turning slightly, 'drinks it'. Only he pours it out over his shoulder, which is frankly, obvious. He's not terribly good at this.

After a moment, he coughs - and then he clutches his throat, and then he stumbles to the one knee. OH GOD, IT WAS POISON! THE AGONY! THE PAIN! He claws at his throat for a moment more...

Then he stands up and eyes te poisoner, the pantomime dropped. "I have secretly built up an immunity to Lidocane Powder. Your wiles..." He says with an upturned eyebrow... "have no effect on me. "

Ianthe watches this event of the competition with interest. As she overhears Hammar's words, a strange look passes over her face, a fleeting shift of expression, before a grin is firmly fixed back into place. She leans forward, chin propped in hands, eyes glittering as more than one of the contestants' attempts at seduction make her laugh.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Natalia before departing.

Freja has managed to not choke on her whiskey throughtout this trial, but she is drinking a lot deeper from that bottle as the event wears on.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Dawn before departing.

"Hammar oddly enough, seems to have charmed the charmer rather than..well. The deed is done." Freja says without further explanation, as the scantily clad Northern woman is now moving to sit in Hammar's lap and giggling girlishly. "For creativity of approach, the points go to Count Maximilian there. Praise the Spirits you were wasting the wine and not the good whiskey." She holds up her bottle in toast.

Maximilian pulls out his flask of Rum - lifting it in salute to Freja. "My thanks to thee!" He declares, before uncapping the Rum and taking a deep drink.


     Serafine is currently untangling herself from the pretty Northern woman and savoring the burn of whiskey, steals another kiss from the girl and moves back to where the others are waiting.


    Darren lifts to his feet, bottle hoisted in cheers to the competitors. "And now, for our final competition," he announces, "There are men of the North famed for their bloodlust. Sure, some are just brutes and use the title as a crux, but Rathlander Redrain was a Beserker who set the standard for all to follow. Rathlander was one acclaimed for his Bloodlust...though he would call it simply a reasonable reaction to whatever caused it to come about in the first place." Darren's words are punctuated with a chuckle, his grin wide. "To this day he acts as an inspiration to many of our fighters. One of his more noteworthy accomplishments was when would be assassins slipped into Farhaven's keep and made for the nursery in hope of wiping out the progeny and legacy for good. Thing was, ol' Rathlander was there regaling them with a tale when those poor fuckers entered. After ushering the kids to safety, he proceeded to rip off the arm of the first assassin and beat the second to death with it. The rest of it was a glorious bloody affair and the threat was quelled. We honor him tonight and allow you to face off against one of our own Redrain beserker, freshly blooded in service and itching for a fight. Mind your limbs."
     ((ooc: @check medium wpn + strength or dex and pose away!))

Maximilian checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 29, 14 higher than the difficulty.

Dawn checked dexterity + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 19, 4 higher than the difficulty.

Silas checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 43, 28 higher than the difficulty.

Damon checked dexterity + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 40, 25 higher than the difficulty.

Serafine checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 42, 27 higher than the difficulty.

Hammar checked strength + huge wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 45, 30 higher than the difficulty.


    As he retakes his seat, Darren punches Freja on the arm with a laugh, though whatever conversation they are having is kept in the judge's booth.

Maximilian flips his coat back from his hips - and in that moment, a moment known to gunfighters and swords men everywhere, he draws both sabers from his scabbards and launches forward. There's no preamble, no 'by thy leave'. He's just a two bladed dervish out to win the battle as quickly as possible. The longer he fights, the more chance he will be fatigued or make a mistake his enemy will exploit.

Max uses every bit of geography to make his fight more to his advantage. A barrel is lept up on, and then he summersaults off it, to land behind the redrain man, before dropping low, to kick the man in the junk by way of bleeding off kenetic momentum. As he spins away, his coat furls and the Count's guard catches the incoming attacks with a certain dramatic flair. The fight ends, when, taking somewhat longer than everyone else, Maximilian positions the berzerker near the barrel again, and with a flurry of blows, forces the bigger man to stumble over the impediment.

Freja returns the punch just as quickly, but positive to make a show of rubbing her arm where Darren hit her. "I'm telling Drea on you!" she warns.

Pulling out a knife, he hands it off to Dawn before the fighting begins so she can use it before Hammar reaches up and pulls that massive warhammer from the sheathe that has it jutting over his left shoulder. Hammar gives the Redrain that comes to attack him a wicked grin. "It Hammar time." The giant of a man says, and much like Rathlander, Hammar himself fights like a berserker, rushing into the combat like some feral Animal, that huge warhammer swinging to swathe a path of destruction, his actions are fast, and when he connects the sheer crunching damage done to the man he was paired with is sickening, like the slap of a cleaver in a butcher shop when that heavy weapon connects. "HAMMAR WHACK!!"

Well, this contest sounds potentially bruising and bloody. It would seem that Sophie will not be spending the rest of the event petting a pack of pooches. Alas. Blue eyes flit back to the field with all the keen situational awareness of someone skilled at picking out the most injured among multiple melees.

Patient #1: Hammar's pancake.

It is difficult if not impossible to stand out in a crowd as experienced with fighting as this one. Dawn has no intention of standing out, of course. The knife is accepted from Hammar and used to sketch a grinning salute to the big man, before she turns to face the fellow who approachs. At least she's tall enough not to be cast entirely in his shadow-- and at least she makes no fool of herself, proving to be at capable enough to keep from being hit, herself, though she lands no actual blows against her opponent. Evasion, she can do!


     Serafine grins, fierce and delighted; HERE is something she can do and do well.
     The Redrain berserker that approaches is sized up, and within heartbeats she's in his space, her long-knives a buzz of steal around him as she handles both blades simultaneously. She ducks his swings, she uses her short height to her advantage and uppercuts the man's jaw, inside his defenses, hooks a foot behind his leg and headbutts him in the solar plexus.
     And down he goes. It's over quickly and she stands over the man, plants a foot on his gasping chest, and -ROOOOAAARRRS- her delight, weapons raised.
     Then she drops down, sits on the man's chest, and kisses his nose. Hops up, and trots over back to where the other competitors are standing, sheathing her blades as she goes.

Damon had one thing going for him this competition, actually not really, but you know what, fuck it. He slowly leans backwards as the large berserker approaches him, a tower of a man, even for someone of Damon's height. As he takes a step or two backwards and draws his sword and starts quickly. Using the flat of his blade to slap and smack important and useful muscles to the beserker, like thighs, calves, biceps and even the occasional slap on the ass. Damon swoops and ducks around the heavy slow, slugs of the man while the Knight of Scrolls wore him down to the point where the Berserker was simply standing still and huffing heavy breath after heavy breath. Then Damon slaps the flat of his blade across the face of the berserker and puts him to bed.

Silas slowly unsheathes his blade when his opponent ambles towards him. Aggressive and flashy he was not: he suspects the berserker can out-berserk him, so he keeps a reasonable distance between them and takes a defensive stance. As the man hurtles towards him in fury, the Grayson knight nimbly evades the onslaught of attacks and instead closes in and slashes at the berserker when he provides an opening. No movement is wasted and eventually his opponent tires, his attacks become more sloppy, and Silas hits harder and harder until he's a heaving mess on the floor. There were plenty of bruises littering the poor man, but very little blood.


    Darren winces as Hammar's brutal blow connects with the Berserker, though the soldier is hearty enough that he will be out but not for very long. And of course, there are Mercies around. Darren even points to the one he sees in the crowd. "Princess Sophie, I think some of my men could use a healing hand," he calls to the Princess, before he lifts to his feet to call out to the competitors, as the Berserkers are either carted off the field or walk out on their own accord.

"With Hammar's brutality, he is considered the winner of this round. An amazing fight, a perfect end to the competition," he booms to the crowd, though there's a mischevious grin on his lips. "Or it -would- be, if it were the end. But it is not! It seems... we have a tie. Hammar," he points to Hammar, and then to Maximilian, "Count Maximilian. Step forward. The two of you will be participating in our tiebreaker round," he announces, and then defers to Freja. "To the rest of you, a job well done! You may leave the field"

Damon before he leaves he finds those poison girls and grabs an untouched glass of whiskey from one of their trays and takes it with him as he returns to the stands.

Maximilian moves forward, one hand reaching up to brush hair back from his feature, glancing up at the judges stand. "AS it please you." He says, hands folding behind his back as he awaits the situation to come.

Natalia looks up as someone gets her attention and she stands. The woman leaves the those stands but she does nod to Isolde, Darren and Freja. Then she leaves the field. She's just so subdued tonight.

Natalia has left the High Booth.

Serafine reaches for Hammar, climbs him like a tree, and plants a kiss on his cheek.

Untouched, unbloodied, but still grinning widely, Dawn makes certain Hammar gets his knife back before she steps away. She claps the big man on the arm as well before withdrawing, stepping up into the stands to take her seat.

Serafine drops back to the ground and leaves the field. "LUCK!" she calls to himover her shoulder.

Serafine has left the Field.

Dawn has left the Field.

Damon has left the Field.

Damon has joined the Far Stands.

Dawn has joined the General Seating.

Silas has left the Field.

Silas has joined the General Seating.

Serafine has joined the General Seating.

Hearing that he has tied it up to figure out who will win, Hammar glances askance toward Maximilian with a grin to the man, Hammar sheathes his warhammer and steps forward toward the judges stand to hear what it is that they will have to do to win this thing. But Serafine crawling him has Hammar surprised and he boggles at the kiss, yeah... the charmer is unable to speak for a few moments before smiling and stepping forward again.

Silas sheathes his sword back into his scabbard and wanders off the field. He sits in one of the seats in the front row to watch the incoming tiebreaker.

Maximilian takes a quaff off his rum flask - then absently passes it to Hammar. "I hope it's not a poetry competition. You will certainly best me."

Princess Sophie needed no prompting to tend to the wounded, already on en route before being singled out, but she does not begrudge the Highlord's love of showmanship. Instead, she smoothly sinks to her knees, adjusting her satchel, as she begins her assessment, dulcet voice quietly speaking to the downed man, her demeanor calm and confident, her manner what many find soothing.

A dark look seems to cross Hammar's features at Maximilian's words. "You make fun Hammar?" He asks, tilting his head down at the man

"No. I'm shit at poetry." Say Max, still holding out the flask.

Freja rises from her seat at the Judge's Booth with a single nod to Darren and moves to leave, stepping out into the field to circle about the two remaining contenders. Standing at 6'2, she towers over Maximilian but is thankfully still dwarfed by Hammer. Her path weaves between then both, sizing them up with her hidden gaze under that dark hood as she speaks. "Lady Nameless was just that - no one knew her origins, her story save for what she accomplished. She posed as knight, courtesan, servant, thrall, noble lady, and even a remarkable impersonation of a duchess of the Velenosa in order to assassinate the heir of Thrax and start a war which the house could not hope to win while still fighting Redrain and Grayson." She pauses here, brushing off a speck of dust from Max's shoulder before she continues and moves to stand in front of them. "There was also the small account of a string of suspicious deaths among their finest military commanders and civil leaders, but that is just a footnote of what she has done...that said, you must face off against her in this task." Her smile widens and in that moment any who have seen Lady Nameless' statue in the Hall of Memories will note that Freja is dressed as her tonight. "Your task is simple; try to outmaneuver the enigma herself. In this field are traps hidden under the snow, the sand. You must try and capture me before I reach the other end and evade my traps along the way. Pay close attention to my steps, if you can."

Damon puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a cheering whistle. Nameless was one of his own personal favorite heroes. So seeing her essentially cosplayed tonight was quite the excitement for him. Not to mention this particular task was right up his alley.

((ooc: You will @check dex + athletics for the field and then whatever you wish for capturing her method! It will be a check against my stealth + dex, but if someone beats me then they win automatically. If all checks fail then whoever has the greatest sum of successes wins))


     Serafine jumps to her feet and cups her hands over her mouth to loose a long, piercing -HOOOWWWLLL-, before clapping and shouting, "HAMMAR WHACK!!" at the top of her lungs.

Hammar checked dexterity + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 14, 1 lower than the difficulty.

Maximilian checked dexterity + athletics against difficulty 15, resulting in 31, 16 higher than the difficulty.

Freja checked dexterity + stealth against difficulty 15, resulting in 58, 43 higher than the difficulty.

Maximilian checked wits + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 34, 19 higher than the difficulty.


    Darren looks amused about something, shifting on his seat as he kicks his feet up again and returns most of his focus on the event out on the field. By the looks of it, he's expecting Freja to make this a fight for the others.

Hearing Serafine's shout, Sophie, who is still tending to pancake #1, drily calls out, "PLEASE DON'T."

Maximilian glances sidelong at the speck of dust the tall woman grooms him. And then he looks back to her, a grin coming to his lips at the large woman's show of affectionate care. Thats Max's story and he's sticking too it. He lets his hand drop when Hammar takes the flask, and he folds them back behind him. "VEry well, My tall friend. We shall hunt, and you shall be the quarry. I understand." He says, glancing at Hammar. "My taller friend. Shall we?" He asks, before turning to sprint off down the path after her. He is fast on his feet, but the woman is... somewhat amazingly fleet. Holy shit.

He glances up as he moves - eyeing the awning once again. He draws two blades, slashing as he runs at guide-ropes. The awnwing over head starts to drop, tangling and cutting off avenues of escape - and if he is very lucky, Max will pause the fleeing woman with a carefully dropped sheet of cloth.

Freja checked dexterity + stealth against difficulty 15, resulting in 51, 36 higher than the difficulty.

Hammar checked luck + huge wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 51, 36 higher than the difficulty.

What happens when a person has massive feet and are trying to sneak along through a booby trapped field to catch a woman who's made her life at sneaking? Well you end up tripping up a snare that catches Hammar by the foot and suddenly he is hanging upside down, but the snare was set for an average height adn weight man to where Hammar ends up hanging upside down with his head just touching the ground, his warhammer slowly slides out of its sheathe and falls beside him. "Hammar." He mutters, grabbing the warhammer and just to try out his luck while caught, Hammar tosses the warhammer in Freja's direction, hoping that perhaps he'll catch her and knock her out to win this thing, his sunken right eye squinting as he watches the path of the weapon.

The Scout of the Snows lives up to her nickname, quickly darting over the snow and traps laid out over the field with a bright ripple of laughter as she bobs this way and that. Freja sidesteps the cloth as it falls but Maximilian draws close enough that his fingertips brush against the back of her dress. Her hand quickly rises with a sharp pivot on her heel, knocking his hand away. Her other hand grabs his wrist and holds it up. "We have our winner! The North Remembers and honors him!" The taller woman leans down to place a chaste kiss on his cheek and release his arm.

It's a good ploy on Max's part. He uses his superior speed and agility, the fleetness and the surefootedness of being raised on the waves, to outdistance Hammar and keep within striking distance of Freyja. The cloth flutters down, cutting off escape routes, narrowing the ways the woman CAN go, and incresing the chances that the pirate (Not really a pirate, no one call him a pirate, he gets techy about that.) will choose the right path. Leaing over a fallen awning, Max grabs a rope and swings, rolling into a crouch to grab at Freja..

It's only a hand. It's only a touch.

But it's just enough.

Dawn tucks her chin into the folds of the cloak. "He was upset when I spoke to him but he recovers quickly-- oh!" She surges to her feet as the hammer is thrown... and misses. "Oh, dear," says she of the diplomatic turn of phrase. Smiling, she still sighs, and extricates her hands from the Duke's cloak to applaud the named winner. Her call of congratulation will surely be drowned out but she summons additional volume to add, "A good throw, Hammar!"

The Warhammar lands at her feet and Freja turns her head to Hammar to regard him. A few guards have made their way over to try and cut the large man free from the trap, but they are keeping a wary distance at first. "A for effort."

Damon rises from his seat to begin cheering and clapping for Max, whistling with his fingers, just all around being a proper spectator. If only he had a vuvuzela

As the winner is announced, Ianthe nimbly slides from seated to standing in her seat, clapping and shouting for both competitors. "Well done!"


    Darren rises to his feet once the winner has been decided, bringing his hands together for a thunderous applause. "Congratulations, Count Maximilian," he announces, unhooking a pouch from his belt that jingles in the delightful way that silver in pouches typically jingle. He leans over the rail of the judge's booth and tosses the pouch down to Maximilian, his grin wide. "And a good showing to you, Hammar!" he cheers the man, before turning to the crowd. "Let's have a cheer for our winner, eh?"

Silas pauses in his corgi petting to raise his gauntleted hands to noisily applaud the victor and the valiant attempt of the runner-up.

Darren is overheard praising Hammar for: Who would've known the man could be so versatile in skill.