| A Distressing Spectacle |
| Summary: | The flogging of Logen's two guards and Caitlyn's handmaiden precedes the Joust in honour of Aberdeen's King and manages to cast a shadow over the event. |
| OOC Date: | 17/08/2013 (OOC) |
| Related: | Prince's Proposal |
| Players: |
            |
| Tournament/Faire Grounds, City of Stormvale |
| The fairegrounds are big enough to hold a great many people, during festivals. They are really just a huge field, with a platform at the center, which is used for performances and announcements as is required. Grass never really seems to grow though, as the tents, pavillions and feet of each festival stamp it out. And just as it is beginning to regrow, the next festival arrives.
During a festival, the fairegrounds bustle with activity, whichever festival it might be. Many vendors set up tables and booths, selling everything from hotcakes to swords. Bards play music and poets recite their latest poems. Artists of all shapes, sizes and typse can be spied around and about the grounds. The scene is quite festive. |
| Nar 45th, 228 |
By royal decree, it is hereby ordered that Caden Sterling and Oran McCloud be stripped of their responsiblities to Logen Kilgour, and are sentenced to detention in the dungeon of Castle Darfield for one hundred and eighty days. It is further decreed that the handmaiden to Caitlyn Crawford, Lovona, be sentenced to serve detention in the dungeon for one hundred and eighty days. Included in each of their sentences will be a public flogging of no less than thirty lashes to the back. This flogging will take place at four o'clock on Saturday, August 17, the year of Thedor, 228. Detention in the dungeon will begin immediately following the public flogging. All noble ladies and their handmaids currently at Castle Darfield are hereby ordered, by royal decree, to attend the public flogging.
Let this serve as a warning. Any guard or handmaid who does not perform their duties in protecting their charges, including their reputation, will be punished. There will be no exceptions.
Standing in the center of the tournament grounds is Tyrel Kilgour, who is speaking to a couple of Rioga, as well as the man whose job it is to flog the accused. Standing near the group of men is the accused themselves; Lavona, the handmaiden, and the two guards formerly assigned to Logen. Tyrel has a grim look on his face and is animated as he speaks. A stake is being prepared to tie the criminals to, in order to hold them steady for the public flogging.
The stands are full, moreso than usual, considering the order for all the ladies to attend, with their handmaids. The women outnumber the men 2 to 1 for the showing. In the royal box is the King, Callem Kilgour, along with his ally, King Isaac Aberdeen. Commoners have also turned out in large numbers to watch the spectacle.
Rank brings benefits but it requires grim responsibilities. As one of those closest to the king, Caedmon woke early and received the news. Shortly before the appointed hour arrived, he rode, with Baroness Wenna Riverwynd of Blackforge, to the tournament grounds. They found places for themselves in the stands, and now they are sitting, with solemn expressions on their faces, waiting to witness this meting out of justice.
Also in the stands are Ciarrah Kilgour, her handmaid Serah, sitting near her father, the King of Aberdeen. Nearby are Aemy Ruxton and her handmade Elissa. All are watching the events in the field.
Wenna's handmaid and her guards are sitting behind the nobles, also gazing out at the field to observe the unfolding of events.
Sitting nearby the Ruxton is Solara with her handmaid, she seems to be intently watching the events taking place on the field as well, after being ordered to do so by the decree.
Caitlyn sits in the stands, her chin held out straight, eyes cold and giving away no emotion. Two new Kilgour guards and two handmaids sit just behind her.
Logen stands on the field in his armor, his gaze stoic as he watches the proceedings.
Standing somewhere to the side of the lists is Ruthgar Ruxton, newly minted Baron of Dellhaven - and a Knight of the Rioga. As if to stress that latter fact particularly, he wears both the plate armor with the Kilgour crest wrought into the breast plate and the distinctive cloak in Kilgour purple. His steed however is that same black destrier he has ridden in previous tourneys, Nightshade, held at its reigns by a timid squire, whose head turns at every whinny and prancing step of the animal.
His horse is obviously already anticipating the spectactle of the Joust, it shows in its temper, whereas Ruthgar's full attention is engaged on the dubious spectacle of the flogging. He watches the preparations with an unmoving face, his gaze shifting from King Callem Kilgour to the handmaiden and the guards that soon will receive their punishment. His pale grey eyes then proceed to Prince Logen, the man those guards had been assigned to, and linger a touch longer on him, before he lowers his gaze with a sigh, a line showing between his brows as he waits for the inevitable flogging to proceed.
Standing at the side of the field wearing armor, the same Mystery Knight as before watches almost as stoically as the rest. Arms are held loosely at the side and the helm covers any facial features and hair, leaving the Knight completely genderless at the moment.
Finally, after several moments, Tyrel nods, and motions to the first guard, Oran McCloud.Oran is brought forward, and tied to the stake as Tyrel steps back a few feet to stand clear. After being tied to the stake, the royal flogger steps forward. The lash is brought back with a pop, and then the punishment begins. The first lash is as brutal as the 29 lashes that are to follow, a red line of blood appearing instantly. Without hesitation, the guard continues whipping the man, leaving his back a gnarled mess of blood and welts. There is no mercy.
Tyrel remains stoic, watching quietly from a few feet away. As the first lash connects with the mans back, Tyrel doesn't flinch, or even blink. His emotion doesn't change. He merely watches in silence.
Ciarrah flinches with each lash, wishing to look away, but for the royal order, she does not. She forces herself to watch, her hands clasped together, eyes drifting to Tyrel in between each lash given, but she is strong and only flinches, no other emotion given away.
Aemy, as tenderhearted as she is, also flinches and tears fill her eyes but she continues to look on. She holds the hand of her handmaid who has been with her for many years and would never allow something like this to happen to her. As the lashings go on, she dabs at her eyes with her delicate handkerchief, devastated to see anyone in so much pain.
Oran McCloud lets out a wail in pain as the lash connects, his head snapping back and his scream of pain floating across the field.
On one of the seats close to the King is his daughter, Princess Caillin, her handmaid Gaela standing behind her. Although there had been glances of admiration accompanied by a comely blushing towards her betrothed, before the brutal spectacle had commenced, her face has turned rather pale now, little as can be seen from it behind those hands that have moved upwards to cover her view.
After Oran McCloud is taken away to the dungeons, Caden Sterling is brought forward, and tied to the same stake with Tyrel still back a few feet to stand clear. After being tied to the stake, the royal flogger steps forward once again. The lash is brought back with a pop, and then the punishment begins. The first lash is as brutal as the 29 lashes that are to follow, a red line of blood appearing instantly. Without hesitation, the guard continues whipping the man, leaving his back a gnarled mess of blood and welts. As before, there is no mercy.
Still standing on the edge of the field, the Mystery Knight shivers with the relentless punishment, a reminder of being grateful for not being born into nobility.
Ruthgar shoots a glance at the second guard that is being flogged, before lowering his gaze again with a light shake of his head. The line between his brows still there. The corners of his mouth twitch downwards, before his face resumes the usual mask of indifference.
Ciarrah just watches, unable to disguise the flinching with each lash. Her handmaid Serah is almost in tears, but remains silent at her side.
It is just killing Aemy to watch, the healer in her so obviously dismayed at the brutal lashes that bring blood and flesh. Tears still stream silently down her cheeks. She is a nurturer, and this is physically hurting her to watch. Her hand still clutches that of her handmaid while the other dabs uselessly at her eyes.
Caitlyn has not once betrayed herself and shown emotion. She sits poised with an air of seeming uncaring. Her gaze flicks to Logen only once.
Logen too, doesn't show emotion. He's lost men before, seen grievous wounds, and as a trained military leader he knows how to detach from this.
Solara watches, a grim look on her face. Her hands are clenched at her side, finger nails digging into the flesh, though there are no tears. There is a haunted look on her face though, very much so, and her handmaid is taking strength from Solara's stoic resolve. Though one look at those blue eyes of Solara's, the tension in her body, and the stoic facade is revealed for just exactly that.
Twenty-seven. Blood droplets fly. Twenty-eight. Bits of torn flesh cling to the grass. Twenty-nine. A cry, a plead for it to just stop comes from the guard. Thirty. Done. None too gently, Caden is released and is taken to the dungeons to follow the last guard. Next, Lavona is brought forward, the usually strong and confident maid dragging her heels with a look of horror on her face, pleading to have mercy on her. None is given as she too is tied to the stake. Restrained. And the flogging begins.
An example is being made, and Ciarrah watches. Quietly, she reaches for her fathers hand and gently squeezes it, searching his expression for a reassuring look. He does not disappoint, giving her a warm smile and a look of pride. "You never disappointed me, my daughter." At the moment, Ciarrah cannot appreciate the compliment from him, but she does appreciate the reassurance from him and does not remove her hand.
Watching intently, for the first ten or so lashes, is Count Aldren Haravean. He is dressesd finely in green and white, a clasp in the form of a trout fastens the hunter green cloak about his shoulders and he is wearing new boots, a fine deep red stained into the lather.. As he loses interest he begins to look about the crowd. While he listens to the gasps that erupt all around him the man Caden cries out at the end and the Count looks back. He seems unmoved by the experience till now. As the girl is dragged forth he now sighs, seemingly less eager to witness this part. As she pleads he looks to the ground and examines the fine new leather. When the first crack of the whip becomes audible his face tightens, and he lazily kicks about some of the dirt he is staring at.
Distraught, Aemy watches in silence, the only sounds from her are the inhalations of breath as she cries softly. She is unable to assist in any way. Watching as they lead the man away, who so obviously needs medical attention, she rises to her feet, only to sit down again at the realization she is unable to help. Yet.
If the guards were difficult, the hand maid is going to be sheer torture to watch and worse for the maid in question. Solara just stares unflinchingly. Watching the example without any further display of anything, regardless of what thoughts go through her head. She will watch, because to do otherwise would be - not right. But she is not happy about it at all. Not that it is found necessary, not that it is happening, and not that she is here. She watches, though every ounce of her is screaming to somehow make it stop. It takes all her self control to remain where she is, and not get to her feet. As Aemy moves, Solara's attention goes her way, and she moves herself over closer to her good sister. Still totally quietly.
As the cries of the handmaiden reach his ears, Ruthgar's gaze is raised for yet another time, focusing on her for a moment, then forcing himself to lower his pale grey eyes again. His jaw tightens as he hears the girl's screams, that are only interrupted by the sharp sound of the lash.
The Mystery Knight remains at the side of the field, gauntlet covered hands clenched tightly, unable to remain standing still, she begins pacing, restlessly back and forth, back and forth, like a caged animal. With a tainted view of nobles already, she silently curses them as she walks, wondering what was so terrible to warrant this as a punishment.
Without any thought of gender, the handmaid is given the same amount of lashes with the same ferocity. At the end, the handmaid has checked out, unconscious from the pain and is carried away to the dungeons with the rest of the guards. Only then, once the field is cleared, is the announcement for the tournament given, with participants told to prepare.
Tyrel continues watching the floggings without any emotion showing on his face. When the handmaiden is pulled away and drug off toward the dungeon, Tyrel purses his lips with a nod. He says a few words to the royal flogger and the Rioga standing nearby, before heading toward the lists to find his steed, which is waiting with one of Tyrels squires. He finds the Darfield Destrier, black with white spots, and quickly begins preparing for the jousting event, thoughts of flogging no longer on his mind as he prepares for competition.
With the floggings done, Caitlyn rises poised and quiet and makes her way from the stands. The two handmaids and two guards following closely behind her.
Caedmon sits at a stiff attention throughout the floggings, but his mouth twitches involuntarily at points during the proceedings. When the guard cries out, Caedmon bites his bottom lip until it sees ready to bleed. When the handmaiden sags into unconsciousness under the lash, he sighs deeply and shakes his head. Throughout, Wenna sits with her head bowed. The king requires her to be here, but she is unable to face the horror directly, even though, in her role as a healer, she surely has seen many horrors. When the attendants start to carry the limp body from the field, Wenna nudges Caedmon and whipsers something to him. He nods and stands before offering his arm to help her to her feet. Some might imagine that she is too squeamish for this, but some in the court might recall that she is the royal physician now. She has a duty to see to the prisoners. With Caedmon's help, and the aid of her cane in her other hand, she makes her way out of the stands after this gristly spectacle has concluded. Her guards and handmaiden follow closely behind them, and they head to the area where the horses are waiting.
As Solara moves nearer to Aemy, her handmaid moves along with her, of course. There is almost relief as the handmaid passes out, but Solara's gaze stays on the prisoners. She watches as Wenna goes to help them, letting her deal with her duty. Slowly, now that it is over, Solara unclenches her hands, glancing down to see the bloody red marks she's left, a product of her own emotions and her own finger nails. She stays where she is, though there is no joy in her, no excitement about the events to come. Still, she stays, face pale.
Ruthgar does not turn away from the spectacle, he simply does not watch it. As soon as the handmaiden is carried off, his gaze is raised and he turns to complete his preparations with an unmoving face.
Tyrel gets his armor latched on, followed by his purple cloak. After checking the plate armor, and adjusting, Tyrel moves to the stirrup and pulls himself into the saddle. He lifts his visor, and spits, just as he reaches for his polearm. He waits for Logen to appear on the opposite end of the lists, and raises his polearm in salute to his younger brother, though his face is grim. After a moment, he slaps the visor shut and prepares to start the charge.
Mounted, Logen sits atop his tournament horse. He's in his armor, helmet and visor set and locked into place. He returns the salute after coaxing his mount to face his older brother. Then begins to urge his horse into a gallop.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Logen=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Amazing Success Logen: Great Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Logen=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Logen: Good Success Tyrel: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Logen=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Good Success Logen: Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Logen=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Logen: Good Success Tyrel: Great Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Logen=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Good Success Logen: Good Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Logen=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Logen: Good Success Tyrel: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
As the two thundered down the lists at each other, Logen's sky pointed lance lowers and locks under his shoulder. His aim is good but his brother's better. Logen rocks in the saddle under the first strike showered with splinters of lance shaft. As he rounds his horse and prepares for the next assault a squire tosses a new lance to him. Again they take off quickly rising to a full thundering gallop over the stampeded dirt, clods spraying out behind the heavy horses.
The cracking of another lance across Logen is chorused with the creaking of him again rocking in the saddle under the blow. After the third and final pass, Logen's not able to aim right and loses the turn.
Tyrel kicks his horse into a lunge, and the destriar charges down the line toward his opponent, his brother. His eyes narrow inside his helm, and his lance falls into position and lines up perfectly. After several passes, he is obviously the winner. Once he has defeated his brother, he rides down the line toward Logen, to speak to him at the center of the lists, in a hushed tone. Once he is done, he nudges his horse along and away from the lists.
Tyrel mutters to Logen, "… brother…. a… love…"
Logen mutters to Tyrel, "Well… honored it… after… the…"
Ruthgar watches the passes between the two princes not only with curiosity, but with a certain amount of attentiveness, given that he might have to ride against one of them should he be able to win in his turn.
After speaking with his brother at the center of the field, Logen marches his horse off to the stables, dismounts and heads to the knight's box to watch the rest of the tourney.
The herald who had been busy coughing a bit earlier, an explanation why his announcement had not reached as many ears as usual, returns to his spot. "A great performance by both princes, yet there can only be one winner: His Highness the Crown Prince himself: Tyrel Kilgour! Next up is Sir Gordan Rekker, a knight in service of House Leask. He will be riding against Sir Hennek Variel."
The next two to ready themselves are lesser known knights. At one end is an older graying man dressed in yellow and black, the colors of house Leask, Gordan Rekker. Climbing atop his grey charger he seems a bit winded. His squire hands him his helm and he puts it on, hiding the salt and pepper beard that accompany his tired eyes.
At the other end is a much younger man. Hennek Variel, he is dressed in shiny black armor and has Aruthen features. He has long brown hair and almond eyes to acompany his cleanly shaven face. While a bit shorter than his opponent, he is stockier in the shoulders. Springing atop his horse he snaps his fingers and a young squire flings him his helm. With one fluid motion he swoops it from the air and slides it over his dark features. Slamming the visor down now it can be seen that the guard is in the shape of long sharpened teeth. He offers no wave or nod, he simply spurs into his horse and the beast flys forward.
The older Leask man is caught off-guard and urges his horse forward moments after the Lanniveerian looking man. The horse seems as old and tired as its master as it huffs and puffs along the tilt. Before he can even square his lance into a respectable striking posistion the younger man's jet black polearm takes him in the chest splintering into a thousand pieces. He is driven right from his saddle as he stops in mid-air, his old horse trodding along without him. When he hits the ground a loud thud is heard and he reaches for his throat. Hissquire runs up and helps him remove his helmet. His face is blue and it is evident that any air inside him has been knocked out. Holding his chest now he is slowly regaining the breath he has lost. His squire helps him stand and he slowly makes his way off the field. The young man atop his horse simply discards the shattered lance on the ground and returns towards his squire, no nod or words spared for his opponent."
The herald clears his throat, almost in response to the the air that had been knocked out of the older knight's lungs, before he declares the outcome. "Sir Hennek Variel is the winner obviously. Youth prevails over… experience? Anyway, next up…" The man's gaze flits to the piece of parchment he holds in his hands. "… Is the Mystery Knight, wellknown from other tourneys, against the Baron of Dellhaven and Knight of the Rioga, Sir Ruthgar Ruxton!"
There. His name is called. And his new title declared for the first time at a tourney. Ruthgar mounts his black destrier with one fluid movement, accepts the helmet from his squire, then a fresh lance and a shield. Now that he sits in the saddle some might notice a piece of fine golden fabric fastened about his right arm. A respectful salute is offered towards the King and the other Royals, especially the Princess Caillin, and then the Ruxton rides onwards to assume his position in the list. A salute is offered to the Mystery knight, a greeting called: "I'm here to repay you for unhorsing my brother at that other tourney. But with all due respect, may the better knight win!" His visor is lowered and he urges Nightshade onwards, hooves thundering below him as he rides on to bring honour to his House.
When the old man hits the ground Aldren gains a cruel looking yet confused smile. "Gods! what a fool." He says to no one in particular. He looks around the crowd and sees his sister and the Chancellor. Approaching them, a kiss for Wenna, a truly creepy mirrored image. A nod for Caedmon, a respectable one. If there is room he sits beside them. To the Baron he says, did you see that? The man should be drinking himself to death at that age. Not mixing it up as if he were a boy again." He shakes his head and laughs to himself.
The knight from house Ruxton shouts out and the Count strains to see. Now watching intently he leans forward a bit, waiting for the tilt to begin. He watches as the mystery knight just stands there as if he's no idea it was his turn.
Riding out at the name being called, the Mystery Knight bows, the helm inclining in respect to the Baron. Hearing the words, she does not reply verbally, just nods in return, lifting a gauntlet covered fist in the air and pumping it once to get the crowd involved. Tucking the lance into place, she gets into position before spurring her horse on to meet the noble.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Kyra=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Great Success Kyra: Good Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kyra=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Kyra: Great Success Ruthgar: Good Success
< Net Result: Kyra wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Kyra=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Good Success Kyra: Good Success
< Net Result: Kyra wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kyra=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Kyra: Good Success Ruthgar: Good Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Kyra=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Good Success Kyra: Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Kyra=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Kyra: Good Success Ruthgar: Good Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
It is a close tilt, both knights manage the most spectacular pass in their first though, Ruthgar taking a hit to his left shoulder, where the Mystery Knight's lance manages to breach his defenses. In the third pass it is the Baron of Dellhaven though who land a impressive hit, although overall the odds seem to be quite even. As he reigns his horse in, Ruthgar shoots a questioning glance towards the herald who announces after a short pause and discussion with other spectators: "A close match it was, yet it is the Baron of Dellhaven who wins, given the number of hits." A cough, before the herald continues: "So… the next pairing would be… Sir Hennek Variel against the Baron of Dellhaven, Sir Ruthgar Ruxton!"
Returning to the tilt upon the charcoal war horse is the foreign looking man with black armor. He says no words, offers no nods, just slams his visor down and takes a lance from his squire. He is unmoving and it can be assumed he is staring straight down at the man from Weston. H slowly leans forward now, waiting.
Ruthgar does take his time before assuming his place in the lists again. He rides over to the Mytery Knight to offer a respectful nod and a few words: "Well ridden, Sir Mystery Knight." A moment of hesitation follows, as the Ruxton tries to glimpse some hints through that still lowered visor, and then he rides off again, his purple cloak bulging behind him. To meet his next opponent, after accepting a fresh lance from his squire. "Sir Hennek.", he offers, saluting the knight, before he urges Nightshade onward to a gallop, his lance aimed to unhorse.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Aldren=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Good Success Aldren: Good Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Aldren=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Aldren: Success Ruthgar: Good Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Aldren=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Great Success Aldren: Good Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Aldren=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Aldren: Success Ruthgar: Great Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Aldren=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Good Success Aldren: Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Aldren=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Aldren: Failure Ruthgar: Great Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Crushing Victory
Tyrel continues watching the tournament unfold from his horse near the end of the lists. Once the last pair of competitors finish their run, Tyrel knows the final is coming. He grabs his helm, and slides it onto his head, closing the visor. He takes his lance from his squire, and nudges his horse forward, prepared to meet his opponent on the field.
As the two knights charge towards each other the first time both lances strike. But, both men hold their seats. Hennek's cracks and he throws it to the ground. Gaining another he urges forward again, with much the same result, though this time the lance seems only to have grazed and he keeps it. When the third charge is made Ruthgar makes clean contact. Hennek struggles for a moment before sliding off. When h hits the dirt he shouts loudly, "Aghhh!!" Standing he rips his helf off and slams it to the ground. Behind him his squire rushes to pick up the discarded armor and follows on his heels afterwards. The knight does not exhange words or bow for the king and queen. He only marches off cussing at his squire the whole time.
Three passes are completed, the Ruxton's superior form evident in the way his lance hits home, while Sir Hennek's lance fails to connect. On all three passes. In the third pass Sir Hennek is catapulted off his saddle. Wheeling his destrier about, Ruthgar dismounts to give the man a hand if he will accept it. As soon as the list is cleared, he returns to his horse, mounting for the final turn against noone less than the Crown Prince himself! A fresh lance is grabbed, a respectful salute is given to Tyrel. "May the better knight win!" is offered before the spurs touch the flanks of his steed and Nightshade flies onwards to meet the opponent in the middle of the lists.
"The winner again: The Baron of Dellhaven. He will ride now against His Royal Highness, Prince Tyrel Kilgour, the Heir to the Throne of Mobrin!", the herald announces after another fit of coughing, clearly a bit late as the next tilt has already started.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Good Success Tyrel: Good Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Good Success Ruthgar: Great Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Great Success Tyrel: Good Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Success Ruthgar: Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Success Tyrel: Failure
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Great Success Ruthgar: Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Solid Victory
"Oh… This time it is very very close indeed!", the herald mutters as excitement is finally claiming him. "The first pass goes to Sir Ruthgar, the second looks like… a draw and the third… is won by Prince Tyrel. I'd say we need another turn." A cheer goes through the crowd at that announcement, and so the knights resume their places anew. Lances are lowered, horses spurred on, and then the three passes follow that will decide the winner.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Good Success Tyrel: Great Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Good Success Ruthgar: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Failure Tyrel: Amazing Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Crushing Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Success Ruthgar: Amazing Success
< Net Result: Ruthgar wins - Crushing Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Ruthgar=polearms Vs Tyrel=horsemanship
< Ruthgar: Good Success Tyrel: Great Success
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=polearms Vs Ruthgar=horsemanship
< Tyrel: Good Success Ruthgar: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
Tyrel nudges his horse, which lunges forward in a bolt. Pass after pass is made, and finally, Tyrel has the points he needs to win. After the final pass is made, Tyrel spins his horse at the end of the tilt, turning to face Ruthgar. He raises his lance in salute to the Ruxton, offering a nod of his head. He then hands his busted lance to his squire, and moves to dismount, exhausted from the days events.
Solara is in the stands watching. There's a set look on her face, mostly neutral, and no joy in the event. But she's there. Putting on a brave face. Her hand maid is right there with her, and not likely to ever leave her again, even when she sleeps. Ever.
Ruthgar raises the visor of his helmet, returning the nod from the Crown Prince with a tiny smile. "Your highness, my congratulations. You were superior today, although if I may flatter myself, the tilt was very close." His voice is soft as usual, the expression in his face neutral, but as soon as he turns to let his gaze drift towards the stands, and especially to the place where the Royalty is seated, he offers a smile, and dropping lance and shield to the ground he touches the favour about his right arm with his left hand. His gaze finds Caillin's and he studies her for a moment, finding a trace of the event that preceded the joust still written all over her face, even beneath that brave smile of hers. A short glance towards Aemy and Solara, and he dismounts to lead his horse towards Prince Tyrel's squire. He will have to ransom his horse back again, although this time from Royalty.
A cheer is heard among the crowd, as the herald belatedly offers the news that is already evident for all. "A close match it was, a great show of competent jousting, with two almost evenly matched opponents. Yet there can be only one winner, and it is our Royal Highness, the Crown Prince himself, Prince. Tyrel. KILGOUR!!!!"
Solara claps politely, and now that the event is over, she gets to her feet, collects her maid, and the two start back to the castle. Her guards come along, of course, the group subdued in manner.
Tyrel tosses his helm to his squire, and nudges his horse forward. He approaches the stands where Ciarrah is, and pulls her favor from the chest plate of his armor, then holds it out to her, "Your favor, my lady." He winks at her then smiles, "I love you, Ciarrah." Then he approaches the stands where his father is, with the Aberdeen King. He gives a solemn bow to the pair of royals, who applaud the Prince in his victory. Then, Tyrel waves to the crowd, before turning to ride toward the tents assembled at the side of the grounds.
On her way, Solara manages a bit of a smile and a wave for her brother. There's just not that usual sunshine and likely not for any of the womenfolk tonight.