(514-02-15) Age Old Bavercombe Tradition
Summary: Baverstock and Burcombe meet at the same side of the river and re-enact an age old tradition. Tempers flare as old wounds are re-opened.
Date: 514-02-15
Related: Related Logs (None)
arian caerwyn kamron landon lysanor seren 

March market days are a march through the low, rolling hills of Salisbury to either Castle Sarum with its famed Eagle Market or a short trot over to the Free City of Wilton, where the bestest livestock is on display. Eagle Market, however, promises something better: crafts of poor to middling level of skill, painted with little art and decorated with the kind of expertise one might expect in the centuries following the fall of Rome - Visigothic, brutish and dull. Which is life for most folks in Salisbury.

There are bright moments, but they are natural pleasures given unto us by God - or the Morrigan or the Fates and Furies; it depends on your worldview. Even among the plainest barley fields, there might sprout a golden stalk of wheat - well-fed, well-watered, with a body that simply compels its neighbors to lustful abandon. Wait. Were we talking about wheat stalks? Such agricultural analogies. The sun peeks through the clouds, the skies clear and blue with bit a few nimbus clouds scattered on the horizon. And in the distance, the young Lord de Burcombe comes along on a rouncy, casually assessing market day. Clad in blackened chain mesh, with the Burcombe tabard over it (a shield quartered in gold and red, crescent-ended cross and twin daggers of the purest spite, so said the local parish priest), Caerwyn presents quite a view to the peasant girls who might be here on market day. To a peasant potato (or barley), the alabaster knight in black could be tiers - light years - above everyone, on his rouncy, his squire leading his charger and the sumpter horses to market day with Burcombe crafts. He comes to a stop and dismounts. "Where'd my brother go?" He muses to himself, as he pulls out a roll of parchment. Who reads or writes? Not even nobility. But Caerwyn has a quill. It might as well be a magical wand.

Arian de Laverstock has not been around Sarum in several weeks — not since the Imbolc festival, in fact. Her arrival is marked by the thud of heavy, shaggy hooves from her fat pony that follows after her, guided by the leather reins. The old mare is saddled for once instead of weighed down with packs and bundles. She looks quite content to be out with her master, and keeps nipping gently at the small satchel hanging off the back of her tooled leather belt. The Lady knight is dressed in a flowing gown of soft rose, and the front of the blaise is embroidered in leafy vines. Her dark hair has been twisted and tied back with a pale yellow ribbon. She has taken easy note of the knight and his accompaniment, and approaches the Burcombe with a slightly arched brow and a small smirk on her rose-colored lips. "Have you checked the cathedral, Sir Caerwyn?”

"Sir Arian," Caerwyn says, with a tip of his unhelmed head. His own dark hair glistens in the sun beaming overhead - either the application of scented oils from Cambria or Lucifer, the Beguiler and the Deceiver, has anointed this Prince (Baron?) of Hell with his very own sweat and diseased blood, accursed to attract the maidens. Either way, not very holy. He clears his throat and stares into the distance at the cathedral rising above the other houses before shrugging his chainmail-covered shoulders. "The priest said I would burn to a crisp inside there, lest I converted to His Lord's guidance, all hail Jesus Christ." A pause, a grin, before shaking his head and continuing. "My parish priest, Father Daveth, claimed it would not be so - and I reckon I agree. Even the Furies are slower in their vengeance for a wicked heart. I stepped in - did not burn, as you can see - and took a look. Beautiful stonework. There was a gold cross within that beckoned my attention, but no greater or lesser force moving hearts within. And you, Sir Arian?"

He scribbles a note on his parchment and glances up at the sun, as if measuring the hour by its shadow. Caerwyn turns back to Arian: "Did you go in and risk burning?”

Burcombe's rival house, the Baverstocks, got to the market first! At least one of them. The exceptionally tall Baverstock, who by height alone you could not place as Bryce's /younger/ brother, has seen to the errand of escorting the common folk who had need of a blade to protect them on their trip to sell their wares. Their displays have long been set up, tables stretched out, carts by the wayside to ensure supplies can be replenished. It looks good, if the wares weren't so … well, as expected for the day an age - a lot of clay pottery. Landon is making use of the one wagon, elbow resting on the edge, the other on the hilt of his sword, while he chews on the stalk of one of those wheat grass blades, long dried but still something to chew. His own palfrey was hitched to the back of the wagon, a feeding bag over its nose, probably to prevent it from thieving any of the old grain in the back - people would have to pick around the weevils.

Kamron has been busy. He's been up to Stoneheng — erm, Amesbury, yes, very Amesbury, and over to Dinton, and to other locations between and elsewhere. He's been busy. He and his new squire, a tall, thin young man well shy of adulthood, are leading a quartet of horses. The sumpter is packed with gear, the charger with absolutely nothing, and the rounceys with Kamron and Newt. The knight rides easily, with his forearms crossed over the front of his saddle, singing quietly under his breath… and very badly, a local folk song about a lost and wandering knight. He slows as the little procession passes the collection of Baverstock wares, and he offers up a smile to the knight watching over them, "Hello de Baverstock. If I knew you were coming down the road to Sarum, I might have joined you. I can't have been more than an hour behind as it was.”

"Are you asking whether or not I have dared to enter the Christians' holy place, and if I think I would burn within?" Arian tilts her head slightly, hooking the leather rein at her belt before she crosses her arms and squints toward the looming structure. "I have not been within, but I also don't think that I would immediately catch a-flame if I did enter it." She casts him a dubious look. "And I would think that you would be above such thoughts as well…" Out of the corner of her gaze, she spots Landon. The Baverstock is given a quick look over from heel to shoulder, but then she notices a Dinton has joined him, and her brows arch slightly at the sight of Kamron.

"I am above such thoughts, Sir Arian. The commonfolk are not, however. Sometimes it does to soothe their qualms if one walks into their place of worship and is not struck dead on the spot. What I would take for common sense, the commonfolk take for a sign. It's best to cater to the signs when it does one good, aye?" Caerwyn pulls a carrot from his packhorse's pouch and feeds it to his rouncy, before petting her on the muzzle. He makes small, clucking sounds, before turning back to watch Arian. As her gaze wanders, so does his: he goes over to look at the Baverstock and his Dinton neighbor, further and further along the River Nadder upon which the rivalry - and family life - progresses for the three houses. "Baverstock! You wear the Baverstock colors, no?" He indicates the wagon and the horses - surely, Baverstock colors must be painted on or worn to indicate their pride. "My, you're a big brute. Come over here," Caerwyn beckons with a laugh and a grin, before he rummages through the pack. "My grandsire tells me, should Baverstock and Burcombe be caught on the same side of the River Nadder, they greet with a fight. Will you honor me with your sword-arm?"

Here!? In the middle of the market square? Bah, those unholy Burcombes are above all such niceties as peace and security. He reaches in and picks up a pair of wooden arming swords - obviously weighted for training - and tosses one towards Landon. Does he catch it in time?

Landon checked his Dex of 9, he rolled 5.

"Hyl," Landon replies around the tonguing of the stalk of wheat grass to press it to the corner of his mouth, remaining in that casual refrain as his eyes jump to Kamron, "Reckon I didn't know about it until just before we headed out. Hardly time to send word." He cocks his head to make note of the quartet, shifting his feet to lean back more on the cart, "This lots regular Errant shattered his arm, his nag fell on him, spoked by a raven." He finally plucks the wheat stalk out of his lips and nods up to Kam, "Where you lot off to then? Coming to share — " By God! Burcombes' hollar interrupts his thoughts - as does the waster that is thrown at him. "Burcombes! — " he reacts to catch the damn thing before it clatters into him or anyone else! Snatching by the blade, he lazily shoves himself off the cart, "Burcombes, this isn't the place — " but what can the newly minted Baverstock knight do with a challenge flung before him and all others. "Least get off the market-" he juggles the wooden blade and grabs it by the hilt, "-Or you're paying for anything that breaks."

Kamron nods at Landon's words, opening his mouth to comment, and then he looks over to the loud Burcombe, remaining slouched forward over his saddle, "Goodness but you're eager, Burcombe." He almost certainly knows the man's name, but it's so much more entertaining to use the family name instead. The flight of the wooden blade is watched, and as the Baverstock catches it, Kamron shakes his head, his pale gray-blue gaze flickering past the man to spot Arian, and the ghost of a smile touching one corner of his lips before he looks back to Caerwyn, "But do you have the -stamina- to go with that eagerness?" He gestures off to the southwest, "He's quite right. This is not the place for getting out frustrations and petty grievances." Because the Burcombe grievances are petty, unlike the Dinton or Baverstock ones.

"Mmm." The Lady knight draws a finger beneath her lower lip as she considers the Burcombe, but she refrains from further discussion of the church — though her eyes do wander up to it once more as Caerwyn becomes distracted by the Baverstock. She starts to step aside, particularly when a sword is hefted and thrown. It takes her a heartbeat to realize it is a wooden one, but once realized, she definitely gets out of the way from what she assumes is going to be boyish horseplay. Speaking of horses, Arian's chubby pony is nuzzling up toward Caerwyn's packhorse as that is where the carrot came from. Curious girl…

Arian approaches the scene, sliding up toward Kamron so that she can cross her arms and critique the scene with an arched brow. She murmurs to Kamron, "I don't think the words of a Dinton or a Baverstock is likely to sway a Burcombe, Sir Kamron.”

Critical Success!
Landon checked his Energetic of 13, he rolled 13.

Landon looks over toward Kamron, with a look that speaks as clear as if he did: 'Can you believe this guy?' The nonchalant posture of the Baverstock knight melts away as soon as Caerwyn insists and marks that he's the invading party. Let alone the whole 'boy' thing! Compared to the 5'9", Landon stands at 6'1", more of a giant for this era than Caerwyn was and surprisingly quick for the robust frame as he does a hop-skip start jump to plod over toward Caerwyn, "You're that eager to be pounded back to the otherside then? Well you old sod, have it your way!" The Baverstock seems springy on his feet, for his height and weight, that's quite the show! He does check that most of the common folk are out of the way, shuffling an older couple to hurry along with a wave of his hand to convince them not to dally.

Kamron checked his just of 16, he rolled 17.
Kamron checked his arbitrary of 4, he rolled 10.

Kamron shrugs a little helplessly at Arian's statement, "I hoped that reason might be a language spoken by all present, Sir Arian." His crooked little grin spreads, "Silly me." Nudging his horse forward, he aims to guide the gelding between Burcome and Baverstock, "Shall we take this some place more suitable, gentlemen? The Farmer's Quarter, perhaps? Where there are nice, open spaces, and we are not disturbing the people of our Lord, Earl Robert?”

As Kamron starts to pressure the boys to move to a better location, Arian just stands back and frowns slightly. She chews slightly at her lower lip, rolling it between her teeth with a kind of nervousness.

Caerwyn checked his deceitful at 7, he rolled 10.
Caerwyn checked his honest at 13, he rolled 7.

"Mind your own damn business, Sir Kamron de Dinton. No Dinton has business in the ceremonial crossing of swords that the Baverstocks and Burcombes have honored as tradition since before our grandsires' times. The area is clear, the swords are dull, the River Nadder awaits!" And with that Caerwyn steps onto the clearing in the middle of the market square, his own rouncy calmly chewing a thatch of grass and looking on placidly. His crossguard is held right over his shoulder, almost brandished like a cricket or baseball bat, and his legs and torso seem rather obviously unprotected. The high guard is one of gambling and gaming, relying on fast reflexes. "Come at, Baverstock. You're new! I have not seen you at the moots quite yet." And he steps forward, practicing the heft of the sword. Apparently, that's one of the things that the Burcombes have made for consumption and sale at market day, giving their proximity to the forest just south of the manor. Oaks and yew trees dominate there, and it's fine bow-wood or practice sword-wood, with its heft.

After leaving her brother's meeting at the castle proper, Lysanor finds herself in need of restocking some of her supplies, especially for the long journey which she was informed about. Thus, with a wicker basket hanging from her arm, she finds her way in the crowd of the busy market. Keeping closer to the vendor stalls, the young woman slowly makes her way to where most of the shouting and action is only now beginning to brew. At first, there is some confusion as to what was going on and being as small as she is, she couldn't very well see over the heads of the shoppers before her. But once names are called out, very familiar names, the fair Dinton maiden makes her way in the direction of all the shouting, attempting to push her way through the growing throng of observers. Finally, she is able to squeeze through a pair of middle-age housewives, gossiping on the side-lines with their purchased wares in packages at their feet. Lysanor can finally make out the individuals taking part in this performance, the Burcombe and the Baverstock, but most importantly, there in the center of it all is her cousin mounted upon his horse. "Kamron?”

Landon checked his Prudent of 10, he rolled 18.
Landon checked his Reckless of 10, he rolled 13.

"Sir," up to Kamron, "If this Burcombe insists on it here, aid me in removing him?" Landon considers Caerwyn, pointing a finger at him, in a heavy gesture, "You temper yourself long enough to see us to a proper place. Allow these folk to stay in trade and take not from them what our spar here would cost." He starts to plod that way, "Unless your legs are too sluggish to keep up!”

Kamron keeps his attention on Caerwyn, evidently trusting that Landon has the sense not to try to dart around the horse and engage the Burcombe in the midst of the market (prejudices don't have to be rational, or accurate). He's no longer slumped over the saddle, instead sitting up straight and (moderately) tall atop the rouncey. "Mind your sworn oaths, Sir Caerwyn de Burcombe." The words snap crisply from the Dinton's mouth, "Unless you wish to prove that you and your ilk are no better than drunks scrabbling on the tavern floor." He nods to Landon then, keeping his eyes on the Burcombe as he turns his horse about, aiming to pace the rouncey alongside the taller knight to keep the two separated until they are somewhere clear, "I'm not trying to stop your fun, Burcombe, just change the venue. Come along, then."

"Well, if the Dinton bears business such good will - and I understand the importance of business - then we'll carry forth. The people desire a good show, but even the Romans had their colosseums," Caerwyn says, lowering his guard and dipping down into a bow of mild mockery. "Oh, Sir Dinton, we accede to your most high wisdom. Morrigan have you, you might be right. Wouldn't do to have all this…" He glances at the wooden stalls and waves at it. "Where would Sir Kamron suggest as a better venue? Surely not a tavern floor. There are better recreations to be done there. No grandsire ever told me there was the changing of venues, but no grandsire ever told me there wasn't. I suppose tradition can be bent."

When Lysanor breaks through the crowd and says Kamron's name, Caerwyn - ever the cad - turns to look right at her. O love at first sight! A more beauteous ginger hath never existed. He admires her for a moment longer before gesturing with the sword - not judging his arm's length well, the wooden blade hits a stall post with a loud *CRACK*. He passes it off as intentional, hitting the stall post again with his sword. "These swords - good practice for the arms, aye? Come by the Burcombe stall if your footmen need practice. The practice with a wooden blade transfers well into the agricultural arts." This is said to the crowd. Heavens, what an opportunistic salesman.

The Laverstock frowns a touch at Kamron's intercession, and even more so when it seems that she must decide whether or not she wants to spectate the boys in the lawns. She takes a deep breath, reaching up to rub at the back of her ear. Then Lysanor has arrived, and she glances toward the other Dinton with a slight nod of her head and passing smile. "Well, do have fun thrashing each other with wooden swords…" She reaches for the reins of her pony, who has been trying to get her nose into the saddle bags of Caerwyn's packhorse where the carrots are tucked away.

Kamron checked his Awareness of 9, he rolled 2.

Once tempers cool somewhat, Kamron raises a hand to Lysanor, "Hello, Coz. What a beautiful day for keeping the market whole, yes…" crack… there goes Caerwyn and the market stall, "…mostly whole." As the Laverstock turns her pony about, Kam frowns slightly, then raises his hand in farewell, "Sir Arian. Enjoy the rest of your day." He rolls his eyes at Caerwyn, "Eyes front, Sir Caerwyn, that's my cousin, and this is no Imbolc dance."

As the group troupes through the city, the horses part the crowds easily enough, even if the wooden blades weren't going to do that on their own. They pass through the gate of a wall, and into the Farmer's Quarter, where the crowds lighten and thin out (although a few still follow along behind the knights). The open fields spread out before them eventually, and Kamron draws up his horse, gesturing ahead of him, "There you are, sirs. Enjoy your tradition.”

Lysanor can barely pull herself out from the crowd, realizing that her basket is now caught between the same two women who she just pushed through. "Excuse me." She calls out in a bit of a huff, finally being able to pull herself completely through, basket and all. "That was quite the chore." She comments with a furrowed brow, but it looks as if the group were suddenly on the move and once more she has to play catch up if she were to learn exactly what was going on.

With Kamron noticing her trailing behind the group of knights, most likely due to the bright red of her wavy hair, she is quick to make her approach, those curious eyes now taking in the combatants. "What have I stumbled upon, dear cousin?" Those wide eyes move from one knight to the other and here she asks, "Is that Sir Landon? I had heard that he was in Sarum and I was hoping to speak to both he and his brother regarding the task that my brother has set out for himself." It is then Caerwyn that captures her attention. She had heard the shouting and the mention of Baverstock and Burcombe, so she really shouldn't be all that surprised, especially having seen him prior to this, exchanging words with her brother. "I suppose it wouldn't do to send word to Sir Bryce regarding this matter?”

The walk out toward the farmers quarter warmed up the limbs after standing idle watching over the common folk from Bavenstock. Landon was actually working out his arms on the way out, stretching. The brute had to make sure he had some agility after all and good training came with the proper care of one's body. He glances behind him at the crack of wood but otherwise doesn't respond in any way to Caerwyn.

Once free of the market and of the walls, in a field that's relatively open where damage cannot be done by sprawling knights swatting eachother with practice swords, Landon nods his approval for Kamron's escort. A searching look is given to Caerwyn, "It may not be tradition at this spot Burcombe, better though for our liege's folk." He salutes the other respectfully and makes ready, pointing his wooden blade at Caerwyn, nodding that he was ready.

"Burcombe stands here ready," Caerwyn calls out good-naturedly, before drawing a line in the dusty sand of the Farmer's Market with his wooden blade. He casually lifts up his sword and then assumes a low-guard this time - it's apparent, after a bit of prudent judgment, that the high guard won't do against someone who is much taller than him. With a few quick steps, he approaches his Baverstock rival, Landon, and shouts: "En garde!" And with that, the fight begins.

Kamron shakes his head at Lysanor's question, "Just some matter of tradition, I do believe, Coz." He swings down from his horse, patting the dun's shoulder as he comes around the front of the rouncey, "The two knights go straight at one another, and Kamron reaches up, resting his forehead in his hand for a moment, "God above…" The words are a low grumble, and then he raises his voice, "May I suggest making it clear that this is for the love of combat, sirs? First one to three touches?”

Caerwyn checked his sword at 15, he rolled 16.
Landon checked his Sword of 15, he rolled 9.
Landon rolls 5d6 and gets (1 5 2 4 3) for a total of: (15)
Caerwyn checked his dex at 15, he rolled 4.
Landon checked his Modest of 13, he rolled 12.

Landon is no where near as flamboyant and showy as Caerwyn is. In fact, the second Baverstock son, while energetic controls that energy to put the use of it into his blade. Other than the salute and statement that he was ready, he does not boast or yell anything as the Burcombe comes at him. Being taller than most of his opponents allows him to manage a pretty devastating rip of his swing and counter swing. Every pitch and angle of that wooden blade seems heavier in his hands, the momentum chopping down from his height witnessed as he gets through Caerwyn's guard, his blade *clacking* against the Burcombe's armor. With real blades, that might have been deadly or at least strong enough to do more than drum against the other's side. Somewhere in all that he heard Kamron suggesting the three hit rule, which is shrugged at, since he's focused on Caerwyn now.

As proud as Lysanor is, herself, she cannot argue with tradition or honor. Or even pride. "I recall seeing such a spectacle years ago, between both Houses." Where her eyes remained on the more familiar face of Landon, they once more flicker in Caerwyn's direction and here she says in a light conversational tone, perhaps not loud enough for the competitors to hear her, "As long as both houses are honorable with these matches, I suppose there are no issues." She faintly winces when the first hit strikes and yet she cannot help but feel a tiny bit of thrill when watching the pair square off. The art of combat could be exciting, especially when no one truly got hurt or maimed in the end.

Arian checked her dex of 15, she rolled 3.

The blow sends Caerwyn stumbling backwards - indeed, if it had been a real blade, it would have cut deep and bled him dry quickly. It doesn't unman him or take his legs off from under him, however, and for this, Caerwyn is grateful. He gives a pained grunt before laughing, stepping back and barking back at Kamron: "This Baverstock has balls. I might not survive three hits," he says as he stumbles backwards. He resumes la posta di falcone - la donna, the woman's guard - as a high guard. What was it his sword's tutor said? It was a good guard against larger knights, and what larger knight is there than this Baverstock brute? He's on the defensive this time, testing the man's offense instead. He steps back, sword held high, ready for the next blow. "Come at me, Baverstock."

Arian has seen to it that her chubby, shaggy mare has been put away properly, and now she slowly enters the Farmer's Quarter with a curious, cautious gait. She can hear the clanking and clattering of wood, and is drawn toward the knights — though she is wise enough to step up to Kamron and Lysanor's sides rather than getting too close to the feuding knights. She is perfectly silent as she arrives with the other watchers, sliding into place as if she had always been there. She clasps her hands together. "Are they still waving those things about?" The pale-eyed woman arches a brow at Kamron and Lysanor before she looks back out at Caerwyn and Landon.

Landon checked his Sword of 15, he rolled 17.
Critical Success!
Caerwyn checked his sword at 15, he rolled 15.
Caerwyn rolls 8d6 and gets (4 3 5 6 5 3 1 3) for a total of: (30)

Kamron nods his head sharply at the first mix of wooden blades, "Neatly done. It would be quite nice to have reach in my favor at some point." Lysanor's words draw another nod, "I've never seen it before. Just lack of common sense and chivalry from Burc—" and then Arian appears behind him, and the Dinton knight starts slightly, "Well… hello, Sir Arian. Why yes, they are. Quite vigorously. And foolishly, if you ask me." His eyes drift back to the spectacle, and he notes idly, "Quite a lovely ribbon, My Lady.”

Typically, the hack that Caerwyn is expecting would stagger him - from a knight the size of Landon, it'd kick his ass to Lonazep (the middle of nowhere) and back, before he'd even get a single stab in. But there's a slight, scrappy desperation to Caerwyn - thin, though he is, and used to the finer things in life, Caerwyn has in him, a sort of desperate strength that shows itself. Like today. As the blow comes in (he lets Landon draw the blade first), Caerwyn steps forward and brings his blade high over his head down on Landon’s blade. Simply the height of the blade gives him extra leverage. As the other knight recovers, Caerwyn brings it up with both hands, in an attempt to apparently cleave Landon's chest from right underneath him. With a wooden blade no less.

"You will probably need to opt on using the spear or lance to fight with then." Lysanor says teasingly when her cousin speaks of desiring a better reach. She, herself, is dimunitive in height, so she cannot tease him too harshly. Witnessing the next blow coming, she can practically hear the loud crack of impact when wooden sword met maile, or one could hope. This forces her delicate frame to tense as if bracing herself for the blow to hit. Thus when Kamron mentions that Arian were in the vicinity, this takes the Dinton maiden by surprise. It's hard to look away, not in a crucial moment like this, but her eyes do cast a side glance in the paga— in the lady knight's direction. That looks quickly passes and a friendly smile warms up her pale features, her gaze roaming to look upon this ribbon which Kamron now brings up. "I hadn't seen you there, Sir Arian." Looking back at the fight in the distance, she makes minor chit-chat, "With the ferocity of their strikes, one would think this rivalry went as deep and far back as even our own with Burcombe.”

Arian narrows her eyes critically at Caerwyn and Landon. "You know, this is just how I got lured into becoming a Knight… beating up my brother Lainn with a wooden sword. Granted, I was far shorter then — " Says the woman who is just a breath over five feet at current. " — and I kept smacking him in the back of the knees." Kamron's sudden compliment draws her attention, and her dark brow arches even while a playful smile starts to tug at her pale lips. "Thank you, Sir Kamron… a gift from the Festival of Candles. I thought it was a lovely color." When Lysanor smiles her way, Arian finds herself smiling in turn — dimples and all. "I had just arrived… I was seeing to my horse… though I'm surprised that they are still at it." She nods in agreement to Lysanor words. "One must wonder who started it first… the Burcombes or the Baverstocks.”

Landon checked his Sword of 15, he rolled 17.
Critical Success!
Caerwyn checked his sword at 15, he rolled 15.
Caerwyn rolls 8d6 and gets (4 4 3 2 3 1 4 3) for a total of: (24)
Landon checked his Dex of 9, he rolled 17.

The woman's guard - a move he'll have to remember for it smarted now! It was better that Landon got nailed with a wooden sword in this form than with an actual blade - he'd be dead or severely injured had it been. Even so, the wooden blade gives rattles him well. The leverage he lost to the downward momentum opens him to that chest hit. By the sound it makes, it's clear that the Baverstock knight felt that one! It winds him but doesn't send him to his knees, just a second used to catch himself from the stagger. Then, he pauses. He's reassessing. One can almost see him bristling underneath the chain. Ahh, the young knights. There's an eruption of a roar from within the closed helmet as Landon surges back with quite the aggressive style, meaning to put his strength into every hit rather than using agility to weave and dodge like his opponent. Large. Cleaving. Swings. A mountain coming down with every hailed strike!

Kamron sniffs at Lysanor, "Trying to get me to set aside the axe already, Lysie?" There's a teasing lightness to his question, and he shakes his head, "Further, I think. They do live closer, after all. More opportunities to see the Burcombes as they are." Arian's words draw a nod, "I think that's how we all started. Small, bold, and determined to show we were just as good as their larger family members." Chuckling, he glances to Lysanor and then back to Arian, "Or maybe that was just you and I." The solid thwack causes a flinch from the Dinton knight — he knows how that feels — and he looks back to the fight, "That… sounded painful." Idly, sidelong, he adds to Arian, "I hope it meant something important to you, Sir Arian. I would like to think gifts given during festivals should have meaning."

At Arian's words regarding the rivalry between the two houses, Lysanor states, surprised that there should be any question about it, "Burcombe, of course. I am sure of it." She then half-turns to look upon the other woman, studying the mentioned ribbon once again, as she explains herself, "Deep within our own past, House Burcombe had caused grievous insult to Dinton. I cannot imagine them not doing the same with Baverstock." Nodding quickly in Kamron's direction, her eyes remain focused on the battle at hand once more. If these were just two knights from random houses, she may not have cared who won. But Baverstock were her allies and Burcombe…

Arian flinches as Caerwyn gets the upperhand, and the Baverstock is on the ground. She clasps her hands behind her back, knotting her fingers together and stretching her shoulder joints slightly. "I think that if they cannot settle this with wooden swords, we get out the blanks… let them whack at each other with weapons closer to actual swords." Kamron's words do humor her, and she laughs brightly. "Oh no… I was small, bold, and relentless. A muddy mess of a child, my father always said… bruised knees, tattered dresses… he had no idea what to do with me." Her fingers start to toy slightly with the ribbon woven through her hair, sliding the silken bit of fabric between her digits. "Yes, it was a meaningful gift… I hope the gentleman who gave it to me will be delighted to see it." Then with a deep exhale, she regards Lysanor and nods. "Deep insults tend to leave more grievous wounds than any blade."

Caerwyn checked his merciful at 10, he rolled 2.

The woman's guard again - la donna in Italian. When the roaring bull of a man - Landon, honestly, is about the size of a Saxon giant - starts charging at him, he parries the blow, spins aside, and when Landon goes charging right past him, he brings the blade down around in a beautifully dancing arc. If it were a real fight, Landon would be lacking his Achilles tendons or hamstrung - the blade cuts across the back of his knee and brings the large man cratering down to the dusty earth of the Farmer's Market. "Baverstock brought low, the Burcombe ascendant," he calls out with a laugh as he steps back again. Once more, blade brought up high - la posta de donna. "Stand up and fight. I am not my sister, but do not take me for weak, Baverstock!”

From the direction of the square where the castle proper is, Seren makes her way towards the gathering. With her handmaiden in tow, the two are having a conversation, a basket over the arm of the lady with what looks like parchment and other such paraphernalia inside. As she sees the drawn blades and a few familiar faces, she meanders through or around the crowd to come up and stand beside Lysanor about the time the bigger man gets hit so hard. Averting her eyes with a flinch, she speaks softly, "That was a very hard hit." Arian gets a warm smile and a dip of her head, though Kamron a curious look with a playful smile. "I am Seren de Woodford," she says in a tongue-in-cheek manner. "I believe I have not had the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

Landon's attacks had become a predictable procession of heavy swings that he put all of his strength into. Unfortunately, Caerwyn get's the opening needed during a failed charge. The momentum from his opponent's strike has his footing all screwed up as the other sweeps it out from underneath him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall? Precisely. The youngest Baverstock goes for a belly flop on land. Ow. So embarrassing! He'll lay there just for a second. Then he grunts, pushing up first onto his knees before he thrusts a hand down at the ground to straighten. As he clamours to his feet but it seems like it takes such a longer time because this is a knight who is standing over six feet, a giant for this era - or Caerwyn had worn the Baverstock out! Alas, he turns at the call, once again silent - smoke figuratively coming out of his ears, or helmet. He resets his stance and becomes defensive.

Caerwyn checked his sword at 15, he rolled 11.
Landon checked his Sword of 15, he rolled 12.
Landon rolls 5d6 and gets (1 2 3 5 1) for a total of: (12)

Kamron winces again at the second strike on the Baverstock, "I almost prefer the quiet cruelty to the hot wind and buffoonery." The words are a quiet grumble, probably only audible to Arian and Lysanor. "Up Baverstock!" Looking back to the two ladies alongside him, he nods, "I can only imagine that it does, My Lady. Especially around my Lady Cousin… blade wounds tend not to linger." And then another woman is joining them, and he reaches out to take the Woodford's hand, bowing over it, "Lady Seren, an honor and a pleasure. Sir Kamron de Dinton." A quiet chuckle rises to his lips, and he gestures to the others, "I believe you know my cousin, Lady Lysanor, have you met Sir Arian de Laverstock?”

The last two of the Burcombe's strikes may have looked brutal and most likely felt that way to its competitor. But rather than flinch or look away once the second strike hits, Lysanor's gaze becomes more intense, as if her own house's honor was at stake. Long, slender fingers dig into and grasp harshly at the skirts of her wool dress, a subtle show os her agitation by all of this, even if the rest of her composure remained neutral and far too cool. Just as with Arian, she barely notices Seren when the young woman stands beside her, but when her gaze finally does flicker in the Woodford's direction, it gives her a needed repreive from her own tension as she extends a warm smile to Seren, "Lady Seren! I was hoping that I would run into at some point before heading back to Dinton." Her eyes once more on the match, she adds in, "There is still some packing that I must do and your Lord Brother has sent me someone to assist in that matter.”

While on the defensive, Landon takes more time to consider his offensive attacks. The wooden swords will clatter, parry after parry, matching and neither one seemingly finding the purchase or leverage to gain a sufficient blow. Then one gets through. Landon's sword brushed aside Caerwyn's sword and went for a lunge thrust to the chest. Nothing fancy, just a straight through your heart if these were real weapons attempt! It's enough to score a hit, even if with blunted point it's not exactly payback for the trip.

Gods. When Arian's focus is drawn to Seren, she is immediately flustered at the mere sight of her. A quiver of tension tightens up her jaw, and her smile loses its dimples. With Kamron's knightly greeting and introduction, she is given a moment to recover — though it is poorly done at best. Surrounded by ladies far lovelier than she, the Knight feels a touch out of sorts. "Lady Seren… I have heard wonderful things about you." She bobs her head slightly in a rather demured greeting. She gestures to the two Knights trying to best one another with wooden swords. "We were just watching Sir Caerwyn and Sir Landon… well… let out some pent up energy.”

A dip of a curtsy at the greeting from Kamron before she straightens, her handmaiden remaining in position for a beat longer before giving a curtsy to the ladies as well and then finally fading back a bit. Seren smiles a bit whimsically, "Indeed, a pleasure, Sir Kamron. I have met the lovely Lady Lysanor," that impish look transfers to her a moment before settling on Arian. "Sir Arian, I am honored to meet you." A gentle smile curves her lips and she dips her head to the Knight. "It seems a rather intense exchange," acknowledging the two, not knowing either one. Her smile widens as she brings her gaze back to Lysanor, "Acwel has sent you someone to assist?" There is a speculative look and a smile to accompany it. "I look forward to the trip, Sir Earl Robert has given me the time away from my scribe duties for it."

Landon checked his Sword of 15, he rolled 10.
Caerwyn checked his sword at 15, he rolled 19.
Landon rolls 5d6 and gets (6 1 1 4 4) for a total of: (16)
Caerwyn checked his dex at 15, he rolled 2.

The hot air and buffoonery indeed! Just as Caerwyn is about to swing his blade down, he gets scored across the mesh, a hit that registers as a blow, but would not have stopped even the slight Caerwyn. He steps inside the guard and is about to hack Landon with a hit when out of the blue - oh sweet Jesus and Mary, what halo'd virginal goddess descendeth down from the heavens above? Morrigan, the blonde nymphette floating onto the square proper could convert a heartless man into a Jesus-worshipping buffoon. When Seren announces quite coyly that she -is- Seren de Woodford - rumors abound of the Jewel of Woodford, and it's quite obvious that Caerwyn has not yet -seen- the Jewel of Woodford - he just stands there, staring through his helmet slit at Seren. He takes a misstep and then suddenly, when Landon punishes him with the blow to end the bout, his helmet goes flying, as does his tousled hair. He doesn't even notice, starstruck on the battlefield as he is. "… de Woodford."

When he turns to face the Baverstock scion, Caerwyn gives a light chuckle. "Good fight. This win goes to Baverstock. Typically, our families would go ahead and ransack each other's wagon train, but I'm of a mind that a drink is better for business. A drink on me, then? Baverstock?" He arches a brow and then glances back at the ladies standing together. "A fair fight to Baverstock, then. Shall we all go for drinks?" He calls over at Kamron. Did he just invite a Dinton to a drink? Gods, what has come over Caerwyn?

Kamron releases Seren's hand as he rises, reaching briefly to just touch the back of Lysanor and Arians' elbows, including both of them as well as Seren as he opines, "So it will be three lovely ladies accompanying us south to Exeter. How blessed are we brave knights?" And then he laughs easily, grinning over at Lysanor, "At least those of us who are not related to one of them." His hands drop back to his sides, and then he hears another thump, looking back to the sparring men and letting out a bark of laughter as he sees the Burcombe's helm flying, "Well done, Sir Landon, well fought and well struck." And then he's invited to a drink, and he blinks, "Ah… I think that perhaps I will have to demur, Sir Caerwyn. The offer is well-made, but I have needs move on to the keep to make final preparations.”

Arian checked her suspicious of 10, she rolled 2.
Arian checked her vengeful of 10, she rolled 18.
Arian checked her forgiving of 10, she rolled 4.

Gods! Caerwyn's reaction to the Woodford's arrival draws a small grimace from Arian. Her fingers work together at her sides, resisting all she can muster from crossing her arms in further in scorn. Men — no, Knights. The touch to her elbow draws her attention from Caerwyn's theatrics, and something about the Dinton's gesture soothes her — or nearly so. Her demeanor softens a bit, and she smiles crookedly. "I suppose that I am blessed by the fairness of our fellowship, being both Lady and Knight." Then she breathes out an deflating exhale. "Yes.. preparations… I have some of those to make as well."

Landon takes full advantage of whatever had distracted Caerwyn. The punishment is given, a final clatter of wood against metal to signify the end of the bout. The starstruck sentiment from Caerwyn has Landon pushing up his helmet, staring almost bewildered at the man. And then the man is chuckling. It throws him off. The compliments after all that boasting?! A good thing Landon's tall. He can get away with looking as if he's looming rather than standing there trying to catch flies with his mouth parted. Then the slack-jaw shock turns away as he offers Caerwyn back the well chipped and dented practice sword, "I would heed not such a tradition prior to the spring harvests. I'm sure my brother would appreciate keeping retribution from such measures off our lands." He nods to the sword, "A drink it is then." He'll catch up to what was going on in a moment, pulling off his helmet the rest of the way, shaking out his head and running a hand through sweaty hair. Eventually he'll notice the crowd but unlike Caerwyn, he doesn't seem as powerfully awestruck by their presence. He lifts his hand to accept the praise from Kamron, before he turns to Caerwyn, "Though I think I want my rib back instead." He chides in jest, "Sir Caerwyn is it? That was a solid hit you took on me back there. And the trick with the sword between the ankles… I'll have to use that sometime.”

Lysanor only now realizes that her cousin is correct. All three of them: Arian, Seren and Lysanor, herself, would be venturing to some far away place and that in turn makes her realize just how much more work she must do in preparation for that departure. Nevermind, that the grudge match between the houses had taken her mind off of these things for Lysanor is rarely so careless. "Speaking of which, I truly should continue with my packing." Her eyes then returning to the two men who fought a hard and difficult battle in honor of both of their houses, though her gaze focuses on Landon most of all, watching him with her healer's eyes. "Congratulations, to the both of you. You've put up an impressive showing, that much is certain." She even directs her gaze to Caerwyn for the briefest of moments, gracing him with the same friendly tone which she uses with the rest. "Before I do so, however," Lysanor's eyes are on Landon again, "If you don't mind, Sir Landon, I wish to speak with you before my departure." She then realizes that she must postpone everything due to this, but important matters are at hand. "When you are ready, of course.”

Caerwyn checked his flirting at 8, he rolled 5.

"What was your name, Baverstock? I don't quite notice your individual features over the roar of the River Nadder. Too busy trying to hit you guys with a stone," Caerwyn says before laughing. "I would've remembered you, big as you are — you weren't the big fellow I once nailed with a stone at thirty paces? Can't have been." He pauses before addressing the ladies standing together. "The Baverstocks and the Burcombes have had a rivalry since the Nadder River started flowing. First, it was about riverland rights, passage - the usual things. I've forgotten who exactly started it - the Baverstocks may have denied the Burcombes passage to Wilton and Sarum at some point, and the Burcombes may have eloped with a few Baverstock cows. I don't take such stock in rivalries bad for business but -this-," Caerwyn waves at Landon and himself, "This is -tradition-." A charming beam and he glances from Lysanor to Seren to Arian. An arched brow, the flirtatious glance thrown to the wind. Does he expect to use his eyes to flirt with -every- single lady or lady knight present? The gall on this one.

"I admit to having my packing mostly finished, though since I have taken a room at the castle, my belongings here are sparse as most of them are at the manor. I believe I have packed most of what I need." Seren hesitates, unaware the reaction from the knight had anything to do with her, but for the lovely Lysanor at her side. Or Arian. It is the offer of drinks that captures her attention and as the others voice their own responses, she hesitates still. Instead of begging off, she does not offer immediate response, simply bows her head to the two. "It was truly impressive.”

"Landon," the Baverstock says simply enough to Caerwyn. To the stone throwing: "Uh, no? Could've been my uncle." After that, the ramblings of the other man fall to the wayside for Lysanor has his attention, replying with a singular word, "Certainly." That's probably as much as anyone is going to get from him now, letting the big mouth take over as he starts to check if he did in fact break a rib - with a prodding test that focuses in the targetted area.

"I should see to my own errands… it is getting late," Arian offers to the small gathering. She breathes out a heavy sigh, then smiles to the others — though her smile is a touch brittle. "I look forward to our journeys… I'm sure that they will be lively." Then she turns to move pass Kamron and the pair of ladies so she can make a swift departure across the lawn.

Caerwyn checked his modest at 7, he rolled 17.
Critical Success!
Caerwyn checked his proud at 13, he rolled 13.

When Seren mentions that it was impressive, Caerwyn can't help but agree. "I -may- have chipped something more than wood on you, Linden," he says, getting the young man's name wrong. After all, getting people's name wrong is a sure sign that they're not as important to talk about. Instead, he barges on. "I learned the high guard - la posta di donna - from an Italian swordsmaster who came visiting to our manor once. My father was one of the best swordsmen in this side of Salisbury - Roaman de Burcombe is a name the Earl's men say with respect in their voice. And I'm his son," he says, pressing forward to hold out his hand to Seren. "Caerwyn de Burcombe, heir apparent of House Burcombe, and a knight of the Earl's service, at your service. -You- must be the Jewel of Woodford that I've heard so much talk about." A pause, a laugh. "Only good things, of course.”

And Arian leaving? Caerwyn couldn't even pay her enough heed to look her way, infatuated as he is with Seren. Not particularly courtly, this knight - pagans, really, the lot of them.

Critical Fail!
Landon checked his Forgiving of 4, he rolled 20.

A farewell is given Arian though Seren glances back to the two knights as the one makes an introduction. Baverstock. A nod is given to him. To the offered hand, a curious look is given, but the boastful words have her hesitant in lifting her hand in response. It is good manners that bring her hand to his and she curtsies, "Sir Caerwyn de Burcombe, it is interesting meeting you." The jewel of Woodford title brings a genuinely confused look, having not been something she had heard before. A quick smile flashes over her lips, "You must mean my mother, Sir.”

"It's /LANDON/…" The Baverstock all but roars at the slight, probably over the blabbering jibberish too. There was something dark that flashed across the Baverstock's blue and hazel eyes, holding a look to import the value of his name to the other knight. The damning look is for Caerwyn. Then he reaches into the conversation he's having with Seren to interject, "You should stay away from these ignorant buttcombers knights. He's from the wrong side of the river." He's so blistering mad that it's the best he can do without staging a second round of fighting. There's no humour in that either. And before anyone can do anything about it, he's stalking off. Apparently drinks are NOT happening.

Well, seeing that Landon is this upset, Lysanor simply sighs, though at the Baverstock's warning, she does turn to Seren and beckons the girl to follow, "Lady Seren, I was hoping that you could help me with something." And though she doesn't bring up what that something is, for there is no need to ruin Landon's pride even more, it probably has to do with healing. That said, she moves forward on her graceful steps to not allow the man to lose her completely. Not with the way she can sense that there is something wrong by viewing his posture alone, "Sir Landon, will you be heading back to Baverstock? I am heading in that direction myself. "

"But—" Caerwyn turns and glances over his shoulder at Landon, before turning back to Seren. "My apologies for our brethren across the river. Us Burcombes are pranksters, light-hearted folk, but one may take jokes quite seriously. It runs in the family, apparently," he says with a sad little shake of his head. "What we can do to mend this break - I know not. Milady Seren de Woodford - many apologies. I will go assuage the younger Baverstock's temper myself." He clears his throat and then watches as -everybody- departs in separate directions from him. "… Baverstock, we'll have drinks later, I suppose!" This is called over at Landon. To Seren and Lysanor: "G'day, miladies!" And with that, Caerwyn gives a helpless shrug and heads to his horse and wagon train. Things need to be sold, to pay for Caerwyn's boozing and other proclivities!

Seren opens her mouth, closes it.. watches the knight with the sudden outburst stalking off. An apologetic look is given to Caerwyn, but the departure she makes is brief, "Forgive me, pardon me," excusing herself from Caerwyn, grateful for the invitation from Lysanor, "Yes, I would be glad to assist you, my lady." So glad. Without another word to those remaining behind, she follows at a pace matching that of the other Lady.

Landon checked his Courtesy of 4, he rolled 3.

Caerwyn's call for drinks 'later' … has Landon lift his hand to gesture in the era-specific gesture for 'fuck you' … The heavy stalking gait of the Baverstock indicates he wasn't in a healthy mood, maybe beyond repair. Lysanor's beckoning however, has him glance over his shoulder just enough to reply to her, "Yes. I reckon I am. We can ride back together if it pleases you, my Lady. Forgive me for my outburst. Some /knights/-" which he indicates with a departing look to Caerwyn, "-don't know how to show proper respect when it is earned. Learning a name is a simple thing, especially of a Knight who bested you in a spar." His sharp /tone/ indicates there is unlikely anywhere else for him to go, words that had followed on the heels of a wheezy irate breath.

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