(514-04-20) Drinks, Disagreements, and Duels
Summary: A discussion about marriage and the right of a family to demand conversion leads to theological disagreements and duels.
Date: 20th of April, 514
Related: After the Duel
idris rozenn morag caerwyn catryn merryn iolo aluksander selivant tria bronwen edwyn lysanor cynrain maerwynn 

Boar's Beard in Sarum

Rozenn checked her Prudent of 4, she rolled 12.

You can't help but overhear certain things. And when someone starts dissing Pagans, well. Rozenn looks sharply over towards Aluksander, eyes narrowing momentarily. The woman's mouth twitches as she thinks. Debates. Finally, it opens: "You are not nearly ready for something such as marriage if you're already nitpicking the woman at hand. If being pagan is so distasteful," she may be assuming too much, but she is the reckless sort, afterall. "than she must not be the one for you." Oops.

Morag checked her prudent of 10, she rolled 17.

Morag makes her way into the tavern, having done all she needs to do for the day and quite eager for an ale. And of course, she just happens to walk in upon hearing Aluksander's declaration. The priestess' eyebrows have hit her hairline, and as she goes to lean a hip against Rozenn's table, their family resemblance may become obvious. "Perhaps," suggests the priestess, "It's the matter of you being Christian to deal with. But then, we are notably a more tolerant lot."

Aluksander checked his temperate of 13, he rolled 10.
Merryn checked his pious of 10, he rolled 8.

"Trust me I know. At least you have being the heir to the house on your side. I will probably die unwed. Maybe for the best." Downer. Still, Merryn manages to wear a smile as he reaches out and claps Aluksander on the shoulder. "If you need any help, just let me know." Though the two women speak up and he's looking off in their direction with narrowed eyes. "This isn't your concern. Mind your own affairs, our family's devoutness is not for you to question."

Aluksander clicks his tongue and shakes his head at Merryn, feeling somewhat sorry for him. And then there's all the chatter from the other women. Merryn is quick to defend, but Aluksander holds up his hand and shakes his head to his cousin. He then turns and quirks an eyebrow at the women, looking at each one in turn, before he speaks. "Good women, please, mind your manners. If you are to eavesdrop, then hear what is said. I have neither disparaged nor belittled my good woman or her religion. I have stated that her being Pagan does present an issue for us if we wish to be wed, which is quite true for both parties, for neither is easily wed under the other's faith. But, I am in an amicable mood, this eve. So I'll let your insults go, even without apology, if you can agree to henceforth not intrude upon other's conversations without warrant."

"This woman you speak of isn't of your family," Rozenn points out. Lucky for them (truly, truly) the table she's angled for as she awaits ale and stew is nearby. "And as she's not here to defend her upbringing and religious pursuits, I'm doing so on her behalf." There's a flash of teeth in Morag's direction. Not quite a smile, but clear approval of her cousin's words. The expression shifts to something more even-keeled when Aluksander speaks. There's a roll of her shoulders. "I'll give my apology, then. There are plenty of men who would utterly disregard their betrothed's feelings on the matter to simply get their way. I'm glad to hear you are not one of them."

Selivant checks his recognize at 3, you rolled 17.

Selivant pushes the door to the Boar's Beard open and scans the room for open seats as he steps inside. While he glances at each of the occupants, he doesn't seem to notice allies of his own family are present. Instead he starts to make his way to an empty seat, when he realizes that there appears to be a bit of a heated discussion regarding religion. He takes a seat quietly and waves for an ale, as he watches those voicing their opinions.

Morag's gaze slides toward Merryn a moment, and then dismissively slides away to refocus on Aluksander. "You have my apology as well." she says silkily, a subtle emphasis on you. "But I will tell you as a priestess of the Old Ways, such a marriage is not impossible. It will require effort on both of your parts, and should you feel able to reconcile doing so with your resurrected god, I will gladly seal the bond between you and your bride should she so desire it."

Merryn opens his mouth to say something more but at Aluksander's prompting he shuts his mouth and inclines his head slightly to his cousin. Though he doesn't offer his own apology to the women, just a mild grunt that's probably supposed to mean he's willing to drop it. Especially since one verbally snubs him. He looks over at the two women and shakes his head. "Either way, it's a good match. I wish you luck cousin." He picks up his ale and raises his mug towards Aluksander, wiggling it a little to get the man to join in the toast.

Aluksander closes his eyes and bows his head to both women in thanks for their apologies. "I understand your feelings, ladies, and you can trust that Sir Deryn and I are yet a long ways from betrothal, as we have only started courting yesterday. So we have ample time to discuss and discover each other's religion, and I am quite certain that as time passes, we will be fully discoursed on the matter. Tonight, though, I merely wish to celebrate /my/ good fortune with my cousin, wish him the same, and enjoy the feelings that come from engaging in such an enterprise. So please, may your first drink be on me, and may we all have happy smiles, every one," Aluksander says, smiling and raising his glass to the two women. He then turns back to Merryn and smirks, saying more quietly, "See? This is a far better way to deal with the fairer folk than fighting." He then clinks his mug to his cousin's and drinks.

Idris checked his reckless of 16, he rolled 14.

"Why should he compromise with faith?" Idris speaks up, having had quite a lot of this Pagan vs Christian debate. He stands up, and points at Aluksander, "If you love the woman, you will have her convert. You know God's one true way, don't you? You know what awaits those who indulge in paganry and the most base of sorceries. /You/ are the husband, you need to take the reins," and he closes his hand into a fist, "of the marriage and lead her to the righteous path. You, sir, you can do it. Or are you too weak to do so? I doubt it. Do not listen to the Pagans; they seek to get you astray from your path. You know it."

Selivant checks his prudent at 16, you rolled 10.

Selivant receives a mug of ale from one of the barmaids, as the two sides seem to come to terms, and he raises his mug to Aluksander's words regarding the diplomatic route or maybe its the offer of free ale that has him saluting the other knight. He is just about to down a bit of his ale, when Idris speaks. The heir of Durnford pauses at the man's words, and opens his mouth to say something in reply before stopping himself. After a few oment's of thought, he sttes, "While that might…and I stress might be true, I think we can all agree that as subjects of the Earl, in his fine city, in his finest tavern, we can put aside matters of disagreement between ourselves to enjoy a round or three of ale and save our ire for the field of glory. For now, let's speak of our commonalities and save our spit for someone more worhty o fit - the Saxons."

The first ale is free?! Suh-weet. This satisfied Rozenn, yes it does. She won't even press further; she just lifts her tankard once she has it. "To you and chasing the theory of wedded bliss." There's a long draw of it, but she starts coughing into it as Idris speaks up. Her eyebrows arch high and the mug goes down to the table. "Are you honestly suggesting that merely because he prays to some ressurected man, he has a right to lord himself over another Knight?!" She did not miss the 'Sir' of the named woman that Aluksander is courting, oh no. "That woman earned her spurs and no one, man or woman, has place to simply assume that religion gives them power over her." This woman is not remotely anywhere near happy now. She was, certainly, before Idris opened his mouth.

"A House has the right to demand that one converts to the religion they worship. I would expect you Pagans act much in the same way when a Christian marries into your Manor, not that I know of anyone who would," the Bodenham knight scoffs at the notion, lifting the ale to his lips and drinking deeply. Selivant's reply earns a nod from the knight, who apparently agrees that Saxons are a better way to waste one's spit than someone else's marriage. Nevertheless, Rozenn makes him rise to the occasion once again, "This is not about /knight and knight/, but /man and wife/. She is joining /his/ family. She will bear his children. She should, regardless of whether or not she has her spurs, become fully a part of his manor, and this includes the religion they practice."

Merryn clinks mugs with his cousin, tossing back the mug. The calm seeming to at least put him back into a nominally better mood. At least until Idris speaks up from the corner. And while he seems ready to defend his faith, he has more loyalty to his family. He simply looks right at Aluksander and offers the man a short and brief nod. He doesn't say anything but the message is clear. He's ready to stand behind his family if he feels the need to act.

Morag seems willing to be amiable about it all, especially in the face of a free ale…and then Idris opens his mouth. She looks over at the man with visible contempt, and shakes her head, making an aside remark to her cousin, "Pity his wife." Her gazw then lifts to Idris. "You would be incorrect, sir. We pagans do not demand adherence to our faith by a non-believer, only tolerance of neither. Your own intolerance and ignorance does not speak well on behalf of your Church; I advise you to seek the bottom of your tankard and leave matters of spirit and faith to those of either cloth."

Likely the owners aren't aware of anyone giving away free ale! The employees don't even drink free, ask Tria! Coming out of the kitchen, she steps up to the bar and has a seat. The voices had carried for awhile and so she watches as they contemplate religion and marriage and drinks. The redhead looks mightily amused with just about everything as the nobles go back and forth. Ordering her own ale, she keeps watch on the display.

Turning and just plain /blinking/ at Idris, Aluksander facepalms and shakes his head as the man undoes all of his politicking. He catches Merryn's look and gives a very subtle shake of his head before turning to respond to Idris. "Sir, I should like to offer you the right to navigate your relationship as /you/ see fit. I shall likewise manage my own. And whichever way it shall go, it is not any /your/ concern, as you are neither my savior nor my priest, so I'll kindly ask you not to use /my/ relationship as your soapbox." He then sets his glass down and turns back to his cousin. "Cousin, since others seem to be determined to ruin our revelry, what say you that we quit this place and find more pleasant company?"

Idris checked his recognize of 3, he rolled 18.

Well, isn't this all going well? Selivant sighs inwardly and looks between the parties for moment before venturing once more into the fray. He looks to Idris, "Sir Knight, let's have the family she marries into decide on that." Aluksander speaks then and says it much better than he. So he focuses on the allies that he doesn't recognize, making the universal gesture for 'Crazy Christians' to them - rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"Pity my wife?" Comes laughter from the Bodenham, apparently further inflamed by the priestess' exchange. "She'll be better appreciated than the wife of any limp-wristed Sir cousin of yours, who bows down to bulls and stags and a God-forsaken crow," Idris points accusingly to Morag. "My 'intolerance' comes from knowing my great grandfather was killed by traitorous savages who worshipped the same false idols as you do. Killed a rightful King of this land, even!" His fist doesn't quite slam on the table, resting upon it instead. "I know very well what the priests I know would say — they would agree with me. All the same, perhaps you are the one who should stop advising others not of your religion in their own matters." Aluksander speaks and the knight gives him a sort of incredulous look, but it turns to spite soon after, "Good luck, when your children are consigned to eternal damnation for worshipping animal idols instead of our God." Then Rozenn earns his (semi-righteous) anger, "Not 'some resurrected man'. OUR Savior."

Aluksander checked his prudent of 10, he rolled 5.
Rozenn checked her Prudent of 4, she rolled 9.
Critical Success!
Rozenn checked her Reckless of 16, she rolled 16.
You check your prudent at 16, you rolled 1.
Merryn checked his forgiving of 10, he rolled 11.
Merryn checked his vengeful of 10, he rolled 11.

In this moment, Aluksander and Merryn might as well be left to their evening in Rozenn's regard. She was well-prepared to do as such, even. But then Idris had to go and open his mouth. Morag, mind, phrases things much more keenly. What does one expect? One is a Knight, the other is a Priestess. Knights are for bashing things, not diplomacy. In fact, there's even a tilt in eyes towards Aluksander and Merryn, overhearing the plan for departure. She looks apologetic, even. "I wish you and your chosen well, Sir." She's trying, she is. She -really- is, but Idris has insulted a family member. Rozenn -does not- stand for that. Not even for halfies. Her chair is toppled over as she gets to her feet and makes right for the Bodenham. Oh, yes, she's going to try punching him. It's clear. Look at those fingers curl into a fist. "Don't you dare speak to my cousin that way. You have no right and you are the most piss-poor example of a Christian I have ever witnessed. I have had your book spouted to me time and again. A book that speaks of forgiveness and love. Two things that you are utterly incapable of even concieving."

Amused, outright amused at the verbal sparring of the nobles, Tria blatantly observes from her prime position at the bar. This was good, really good. Tempers were flaring, heated passions, and none of it involved her. Then there's going to be a fight it looks like and she casually picks up her tankard of ale and moves a little further away, just to be out of the way.

There's another nod from Merryn as he once again is told to stand down. "Perhaps we should cousin. I can't ask you to pay on this occasion." He uties his purse from his belt, placing enough coin on the table for their food and drinks, as well as that of Rozenn and Morag. The purse is returned to his belt and then just as he's about ready to just let things go, Sir Idris opens his mouth again, pulling a glare from Merryn. "I would rather not stay around to hear our house insulted further." At least he keeps his tongue in check even if the heat is audible in his tone, his hand twitching toward his sword for a moment but at least he keeps his hand off of it.

Selivant prudently grabs his ale and steps back as well. Sometimes wisely making a tactical retreat to avoid losing the Earl a ready sword is the better part of valor. "I tried, gods know I did." He downs some more ale and watches from the other side of the table.

Morag checked her prudent of 10, she rolled 1.

Shaking his head as Idris speaks, Aluksander sees the light in Merryn's eyes and reaches for his cousin's arm to lead him out. "Come, coz. Let us make haste, before he says anything else. Remember, never try to teach a pig to sing. It only frustrates you and annoys the pig," he says, making a bee-line for the door.

"Rozenn!" Morag is on her feet. Under normal circumtances she'd be inclined to encourage the other Burcombe to deliver a sound thrashing, but something tells her this might not be the right moment. "Cousin, what comes out of his mouth is no matter to me. It's just foul air. Stand down, for it would sadden me to tend the bruises on your knuckles over so unworthy an opponent." And that, it would seem, is Morag's version of talking Rozenn down.

Idris checked his prudent of 4, he rolled 11.
Idris checked his reckless of 16, he rolled 19.

"Sorry, Aluksander. I did not mean for your good night to turn sour." Merryn sighs and shakes his head as he allows his cousin to lead his from the tavern. "And as for the pig. They taught me to sing well enough." Okay, at least he's attempting some form of humor to lighten the situation at least for the two of them. Quickly, he adds another small coin to the pile left on their table before he turns to walk out with his cousin, his usually stiffness even more obvious.

"Is that a challenge, Sir? Do you seriously intend to /trade punches/ with me?" Idris looks accusingly to Rozenn, not quite leaving from his place. The tankard is slammed onto the table as he stands up, meeting the Burcombe woman's gaze. "Let us do this one better. Outside. My challenge to you." His hand drops to the pommel of his sword, and he glances to the door and back to Rozenn. "May it be swords, and not words, that will seal this contest. Unless, of course, you prefer to throw a punch," he gestures around, "by all means. Just don't forget the code you've sworn."

Selivant siiiiips his ale as his eyes shoot back and forth from Rozenn to Idris over the lip of the mug.

When Aluksander starts to head for the door, there's only one slight problem preventing the man's egress. Eyes shrouded in mild inebriation, crinkled at the corners in amusement, a smirk on his lips, he shoves open the door, adjusting his grip on a small iron flask that he takes a discreet sip from them. "Pig, aye?" A long swig from his flask - the Black Burcombe smells of sweet dessert wine and the lavender perfume of the type of soft companionship you can find in a larger city like Sarum - and he starts to step out of the way of Aluksander. But he's a moment too slow, and when Aluksander tries to step around him to go through the door, Caerwyn steps in front of him instead, looking almost like he's intentionally blocking the man's way. "Why the rush, Sir? The frown on y'face means you have no' had enough wine yet. Sit, pretty lad, share a drink with me. I know a girl or three who would eat your pretty looks right up," he says with a lopsided grin, pressing his hand to Aluksander's chest, firmly pushing him back towards a seat. "Us two, we will drink our fill, aye?"

When Aluksander starts to head for the door, there's only one slight problem preventing the man's egress. Eyes shrouded in mild inebriation, crinkled at the corners in amusement, a smirk on his lips, Caerwyn shoves open the door, adjusting his grip on a small iron flask that he takes a discreet sip from them. "Pig, aye?" A long swig from his flask - the Black Burcombe smells of sweet dessert wine and the lavender perfume of the type of soft companionship you can find in a larger city like Sarum - and he starts to step out of the way of Aluksander. But he's a moment too slow, and when Aluksander tries to step around him to go through the door, Caerwyn steps in front of him instead, looking almost like he's intentionally blocking the man's way. "Why the rush, Sir? The frown on y'face means you have no' had enough wine yet. Sit, pretty lad, share a drink with me. I know a girl or three who would eat your pretty looks right up," he says with a lopsided grin, pressing his hand to Aluksander's chest, firmly pushing him back towards a seat. "Us two, we will drink our fill, aye?"

Aluksander checked his prudent of 10, he rolled 18.
Rozenn checked her Prudent of 4, she rolled 13.
Rozenn checked her Reckless of 16, she rolled 3.
Aluksander checked his forgiving of 10, he rolled 2.

When Caerwyn places his hand on Aluksander's chest, the tall blonde man looks down at the hand, up at Caerwyn, and then swats the hand off of his chest. His jaw clenches, he frowns distinctly, and then he … takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "You sir, have had enough for the both of us, methinks. And my cousin and I have already made our decision to depart, so that is what we are going to do. Now, if you'll kindly step aside, I shall not have to unkindly move you to the side so that we can continue."

The Burcombe cousin tries, she does. Really, it's valiant. But Rozenn is known for her Recklessness for a reason. The woman does stall at Idris' words. She processes them, pale eyes bright. There's the flame of anger and dedication behind them. There's loyalty to the Earl, eye, but there's also the love for family. Her family. This isn't even about religion at this point. No punch comes, but her hand does fall to her blade. She's in leather armor, rather than full plate. Perhaps it's being prepared for the trip to the wedding. Or another reason, perhaps. But she has her sword. There's a twitch of her lip, looking him over. "I would ask you to be on level with I, but I know your ilk. You hide behind that which you may to avoid facing even truth."

Merryn checked his honest of 16, he rolled 9.
Idris checked his merciful of 13, he rolled 5.

Iolo steps into the Boars beard, along with Bronwen and her maid. He laughs just a bit, "Well, maybe we can make up a song together, or I could at the very least just play something you're familiar with." He says as he steps in, holding the door for her.

It is into this.. grouping that a form appears, dressed in a long cloak that covers from head to toe of a nice almost blue color, a lady if not simply by height alone pauses just inside the door. Delicate but stronger fingers reach up and push back a hood that allows a tumbling mass of curls to fall free as Rose arches an eyebrow at the scene but otherwise does well to step to the side of anyone else that is coming in.

Caerwyn stands at the door unintentionally blocking the exit of Aluksander and Merryn. Idris appears to be challenging Rozenn to a duel. Morag is stepping aside. Selivant has excused himself to the side as well and is sipping his ale. Tria watches with amusement from the bar.

The door opens and Edwyn arrives with Lysanor accompanying him. The Burcombe knight walks in leisurely guiding the lady over towards a free table. He pauses when he sees his cousin Rozenn staring down a man and he studies the situation carefully while helping Lysanor into a seat. He watches Idris and Rozenn carefully his expression calm yet curious. He calls out to his cousin in an even and equally calm tone. "Is everything alright over there cousin?" He looks faintly concerned and glances to Lysanor offering a small reassuring smile.

Caerwyn checked his prudent of 10, he rolled 19.
Caerwyn checked his reckless of 10, he rolled 12.

It wasn't exactly a planned meeting but hey, when there's one Burcombe, there's usually several. They are like a disease. Catryn arrives amid.. whatever is going down and stops in the doorway to get an actual look around. Interesting.. very interesting.. Just behind her good brother too. With Caerwyn there, she smirks, and the bad brother. "It's a party, should we drink to.. Rozenn?" Wait, drink to Roz?

Tria checked her heraldry of 5, she rolled 4.

"Yes, I have to say the company here has gotten too be a little too foul and unknightly for our tastes." And Merryn's tongue is getting away with him again. "There are better places to pass the rest of the evening, perhaps you should seek one as well, Sir. The air's gone a bit stale in here." Okay, that might have been a bit uncalled for but his temper is running hot and he's been known to just speak his mind. He draws himself up a little, waiting for the Burcombe night to remove himself from the door so he and his fellow Pitton can depart.

Hanging back, Tria watches the fun. Of course it's fun because for once she's not fighting anyone and everyone's attention is on the nobles! Sipping her ale, she notices as the door opens and even more pile in. Burcombes, the lot of them. Too many to count!

"Oh, well, I would be happy to sing something I know and you might try a simple accompaniment…" Bronwen is saying as her, her maid, and Iolo all walk in, but… That's an awful lot of people at the door! So it's something of a traffic jam, and she's short, leading instantly to the complaint of, "What is going on in there with all these people in the way?"

"My ilk? You presume too much. I am a /knight/, perhaps you might have forgotten that." The reply comes, dripping venom, or would, anyway.

Idris spends a moment contemplating her accusation. He looks to Gwyn, his ever dutiful squire, and gestures for the young man to divest the knight of his armor, leaving only the boiled leather clothes underneath — chain chafes. A lot. And it doesn't quite help against arrowtips at any rate. Leather does, and so both are part of a knight's bailiwick for personal protection. Once that is done, and the squire collets the blackened chainmail that makes part of his ensemble, the Bodenham knight draws his sword, well, one of his swords. The one with the bejeweled pommel. He weighs it against his hand as his shield is placed and strapped upon his arm by his squire, nodding to the exit. "After you."

Tria pipes up. "Take it outside!" Frowning. "People work in here, we don't want it destroyed and putting good hardworking people out of work."

Dressed in a vibrant ensemble made up of various hues of green to represent the warming spring, Lysanor isn't certain as to what to expect upon entering the establishment. It's not as if this were the first time she had set foot into the tavern, but it is usually not the first place she would go to for a bite to eat or a little drink. So cautiously, she trails behind Edwyn, the one Burcombe whom she trusts. Well, trusts for the most part. Lowering the hood of her cloak to reveal her mass of flaming red hair, she runs graceful fingers through her locks before allowing Edwyn to assist in settling her down into a seat. Still, wary eyes look over the room and it is not a secret that something is going on and it doesn't look as if there are bards or troubadours involved. "This is certainly quite the crowd for a musical performance." She remarks.

Morag looks over her shoulder to see Caerwyn, who of course is just a tad inebriated, so any relief from that quarter is questionable. She looks between Idris and Rozenn, certain that she could prevent this about as readily as the tide, and then she hears the voice of her other brother. It's she who calls out to Edwyn, "Rozenn is trading blows with this…" She wants to call Idris something, but she exercises restraint, "…knight for offering insult to our House and our faith." Maybe not Edwyn's faith, but there are still the insults toward the House to consider.

There's a moment of outrageous rage - that Burcombe madness in the blood - before Caerwyn inclines his head slightly and steps aside to admit Aluksander. And then he steps aside and looks at the group. Idris. Then Rozenn. Then Idris. Then Rozenn. Huh? He's in full chainmail (rather haphazardly put on, but on, probably due to the ministrations of whoever he last spent time with), and he clears his throat loudly. In an imperative Burcombe voice: "… Is there a problem, Christian?"

There's a look of satisfaction that paints itself across Rozenn's features. She's satisfied with this. The woman's squire is, alas, nowhere to be seen. Yet. However, Squeak's face appears in the door. It'd seem word has made it to the street and lo! The squire is holding her shield. The woman gives a firm, approving nod as she turns to head towards the door. There's the steeled focus there, now. Morag could certainly continue to try, but it's entirely possible that it would fall upon deaf ears. And if Caerwyn still haunts the door? Well, it's Caerwyn. She'll shove by him. They likely shared a wetnurse at one time.

Edwyn's eyes widen as Idris draws his sword at Rozenn. He also spots his half sister Morag near her. He looks to Lysanor apologeticly. "One moment please Lady Lysanor? I should see what is going on…I may walk a different path than my family but I still care for them. I would not see them get into trouble if I could prevent it." He offers a small smile and starts over to Idris, Rozenn, and Morag. Its Idris he address. "Sir I trust there is a good reason for you to be drawing a blade against my cousin? Whatever you may have against pagans they are still people and therefore deserving of respect. I understand Burcombe is less than popular but that is no reason to verbally attack a lady." He stands his ground eyeing the man intently noticing Caerwyn out of the corner of his eye as well.

Critical Fail!
Edwyn checked his orate of 7, he rolled 20.

Iolo glances to Bronwen just a bit, hmmning just a bit, "A brawl, maybe?" He suggests, grinning just a bit, "Shall we watch and see, it seems rather exciting…" he moves to slip in through the gaggle of people, slipping his lute from his back and into his hand as he tries to guide Bronwen in to a spot to watch.

Idris checked his merciful of 13, he rolled 6.

Without a moment to waste, Aluksander's long legs take him out the door as rapidly as he can move. Running from a fight? Never. From his own temper, however … frequently. "Come, Merryn. And not a moment too soon."

With all the people pushing in, and now some pushing out? Poor Bronwen gets shoved around a bit, no doubt unintentionally, but still! She's easily overlooekd, and in danger of being trampled! At least Iolo is looking out for her, and she's easily enough pushed along some distance, but halts suddenly as she catches sight of Lysanor, immediately grabbing for one of her hands. "Oh, Lysanor! What is going on?! I met some bard who said he'd play for me as I sang, but it's all chaos in here? Are they really fighting?"

"I did not verbally attack a lady," it is Edwyn that Idris answers first, and because he is diplomatic, the Burcombe Argent receives cordial treatment, "I was verbally attacked, with a very firm insinuation, for stating my opinion. As it is, I defended myself verbally, and now I was challenged to a duel, which I intend to fulfill." There is some manner of … Temperance? Despite the insinuations posited by by the knight. He follows Rozenn as she walks to the exit, and then his attention is cut short by Caerwyn. He scowls, gesturing for Gwyn and murmuring a few words to his squire. Who is now watching Caerwyn. "A problem, Heathen? No, a settlement of a contested issue. Do you intend on causing one? Now, get out of my way." And so he moves to the exit, sword in hand, and shield on arm.

Edwyn checked his Trusting of 10, he rolled 7.

"Of course." Merryn is only too happy to follow his cousinn out of the tavern. He looks over his shoulder once, opening his mouth to say something. However he just shuts his mouth and shakes his head and walks out the door. No need to throw more fuel on an already raging fire.

Obviously, this wasn't a light and whimsical tale-telling of knights present and past. No, this was its own tale, one that Lysanor will witness, despite preferring not to! With her own handmaiden now seated oh so closely to her, in the girl's own fear of being caught up in this terrible predicament, the auburn-haired Dinton continues to cast her eyes about the room and that is when she feels her hands taken, but not by the rough hands one would expect from a knight or brute! "Bronwen!" She calls out and ushers the other girl and her companions to their table. "Sir Edwyn mentioned a bard that would be performing here as well, but it looks like the… enthusiastic crowd had other intentions in mind." She then gestures a hand in the direction of Edwyn as he tries to calm the fighting parties down. Though when she spots Iolo, she nods her head in nervous acknowledgment, a small smile on her lips. "I'm afraid that your performance will just have to wait."

Selivant departs his spot behind a table and moves to follow Idris and Rozenn. Someone may need some tending to after this, and it's always good to have a witness. He waits for the combatants to exit first and watches as others file in.

Edwyn studies Idris a moment and then moves away letting the man head outside with his cousin. Edwyn moves to return to where Lysanor is seated. "My apologizes my Lady." He looks truly saddened and troubled. "It seems wherever my family go there is trouble. If you would like to leave I can escort you out? I do not know if the bard will play if there is a fight." He looks pained and takes a seat across from her with a troubled look but still manages to offer the lady a gentle smile.

Iolo bows his head towards Lysanor, smiling just a bit, "It looks like that might just be the case." He agrees, glancing back towards the little kerfuffle abrew. "I'm Iolo, at your service." He adds, with a little bow as he turns back to Lysanor, "Do you know the two fighting?"

Bronwen follows after Lysanor some short ways, and her maid struggles to do the same, although she is just as small and not half as energetic as her mistress. But even on the route there, the young woman seems to catch something in the din of argument beyond the cluster of people near the exit, and stops as abruptly as she had grabbed for her friend in the first place. "I hear my brother!" Turning, she might even spy some look at him as he moves toward the door, although a few people are still in the way of a clear view of what is going on. "My brother's fighting?! Brother, brother!"

Standing just inside the door and to the side, Catryn watches, still gathering who did what to who, what was going on and why. A duel looked to be in the makings and she looks at Idris with narrowed eyes. "If you have slighted my cousin, you have slighted my family."

Catryn checked her merciful of 4, she rolled 10.
Catryn checked her cruel of 16, she rolled 4.

"Iolo? Despite the," There's a pause in Lysanor's words here, "Unfavorable circumstances, it's a pleasure to meet with you all the same." She then makes her own introduction, "Lysanor de Dinton. And this is my handmaid, Myfanwy." Turning and lifting her chin up, she even is forced to stand on tip-toes to get even a good glance at the combatants at large, Lysanor shakes her head to the bard's question, though it is Bronwen's curious question that has her straining all the more. In this, she does catch sight of the reassuring, or is it apologetic look which Edwyn flashes her way. All that she can do is return a small uncertain smile in turn, though she does have to inquire of the Bodenham lady now, "Your brother is somewhere in this crowd? That is good news, is it not? I'm sure he will wish to see you safe."

Morag turns to regard Edwyn with a certain air of disbelief, as he dismisses the whole family as bad eggs and goes to sit with the lady. "Father would be ashamed of you." she tells him, and then looks over at Catryn. Her mouth opens, and then abruptly shuts. Her chin juts out and then with a flash of temper, calls out to Idris, "And for your pains, Christian, when you're bloody and bruised, it'll be a pagan healer who tends you." So there.

Idris checked his intrigue of 13, he rolled 8.
Idris checked his orate of 11, he rolled 17.

"Bronwen, I suggest you stay with Gwyn and never leave his side," Idris comments to his sister as he passes by her, meeting her gaze to convey the seriousness of the situation. Oh, she also can see that he's absolutely furious. Then, Catryn makes her statement and he brings his shield a little closer together to his body. To avoid backstabs, one supposes. And then, because he certainly couldn't be done picking enough fights, he offers: "Then I will duel you afterwards."

"You insulted women, our faith, and those of Pitton! That is no mere statement of opinion, Sir." Hey, at least she hasn't forgotten proper titles. But Rozenn does hear Idris' response to Edwyn. Oh no you di-n't! "And a conversation you were not invited to be a part of!" Mind, she's conveniently leaving out where she happened to have eavesdropped as well. But she, at least, had apologized and made ammends. All was well! There was ale and offers of congratulations. Alas and alack. Not that she wholly expected Edwyn to stick around anyway. You can take the pagan out of the man, but you can't take the obsession over women away. She does spot Catryn, certainly: "Save a drink for me." And then she's heading out. Oh no, no slowing down. She's on a path and she has intent to continue, yes.

In between Idris and the door, Caerwyn stares blankly - alcohol prompts a man to be a little slow on the uptake. But when the man starts approaching him, and when his younger brother Edwyn starts making amends half-way, trying to eloquently convince the parties present to stand down. When the blade rings from the scabbard that Idris has, Caerwyn - drunk, half-dressed in his loosely fitting chainmail, smelling of woman's parfum de eau - pulls out his own sword. When Idris starts approaching him (not by any fault of Caerwyn, through aggression towards the man, but simply by the fact that Caerwyn is standing in between the man and the door), Caerwyn lifts his voice out and hoarsely shouts:

"BURCOMBE! SHIELD WALL!" And clumsily drawing his wooden heater shield from his back, Caerwyn bangs his sword against his shield and arrays himself in front of the door, blocking Idris's escape.

Though small in stature, Bronwen is hardly timid, and though her brother tells her to stay put and stay clear, she seems to sense the rising tension in the situation, in her brother's voice and in those all around them. And then someone is calling for shields? "Good heavens, what is happening? Are the pagans rebelling against the Earl? Someone raise the alarm!" And in fact, looking around and picking the nearest man (Iolo!) she moves toward him, wide-eyed, "Go warn someone!"

"I would not deny the duel." Catryn tells Idris with fervor, since he had challenged her first. As Caerwyn blocks the door, she nudges him. "People work here, people eat and drink here, take it outside." It's not something that would brook an argument, hopefully, from the elder of the Burcombe twins. "Outside. More than one of us has been challenged now." A nod to Roz, "I will buy you several after you teach this knight."

Edwyn looks to Morag with calm brown eyes. Her rage only seems to convinve him further that his family started this. "He always has been. Can you honestly tell me that a Burcombe did not start this?" He is calm and willing to listen but he has doubts to the goodness to his family, he always has. He rises when Caerwyn draws his blade. He moves quickly taking a protective stance near Lysanor and keeping his hand near his own sword. He doesn't draw it yet though.

"I think it's not religion, M'lady." Iolo replies to Bronwen, "But knights who can't handle their booze, or their manners.." He says, frowning just a touch, "But.. the main with the shield is between us and the door as well, should trouble brew, I'll lead you to safety, however!" he assures.

Catryn looks towards Bronwen, an icy cold look in her eyes. "A.. rebel against.." Anger seethes like nothing she had ever felt before, filling her, the storm in her eyes igniting the fire. "You dare presume we /KNIGHTS/, Loyal to our Liege would dare rebel against him? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

Shield lowered a notch, Caerwyn sheathes his sword and this time, it's the milder Burcombe twin that cautiously advises Catryn against action. "It's just a girl—" A double-take at Bronwen. Blonde-haired, milk-white skin, absolutely gorgeous — "… A very beautiful girl, but a girl nonetheless. Let us withdraw. I am in no shape to fight at the moment," he announces loudly, "… but honor necessitates that I draw when my dearest cousin," Caerwyn nods at Rozenn, "… and my sweet sister has been drawn on by this -vile- fiend. Who is approaching me with a bared sword. Though it might be because I am in the way of the door." He holds his shield at ready and eases out of the way of the door, letting Idris go, having understood the situation a little better.

Edwyn moves between Catryn and Bronwen. "Sister calm yourself. You cannot blame the lady for making a simple assumption..I am sure no harm was meant." He stands his ground trying to calm Catryn's rage. "My lady the pagans are not rising up against anyone…I'm afarid my…family tends to get a bit…hotheaded at times. My apologies." This is said to Bronwen as Edwyn defends her.

Morag isn't raging. She's disappointed. Big difference. "I can tell you that a Burcombe attempted to end it peacefully, brother." She looks around, hears Bronwyn, hears Iolo, and her mouth scrunches up her mouth as she stares at Bronwyn. "Oh. Oh, now you've done it, you silly cow. There'll be no stopping it now." And with that, she heads for the corner. At this point, the insult to her has been removed from regard anyway, and all she can do is - oh, hell no. An imperious finger points at Edwyn. "Edwyn? Stop. Speaking." And then the priestess takes a swig.

Selivant just keeps drinking his ale as everyone seems ready to fight everyone else. He shakes his head and tries to think of how to explain to the Earl why so many of his knights are suddenly recovering from wounds outside of a tournament.

Edwyn checked his orate of 7, he rolled 3.

"Is this a joke?" Idris barks, stepping back and holding the shield closer to himself when Caerwyn apparently calls for a shield wall. He glances between Catryn and Bronwen before he states to the former, "I have already challenged you to a duel. Leave my sister alone." Then the entire situation is defused, and the Bodenham knight will step through the door once Rozenn does. "WATCH how you address my sister, old witch!" He protests at Morag, angry now. "She is a trueborn daughter of my House and I WILL NOT STAND BY this insult!"

There is so very little that Lysanor can actually do than watch, so when Edwyn places himself before her and the crowd as a whole, she is forced to lean to the side in an attempt to get some view of what is going on. Was that Bronwen's brother? She knew him in passing, but that was as far as it went. When Edwyn now moves, she does follow suit, for he does attempt to keep one of his uncouth relatives away from poor Bronwen! Still, she cannot help but look over her shoulder at all of the commotion: At Idris and, is that Caerwyn? Of course it is! Obviously, these are the man's true colors, whatever they may be. The air is thick in their own section of tavern and she reaches a hand out to Bronwen's now, to offer it a supportive squeeze.

Rozenn checked her Prudent of 4, she rolled 9.
Rozenn checked her Reckless of 16, she rolled 13.
Edwyn checked his Trusting of 10, he rolled 11.
Edwyn checked his Suspicious of 10, he rolled 19.

"He will not let us out? Are we to be hostages then?!" Bronwen asks this of Iolo, some concern now entering her voice. "What monsters are these, that would come and hold people against their will? How does the Earl allow it?" And while there is some rising panic in her tone, something in Catryn's sudden assault catches her: "Who am I? I am Bronwen de Bodenham, daughter of Elisedd, one of the greatest knights of Salisbury in his day, who stood beside the High King when he drew his sword! That, and a daughter of God, a good and loyal Christian! And you, you and your kind, you raise weapons and shields in a place where we came to eat and sing! This itself is rebellion! It is treason! You are monsters, villains! You should all be put to the torch!" Of course, screaming much of the last of this, she doesn't notice that Caerwyn has taken note of her and at least lowered his shield, albeit not by much.

Really, it might be a good time to stop. To put an end to things. But when Rozenn gets fired up, she simply doesn't think that way. There is no 'thinking it through.' There is no 'maybe it'd be for the best…' There's just honor and pride. And thankfully, perhaps, the woman doesn't hear the continued insults to her cousin. Nope. She just sees that Caerwyn has cleared the way and she heads out to the market beyond, letting her squire strap on her shield as she does so.

"My lady please…calm yourself. I am Christian and I give you my word…no harm will befall you. I will keep both you and Lady Lysanor safe." Edwyn speaks beseechingly to Bronwen. Trying to calm her even if its only a little. He looks troubled as he faces down his sister waiting to see if she will back down.

"Your brother has raised shield and sword as well, you ninny." says Morag from her perch. At this point though, she's muttering and in complete disdain. "Christians." she sighs, casting her eyes heavenward. "Worse than mummers when it comes to theatrics." Hopping down from her perch, she starts heading for the door, tankard in hand to watch the fight.

"You tell your sister to hold her tongue. It is a grave insult that she would challenge my loyalty to my liege. I have sworn my service to him and I will not waver in it." Catryn's words are not loud, they are calm, deadly calm as she leaves Bronwen out of it and focuses it on Idris. "How dare she challenge any of our loyalty." Green eyes flicker to her brother, Edwyn for clarification, "Never. Ever.. apologize for me. If I feel there is an apology necessary, I will issue it myself." Brownwen is ignored. "You," she nods to Idris. "Will fight in her stead. Do you agree to this? Does she not see you have a sword drawn and I -do not-?"

When he sees his sister defend their family, and herself, with such glory, such righteous fury, Idris' eyes start gleaming with pride, extremely inspired by her words. So he is smiling when he looks at Catryn, simply accepting the counter-challenged issued with a, "Yes," meaning, he agrees to this. Morag is spared a glare, a cutting one, and then he's out of the door, after Rozenn. He has some fighting to do.

Eagle Market in Sarum

Selivant exits the tavern and moves to the wall of the building, out of the way of the combatants. He is here to witness, to provide assistance at the end, and to intervene as best he can if it comes to it. After taking a swig of the remains of his ale, he says, "Sir Idris and Sir Rozenn first, correct?" He looks about, "Is there anyone skilled in treating wounds about?"

"What are the terms of this combat, Sir," Since Selivant has decided to be the designated judge of this combat, Idris asks of the man. "For love? To the death? Should we even break skin? Or use the flats of our blades instead?" The Bodenham knight isn't stupid, after all. Then he glances to Rozenn, balancing the sword in his hand again.

Rose has stepped out just a moment after Selivant, and as her hood is down, those eyes come to land on the Durnford heir and she dips her chin gracefully, "Yes, it would seem this is why I am here this day.." Amusement but a serious tone to her voice as she carefully steps over towards the side, hands folded behind her for now.

Selivant looks to Idris at the question, surprised that he has been made a judge, "I would advise to love, as we do not want to deprive His Grace of any swords, but I will leave it to those whose honors have been slighted to make that decision."

Edwyn winces at Lysanor's words. They may not be directed at him but that still sting. "Not all Burcombes lack honor so completely…or so I hope. I try my best to uphold the christian values and a be good person…however I remain a Burcombe." He relaxes his stance a bit and lowers his head trying to hide the shame in his eyes. He cannot help who his family is…and he hates it. He takes a moment trying to get him emtions in check and then looks to Lysanor calm once again. "Would you like to leave now my Lady Lysanor? I can escort you to watch the fight or back to safety…whichever you wish." He winds up following her out the door trying to hide his troubled expression.

Selivant adds, "But what is the point if you just use the flats of your blades? If you intend to duel, do it correctly." He looks to Rose then and nods. "Wellther eis at least one person who can help tend to wounds. Anyone else?"

And no, Rozenn de Burcombe did not run upon stepping out. She checked in with her squire, had her sword checked, shield strapped on, and waited. There she stands, sword in hand, glaring down the door of the tavern. Her eyes glaze past others that exit, but focus sharply on Idris. When Selivant speaks, she tilts her head towards Morag. "My cousin will see to my wounds, I am sure." Or at least have Eirian called in. "To love. I will not deprive our liege, nor will I allow my family and honor to go slighted." She steps back a slight step, moving to a readied position. "Sir?" The others may speak, may shout, may mill… but she retains focus.

Maerwyn is headed towards Boar's Beard when surprise, surprise… she finds herself amongst a group of people outside of it. Hearing mention of needing wounds tended to, she frowns a little, perhaps pushing herself forwards. With a voice raised, she speaks up, "I'm a healer.. " Those from Sarum may well recognize the woman as being one of the well known healers amongst the commoners.

Selivant looks to Morag and Maerwynn as they both volunteer. "Good. The more people to help with the mess afterwards the better." He quiets then and lets the combatants prepare and pray if they so desire.

Catryn checked her awareness of 10, she rolled 6.

If it were up to Lysanor, she would have taken Edwyn's offer of leading her away from this terrible mess, but for Bronwen's sake, she decides to remain. Upon hearing Edwyn's words, Lysanor offers him an apologetic look, her head lowered gently. "My apologies, Sir Edwyn, you know that I do not speak of you. Or any other within your family who do hold some sense of honor." Though she does not know any other! Coming upon the crowd again, this time where there is more space than within the walls of a tavern, when a healer is called for, it is her turn to speak up, "I can tend to wounds as well." Looking to Bronwen, she insists, "If you wish, I can tend to your brother if need be."

"To love it is," Idris replies, raising his blade in an offensive guard. It almost seems like he intends to go for an overhead strike, but who knows. "Hopefully I can finish this quickly enough that I can fight your cousin, Sir Knight." Having said this, he does the sign of the cross with his sword, focusing on Rozenn, then he sprints forward, ready to attack her.

Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 14.
Rozenn checked her sword of 15, she rolled 19.
Idris rolls 5d6 and gets (5 5 4 5 5) for a total of: (24)

Catryn is not so angry she misses Edwyn's expression and a flash of disappointment shows in her eyes. Her lips press together and she turns, frustrated, to watch the fight. While she watches, her own squire assists her with her shield and she finally - now that she's outside - draws her sword. With no intention on stepping into the fight, she just watches.

Rozenn checked her DEX of 14, she rolled 16.

It is with tightly balled little fists that Bronwen follows the crowd out, possibly (probably) calling all sorts of further insults and epithets after the pagan crowd. With her brother squaring off to fight one of them, though, she does quiet down, going and standing beside Lysanor to watch. Well, she is quiet… precisely until they start, wherupon she starts up like some mad zealous cheerleader: "Show her, brother! Thrash that heathen sow!"

Perhaps in a longer battle, or with the flats of blades, Rozenn might do better. The woman is not, to be certain, slight of stature or build. For the time, she is actually relatively tall and broad of shoulder. She was born to this role. There are eyes. There is even a rather hysterical sort of lady. Some might disapprove, but she did this in the name of family. Funny how that goes. No second thought for self, but for family? Ahhh. She'd even risk life and limb for Edwyn. Idris charges and she responds in kind; there's no wait, no dance, no attempts to drag the thing out. This is for honor, not for show. She has stew waiting, afterall. It is, however, not good enough. He's a touch more skilled with the blade in this moment and gets past her guard. The woman twists to wind away and for a brief, shining second… it seems she may. But alas, the Bodenham knight's blade finds home upon her shoulder and the force and angle does the trick. She is unbalanced thus that she hits the ground; hard enough to knock the breath from her, but not enough to seriously wound. All that needs mending, perhaps, is pride, for the Knight sits there a moment rather than leap back to her feet. Perhaps in an attempt to get her anger under control.

Critical Fail!
Rose checked her just of 10, she rolled 20.

Rose has been mostly silent now but as Bronwen goes on and on, she can't help but stare at the woman. There is a long breath and then she offers in a soft but carrying voice, "That heathen sow that you so insult, is a Knight of this Realm who puts her life on the line to protect /you/. NOt just Pagans, not just Christians, not just nobles or commoners, but all of this land. While you might need agree in faith, abit of respect for those who lose there lives to make yours easier.."

Idris checked his modest of 13, he rolled 15.
Idris checked his proud of 7, he rolled 1.

What matters when both fighters are equally skilled is a matter of footing and speed. As it is, Idris gets the better of Rozenn by precision. His blade lifts the moment it should, as he brings the weight of his attack by turning his torso at just the right moment, the most of the force thus conveyed from the hips. As the sword descends, it makes a sound like the air is being cut — only, the Bodenham knight is skilled enough to pull the attack once the tip of his blade has met its intended target on Rozenn's shoulder, letting it arc upwards and back, the Knight taking two steps back and pointing the very tip of the sword to Rozenn's forehead, then to the ground. He outstretches his hand to the woman, then, expectantly.

Selivant raises his eyebrows as the duel is over in just one blow. Somtimes that is all it takes. His left hand takes hold of his mug, while his right shifts to the hilt of his sword, resting gently there in case a combatant disagrees with the ruling and tries to continue. "Sir Rozenn has fallen. Sir Idris is the victor. However, he has another challenger to face."

Maerwynn stands, listening as others speak of being healers, slightly nodding her head as she looks about to see who those people are. However, her attention is /quickly/ snagged by Bronwen's chanting, her gaze narrowing just a little. Before she might well speak up, Rose has done so, and she bites her tongue, for now.

Standing closely beside Bronwen, their handmaidens hovering nervously nearby, Lysanor is not as outspoken as her companion is, even if she believed much of it to be true. No, she remains quiet, stone-like in stature, her expression neutral at most, though her eyes remain wide and ever watchful of the fight. "I am certain that your brother will do fine." She says in another reassuring way, though her eyes do cast over towareds Rose, giving the other woman a curious look. "I am certain that we all know of this. But thank you." She responds with just at touch of a smile on her warm features.

Morag strolls her way over to Rose. "Don't waste your breath." she advises her fellow pagan. "She accused my entire family of treason against the Earl, despite the fact that her brother was obviously preparing for a duel. I suspect it to be wishful thinking, especially when she suggested we all be put to torch. What honor her brother is displaying is being denigrated by her behavior." There's a shudder. Rozenn is down, and she murmurs, "I should go see to my cousin."

If anything, the brief swordplay does not discourage Catryn, simply makes her more determined. "A slight has been made on my family, I wish to rectify that." Again, Bronwen is ignored. It must be so or her temper would get her. As Rose speaks up, she dips her head in a silent acknowledgement. Her lips compress as she awaits Roz to take the offered hand and get to her feet, or to deny it and get to her feet. Her brow furrows and she watches to ensure her cousin was fine, though her eyes flicker over Edwyn for his reaction and then to Morag who actually draws a smile from her. Approval in her eyes.

Bronwen glances at Rose and lifts her chin slightly, a gesture she may have subconsciously picked up hanging around Lysanor. But unlike Lysanor, there is no attempt at detente with the other woman. "Where she fights one day says nothing of where she will fight the next, the treachery of heathenkind is known. The only true brotherhood, love and kinship among men, is through Christ our Lord, our savior." She crosses herself here, and then clasps the actual rosary at her neck. "I only pray that some of these lost souls may find their way, before judgment comes!"

True combat is swift, brutal. It's a thing you do not learn until you see it upon the battlefield. Until you are facing a band of Saxons. This was not a duel for show, as some are from time to time. This was to settle a matter of honor. Neither held back and neither is shamed for the quick end. The offered hand is studied for a long moment. Finally, she reaches up to accept the aid to her feet. She doesn't even avert her gaze. It would seem, in her eyes, that the matter is settled. She does, however, offer parting words before stepping away: "I would behoove your sister to hold her tongue. She speaks ill of the Earl's people."

"It is fine Lady Lysanor. I had suspected you did not speak of me…still its saddens me that my family is so ill viewed." Edwyn is calmly watching the fight but there is a saddness in his eyes. He glances to Bronwen his gaze narrowing ever so slightly but he remains perfectly polite. "Please do not speak so crudely of my cousin my Lady…despite whatever religion she follows…whatever her flaws she is still family."

Maerwynn frowns as the conversation continues, and her words are spoken just loudly to be heard, though half hidden in the crowd, "Amazing how some who proclaim to be Christian talk… brotherhood? Love? Kinship? That is not the talk of Christ." Seems this Pagan even knows something about Christianity. Go figure.

Morag turns to look at Edwyn, her expression hurt. "She desires to see us all burn, Edwyn. None moreso than a priestess of the Old Ways, your own sister, but you seem to have no words for that. Is there no more room in your Christian heart for me?" She nods to Maerwynn. "Aye," she acknowledges. "One who speaks of love in one breath calls for conflagration in another is no less than a hypocrate." With that, she heads to Rozenn.

Iolo is sort of just standing there, watching the little exchanges between nobles and such, being rather quiet and keeping mostly to himself, for the moment!

"I am already fighting for her, I needn't do so, not yet, or that would be a forfeit of the challenge made to me," Idris explains to Rozenn on what his viewpoint of telling his sister to watch her tongue is. He does, however, meet her gaze, seriously, before stepping forward to murmur a few words and stepping back, the matter, too, settled for the Bodenham knight. He then turns to Catryn, staring at the other Burcombe knight he has to fight today.

Edwyn looks lost he meets Morag's eyes and he shows saddness and hurt in his own gaze, like a mirror reflected back at her. "That is not what I want Morag…I would never want my family nor any pagan to burn. I do not believe that is what God and Christ truly want either. I just…I just want to be respectable..for our family to be seen as such…" He looks torn as though he isn't sure what to do with himself.

Selivant moves his hand away from his sword since things went honorably. He finishes off his ale, before announcing, "Sir Catryn and Sir Idris, I assume the same rules - to love with blades?" He watches them and waits for the combat to begin, while ignoring the continued argument between his brethren and the Christians.

Edwyn adds in a whisper. "There will always be room in my heart for you sister…for all my family despite out differences."

With the challenge clearly over, Catryn glances over those both defending them and belittling them and opts to settle it with a sword. When her turn is up, she walks over, shield up, sword at the ready, feet shoulder width apart for balance. "To love." Her words are soft spoken, "To the love of my family." And lifting her blade slightly, she signals her readiness.

Turning toward Edwyn, Bronwen does smile again, the fire all gone (or at least, saved away). "It is because they are family that you must be strong toward them, good Sir. Would you allow them complacency in the lie they live, knowing that it forever damns their souls? For your love of them, for the chance that your family will be united in heaven for all time, beside God, you must be strong with them." As Morag is speaking to him as well, she moves over, until the two might almost form a classic pair of warring voices at his shoulders. Obviously Bronwen would imagine herself the angel in such a construction!

There are quiet words exchanged between Idris and Rozenn. All sweat and torn leather — at the Burcombe's shoulder — but no further flame and anger persist. Not in their place. It burned hot and was over in a flash. The woman gives a nod to the Bodenham and steps aside. She makes to clap Catryn at the shoulder in support before moving to meet Morag. There's a turn, revealing the side where the hit took place. She's craning her neck to look, herself. "I do not believe he struck flesh."

"That is not your fault." Lysanor starts when she speaks to Edwyn, here her lips part as if she could go on, and she very well could when it comes to the Burcombes, but she holds her tongue for now. Especially, as she senses the poor knight's great sadness and guilt. "They are your family. That is understandable. For good or bad. They will forever be yours by blood." And vice versa. "Your brother is doing quite well for himself," She tries to change some of the subject, but Bronwen decides to give Edwyn some much needed advice and to this Lysanor does add, "He knows this all very well, Bronwen and he is trying."

Taking a deep breath, but ever watchful, Idris readies his sword once again, this time aimed to Catryn's midriff, as if the stance in the woman's posture causes a subtle change in the tactics he will employ. To each combatant, a different approach. And this particular woman seems likely to make heaving attacks, in his opinion, given the way her legs stand symmetrically apart from eachother. The shield is raised like a Roman Centurion's, and instead of attacking first, he deigns to wait.

Morag bends her head to inspect Rozenn's possible injury quite thoroughly, even after Rozenn assures her that it's fine. Only when the healer is satisfied that she nods to Rozenn, a glance toward Edwin and the women addressing them. "Vipers." she murmurs to Rozenn sadly. "Vipers, dropping poison in his ear. It hurts my heart." Straightening, she lifts her voice, "Strike true, sister!" she calls out to Catryn. Her hand is pressed to her heart. Catryn always was a person she deeply admired.

Maerwynn steps to the side, to perhaps check as well over Morag's shoulder how Rozenn faired. Second opinion! Still, she does offer a quiet word to the two women before her gaze might take in the next round.

With him waiting, Catryn studies him, holding attack for the moment, watching silently, gauging him, she had seen him fight her cousin so she tries to use that as her advantage. The encouragement from her sister is heard, acknowledged by the corner of her lips lifting marginally, and when she is certain her opponent is ready, she lifts her blade and slashes it towards him, working to put her weight behind it.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 14.
Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 13.
Catryn rolls 4d6 and gets (2 5 1 5) for a total of: (13)
Idris checked his siz of 15, he rolled 6.

Once Squeak has removed her shield, Rozenn rolls her arm and lifts her hand, brushing a bit at Morag's hand. It's an appreciative gesture as she listens to her cousin. A tilt of head in a slow nod. "But we would not be who we are if we did not allow him the freedom to choose his own path. Perhaps he will return to our sides, perhaps not. It is not for us to know the weaving of the cloth." She allows Maerwynn her check, as well. It's suffered in the way of a Knight. More for their sake than her own. She would know if she had been wounded. It'll be a pain to have the leather repaired, but it's the price she'll pay. To the words from Maerwynn, she dips her head in a nod before turning to watch Catryn and Idris.

Raising his shield in defense, it is as Idris calculated; the woman's attacks are hews. However, he is a little too late in an effective parry, instead having to use his shield to block it, but it catches his arm nevertheless, even if it doesn't knock him on his arm. The leather is cut, and the Bodenham prepares his counterattack, though he glances to Selivant to see the man's ruling on the matter, very quicklyy, before he does so.

Selivant watches the first blows come. He eyes the cut to the leather, but he doesn't see blood, as the blow aparrently was pulled. He doesn't stop the fight and continues watching, occasionally glancing to the others to make sure it's just all talk at this point.

Catryn manages a hit but it wasn't enough and without managing to knock him down and his lack of a return being immediate, she once more squares up and lifts her sword and shield, the shield in a defensive blocking position while her sword is raised, prepared to swing it. As soon as the call is made from Selivant, the sword is swung, either to meet his in a parry, if she doesn't beat his, or to try and strike.

Critical Fail!
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 20.
Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 18.

The swords clash. The sound of iron against iron rings out in the courtyard of the square as Idris has the serendipity to lift his blade in such a way to catch her own above the hilt. Unfortunately, this means that he cannot commit a counter attack, considering that his shield must edge out her own in a true clash between knights, his eyes meeting hers in that moment. Perhaps due to the angle in which the locked swords find themselves in, the Burcombe's blade drops to the ground and Idris steps forward, intent on pressing the advantage. Well, if the advantage is licit in the eyes of the judge, anyhow.

Idris checked his honest of 10, he rolled 15.

Lifting her blade, Catryn is too late and finds only her sword flinging from her hand. Her shield is up just in case there's a follow through and immediately she is after her sword to pick it up and step back and regard Selivant's call on it as they had before.

Having dispensed her sage advice to Edwyn about shepherding the souls of his heathen kin, Bronwen turns back to the bout. It is just in time, in fact, to see the pair come together and Catryn's blade to go flying. "God is good! Bodenham! Strike her down!"

Morag checked her forgiving of 10, she rolled 1.

Selivant gestures for them to continue, since no one landed a blow nor was knocked down. He figures that losing a sword is a risk one takes in combat, and leaves it to Idris to decide if he will allow Catryn to rearm or not. Of course, she could always yield if she doesn't want him to take a swing.

Idris checked his reckless of 16, he rolled 9.

Morag keeps her eye on the combat, but Bronwen's yelling is hard to ignore. She shakes her head. "Poor mad thing." she remarks to Rozenn. "It's a shame that all of her faith must be looked at with a wary eye because of the hatred in hearts like hers. Her brother, at least, holds himself well."

Cynrain arrives to the large crowd, pushing his way through to get a look at what is going on.

Maerwyn would seem to agree with Morag, nodding her head at the other healer's words. Still, there is a wince upon her face as the swords clash and Cat's goes flying off. She dares to cross her fingers that the lady knight might rearm herself before Idris can get to her!

Having divested herself of shield and sheathed her sword, Rozenn accepts her cloak from her squire. It is black, edged in embroidery of the red and gold of Burcombe's heraldry. The woman draws it about herself, watching the duel with alert eyes, but dissembled features. "There will come a day in which she must see past the religion for the man or woman beyond. Until then, even her own brothers and sisters in faith are like to look at her askance." At the latter, there is a dip of head in nod from the Knight. "He does. He respected the boundaries of the duel. A shame her inability to do the same will bring more attention upon their family name." Her pale eyes flutter a measure when Catryn loses her blade, but Rozenn remains — outwardly — calm.

"You said this was over my sister. My sister, who your cousin, or sister, I don't even know, insulted," Idris reminds Catryn, some fire in his voice. To be clear, she /does/ have sometime to pick up the blade. It is just that as soon as she does, he launches himself upon her to strike at the Burcombe woman, sending his shield to bash at the woman's side and his sword to supposedly rake at her back, in what could be a rush.

Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 14.
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 1.

While Lysanor does not enthusiastically cheer the way Bronwen does, she claps, nevertheless. She barely knew what these duels were about, but she will show her support for her friend's brother, who seems to have the upper hand anyway. She can only imagine if it were her brother here now. She shudders at the thought. Just then Idris launches himself forward, shield out, in an attempt to finish the job, though now she watches the surrounding warily. Would any of the guards come by and stop this? "Has your brother told you anything about what is going on?" She idly asks, her attention now pulled elsewhere for the time being.

Idris rolls 5d6 and gets (2 6 6 6 2) for a total of: (22)
You check your dex at 17, you rolled 6.

The hit with the shield takes her by surprise and Catryn hurriedly rounds far enough to get her blade up between them and absorb the hit with her own sword, managing to take the force of the hit with only a slight stumble backwards. With her feet underneath her, she growls and goes more the aggressor, arcing her blade down towards his shoulder, the arm holding the sword.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 9.
Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 5.

Pushing through the crowd again, Cynrain moves over to his older brother, Selivant. He looks to the pair dueling and back to Selivant once more. He speaks to him briefly though Selivant never takes his eyes off of what is occurring. Cynrain turns his gaze to the duelers as well. He rests his hand on the hilt of his sheathed blade.

Catryn rolls 4d6 and gets (2 4 5 2) for a total of: (13)

That hit connects with his shoulder as well, sending him back. However, the man's sense of equilibrium steadies him for the aftershock of the attack, keeping him from toppling back onto some empty barrels some merchant left behind at a late hour or some such. Idris this time opts for a sweeping side-long attack instead of his previous strategy, hoping to catch Catryn on the ribcage, and thus end this decisively.

Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 4.
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 2.
Idris rolls 5d6 and gets (1 1 6 2 2) for a total of: (12)
You check your dex at 17, you rolled 9.

With the connection made, Catryn realizes she could not hit hard enough to do anything to knock him over.. taking a step back, she regards him with an unreadable expression and when he brings his sword down, she lifts hers, taking a hit but no damage. Still, she has to make sure to remain on her feet. Immediately, she counters with a swipe of her own, attempting to sneak a hard hit in.

Critical Fail!
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 20.
Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 17.

The swords meet again, when Idris manages to angle his blade just so it catches Catryn's at the tang, forcing it down but committing his motion to that parry as well. He narrows his gaze as the resulting force knocks the sword back. Biting back an insult regarding the quality of Burcombe blades, the Bodenham knight waits for the other to pick her sword before he goes on the offensive once again, this time with a backslash - the sword hews back and comes in at an angle in a diagonal strike.

Bronwen watches the fight continue, and yet even she, with all her enthusiasm for religiously-fueled violence seems to begin to find it tedious. "How many times must this woman be disarmed, knocked about, and otherwise made a fool before she summons the grace to admit her defeat? Were it battle, she would surely have long gone to face her Maker's judgment, and find it most disfavorable."

Rozenn checked her Forgiveness of , she rolled 12.
Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 1.
Rozenn checked her Forgiving of 10, she rolled 1.
Morag checked her forgiveness of , she rolled 9.
Morag checked her forgiving of 10, she rolled 6.

Cloak bundled about her, Rozenn stands still as a statue. For the most part. When Bronwen's voice speaks out, she looks sidelong towards the lady. Lips press into a rather thin line, but she says nothing. Not aloud, no. At least not loud enough to be overheard by anyone other than those nearest: "A shame I cannot challenge her. My only hope is that her future husband finds creative ways to keep that damnable mouth occupied."

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 10.
Catryn rolls 4d6 and gets (3 5 1 3) for a total of: (12)

Once more her sword fails her, because it couldn't possibly be Catryn's fault. Nope. Maybe she just caught sight of Cynrain there watching her! Hurriedly she collects it and turns if she can, to try and parry the sword she knows is coming. Meeting it, countering it, she manages to get a hit in herself.

And Catryn does get a hit in, skimming past Idris' side. It is not enough to send him off balance, however, and the man uses his sword in a vertical strike now to overpower the Burcombe knight, pressing on every time he can, rather than staying on the defensive. The tactics change, and the fight becomes prolonged. Almost like a sudden death.

Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 19.
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 16.

Again, Catryn fails to have the strength to put down her opponent as she gets the advantage, and flops it. Now, she runs the risk of tiring herself, except she's fairly smaller than her attacker and much quicker on her feet. Trying to use that at her advantage, she swings her sword.. finds air. She misses.

He might be slower, but he is not less trained. Indeed, Idris is facing a quick opponent, which explains why his strike doesn't quite hit the intended target, but he is capable of using footwork to narrowly avoid a swipe across his torso. Trying for another backswing now, he moves until he faces her at a flank, seizing the sword with both main hand and shield for an extra strength behind the blow.

Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 4.

Bronwen spares a glance toward Rozenn just so she knows that she has not gone unheard, and smiles brightly, as if proof that she has not understood any implication of that insult. Of course, she might not make such a big deal of the whole thing if she didn't.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 4.

Cynrain grins slightly as he sees Catryn continue to fight. Even when her sword is disarmed, she doesn't let it disarm her spirit and continues to fight on. He glances to his brother and says, "She is a tough one to knock down. This sort of fight is her specialty." He watches the two continue to clash. He always keeps a small smile on his lips as he watches her.

Idris checked his sword of 15, he rolled 3.
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 1.
Idris rolls 5d6 and gets (2 5 1 6 2) for a total of: (16)
Critical Fail!
You check your dex at 17, you rolled 20.
Morag checked her forgiving of 10, she rolled 5.

The backswing gets her, Catryn didn't have her sword or her shield up in time and he strikes her armor and sends her reeling backwards, hard. Her feet come out from under her and she lands with a thud on her back, winded, her sword and shield fall beside her. Oh pretty little birdies flying 'round her head. Gasping for breath, she attempts to catch it before calming herself and forcing smaller breaths until she does manage to catch it, and she sits up, looking towards her opponent.

Once Catryn falls and the victory is declared, Bronwen gives a quick little squeal of glee, and… rather than holding her place on the sidelines, rushes out to join them. When near, she suddenly holds herself errect, as if trying to look imperious (a dubious proposition at best), and turns her gaze down on Catryn. "You demanded he fight in my name, and he has won. You asked before who I thought I was, and now, hopefully, you KNOW. I. Am. Bodenham." It is every bit as if she is claiming this victory as her own, and thereafter twirls to face her brother, stepping past his shield to hug him. "Wonderfully done, dear brother."

Rozenn checked her Forgiveness of , she rolled 11.
Rozenn checked her Forgiving of 10, she rolled 4.

For a moment, when Bronwen steals the pride of victory from Idris, Rozenn is about to surge forward. Her arms drop from clutching the cloak about her and it falls to billow about her legs. There's a step or two forward, but she merely casts a glare upon Bronwen. The Bodenham Knight may have been her rival just moments before, but he won the duel and the right to honor.

Maerwynn might have come upon this late, and is but a commoner, but while others hold their tongues, the healer finally speaks up, "Again, one should really read their scriptures and listen to their priests better. Even a pagan like me knows more about the Christian faith than certain members of that faith.." Shaking her head, she does look to Catryn to make sure the lady knight is okay before she might wander off, unless stopped for whatever reason.

Meeting Catryn's gaze impassively, Idris simply nods, sheathing his sword. Maybe a hand is offered, too, as he is nothing but a gallant knight. But of course, Bronwen approaches, and rushes out to celebrate the victory, so the grace is interrupted.. He rests his hand on her shoulder after she speaks, probably to signal a stop to further provocations, or maybe incentive — that one is up in the air. He then murmurs something in her ear and offers a hug in return to his younger sister, kissing her forehead. "Thank you, my beautiful sister. You are, as always, an inspiration as I try to reach for our father's mastery."

Cynrain moves out towards the trio now. His eyes look to Catryn with pride regardless of her fall in this fight. As he gets to her while she is sitting up, he takes a knee beside her, a small smile showing on his lips. "That was a good fight, Sir Catryn. You may not have been the victor this time.. but you fought well. I am proud to be getting the honor of your hand. I look forward to the opportunity of fighting beside you in the battlefield." He holds his hand out to her, despite the fact that Idris offered his as well. He doesn't regard anyone but Catryn right now. There may as well not be another person in the area. They are seemingly irrelevant to him right now.

The fight was a long one and in the end, Lysanor is glad that it's finally over and Bronwen's victorious brother comes off without much of a scratch. Breathing out a sigh of relief, the Dinton maiden is surprised when Bronwen darts out into the battlefield so recklessly. With a second sigh to follow, she quickly trails behind the Bodenham to ensure that the young woman doesn't get up into any other trouble. But she does relax somewhat when the young woman is in her brother's care. "That was very impressive." She speaks up, after a curtsy to the victorious Idris. "I must offer up my congratulations for winning two duels in one day." Her healer's gaze looks the man over, though having witnessed the battle, she knows that he isn't worse for wear. "If you need to be tended to, do not hesitate to ask."

Morag moves to Catryn's side, and though she won't present weakness by helping her to get up - she'll let Cynrain do that, but she does look her elder sister over for injury. "You fought very well." she says, and she too is a bit starry-eyed over Catryn's skills, but then she's always hero-worshipped her sibling.

Catryn sits there, looking up at the diminutive lady spouting her words before approaching her brother. The extended hand gets deterred by Bronwen so Cat nods to her squire to collect her sword and her shield. While that's being done she looks as if she is about to stand before Cynrain is approaching and taking a knee at her side. As Morag also approaches, she smiles at her sister, "Thank you, Sister." Of all things she can do, she offers them both a smile, taking his hand for the assistance in rising to her feet. Once there though, she places a hand on his chest, "One moment, Sir Cynrain." Turning, she approaches brother and sister and offers a bow, "Well fought, Sir, you do your family honor. I have no regrets in lifting a sword in honor of my family, and I would do so again were the continued slights be against them. However, with it being myself," she looks to Bronwen, "All is forgiven. That is what a religion is all about yes?" Without another word, she straightens from her bow and returns to the side of Cynrain.

There is something in the eldest Burcombe's eyes. Only her twin is older; by a mere hour. Rozenn has managed to retain her calm for the most part. She notes that hand to Bronwen's shoulder and seems satisfied enough. With a quiet word to her squire, the Knight steps away; blending off and away into the crowd. Catryn has enough to tend to her; no need to add another.

Whatever Idris says, it provokes a beaming smile from his sister, and she goes so far as to stretch up to place a little kiss upon his cheek, before settling back on her feet. Although a glance is spared Maerwyn, Bronwen will not answer him outright, perhaps satisfied enough in what she clearly sees as this mutual family victory and placated by her bother's light pat on her shoulder. "Oh, before all this, we had bought some things at the market, I think Delyth," her maid, "still has the basket. Shall we go and share them? We should also to the Church, to say thanks for your TWO successes here." Ok, maybe she's only 99% done needling the Burcombes. Though when Catryn rises, she looks back, and when the woman speaks, there is a little surprise in her face, but she does smile afterward. "It is, you are right."

Cynrain eventually casts a look to Idris, "And you fought well, also.. I look forward to crossing swords with you some day." he nods before moving off away with Catryn, if she'll follow him. If she does, he'd walk her to the group of family present and then bow before breaking away.

Maerwynn takes note of a few, then shakes her head and seems to decide not to continue on to the inn for food as she'd first intended. Her appeitite has been lost for whatever reason tonight. The healer turns, and heads back off towards the farmer's market where her shop is located.

"You fought well, Sir," Idris responds in turn to Catryn, offering her a respectful nod. "It was a battle, truly, and hard fought. Congratulations on your martial skill, as you've proven to be a difficult opponent to fell. Certainly to the credit of your family and all of Salisbury." He looks over to Rozenn, focusing on her for a moment before nodding as well. Respect given to both the Burcombe knights he bested today. Back to Catryn, "All is settled and there are no more slights between yours and ours." He smiles at her words afterwards and agrees, "Aye. It is."

Back to his sister, and her kiss upon his cheek, Idris flashes her a bright grin at her words and accolades. "Yes, we shall, Bronwen. To both of those things. I will send Gwyn to pay for my fare at the pub with some coin later, just to settle all my pending debts at once. Only reasonable."

Catryn offers a nod to both Idris and Bronwen before turning back to Cynrain and Morag. Once there, she hugs her sister and reaches for the bend of Cynrain's arm, effectively keeping him there. "Thank you for your support." The words delivered to both and she looks towards Maerwynn and offers a grateful nod for hers. When she seeks Roz, she notices her depart before looking back at the others. "I should like to go now. I have travel to prepare for. Thank you Morag, for seeing to me. I am grateful." Nope, she's not letting go of Cynrain, going where he leads.

To Lysanor, he nods in thanks to her congratulations, solemn. He seems very, very tired after this second fight. And perhaps he ought to be, with all the fire gone from the moment, and the duel having been a close one. "Thank you," Idris murmurs."

To Cynrain, the Bodenham knight offers a salute. "Likewise, Sir. Your brother is a fair man, I look forward to hearing from both of you." (cont.)

"Of course. I should return to the Sept. There are still many preparations for Beltaine." With a soft sigh, she watches the Bodenhams warily as she moves to depart, like she still thinks Bronwen's going to try and drag her to a stake.

Iolo hmmns just a touch to himself as things have more or less resolved themselves, and he turns to start back into the Boar's Beard, no doubt to find a good drink or something!

Cynrain walks with Catryn as he looks to the other family gathered, "I am Sir Cynrain de Durnford.. I apologize for not having met some of you sooner.. and not having met the rest of you. I hope that I'll be able to partake in changing that soon. Perhaps, the Burcombe family will permit me and my family to visit the Manor. Naturally, all of you are welcome to come to Durnford Manor whenever you wish. We would love the company." he turns his attention to Catryn, "Would you like me to escort you to a room here for the evening? Or will you be riding back to Burcombe? Either way, I would be honored if you would allow me to take you to either."

Bronwen waits for her brother to finish all his knightly exchanges before stepping away, drawing lightly on his arm. Time for baked goods and prayer!

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