(514-05-16) A Matter of Loyalty
Summary: Log Summary
Date: 05-16-514
Related: Saga of Cynrain and Catryn
cynrain catryn 

Tent City
When in use, this area is a veritable maze of pavilions, colorful pennons, banners, and other signs of heraldry indicating the various knights who occupy them, it's a bustle of activity, noise, and a variety of scents. When not in use, it's a rather barren, plain open field.

Cynrain sits alone. His squire was given leave to go and enjoy the festivities. He sits near his tent, running a stone down his blade. Each stroke is rhythmic and repetitive.

Critical Success!
You check your loyalty for robert at 15, you rolled 15.

Catryn storms in, storms, yes she does! After she had discovered where to find him at least. "What were you /thinking/!" There is anger flashing in her eyes but there's more, something behind it that's so unlike the disappointment she had felt at the bridge where the fates had decided the paths for that moment. "You brought that up in front of the King! You would have done better to ask Earl Robert about it." She doesn't have her blade drawn yet, but her hand is on the pommel. "You said next time I question your loyalty to have a sword in my hand. I am questioning it now."

Cynrain checked his loyalty for robert of 15, he rolled 11.
Cynrain checked his forgiving of 16, he rolled 18.
Cynrain checked his vengeful of 4, he rolled 2.

Cynrain stands as Catryn arrives. As she shouts at him and rests her hand upon her pommel, Cynrain stares at her. He holds his sharpened blade up, tip pointing at her and says with seething words, "Then draw your sword." he takes a step backwards, there's enough room in their direct area for them to fight. His grip tightens on the hilt of the weapon as his eyes narrow.

There is absolutely not a shred of hesitation in her movements as Catryn draws her blade. Holding it, she continues to stare him down, lips pressed together. No words are necessary, their swords would do their talking for them.. she doesn't want, she makes the first attack.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 2.
Cynrain checked his sword of 15, he rolled 16.
Catryn rolls 4d6 and gets (4 2 1 2) for a total of: (9)

As Cynrain swings his sword, Catryn's is quicker and finds his chest piece. The damage is absorbed while the sound of his sword swishing through the air compliment the thud of hers. Cynrain growls at her, eyes fiery and his emotions heated.. something not often seen from him. "You have to hit harder if you want to get your point across!!" He tries to bring his sword down onto her shoulder.

Cynrain checked his sword of 15, he rolled 4.
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 10.
Catryn rolls 4d6 and gets (5 3 4 3) for a total of: (15)
Cynrain checked his dex of 12, he rolled 2.

Catryn is rather serious about the spar and so when he swings his blade, she quickly lifts her own to parry and counter by bringing it back and slashing it back across his chest. "Don't tell me what to do, Sir." She growls through clenched teeth. But she does hit harder.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 13.
Cynrain checked his sword of 15, he rolled 17.
Catryn rolls 4d6 and gets (5 2 2 2) for a total of: (11)

Cynrain's blade is deflected and once again he's struck. He's beaten her before, why can he not beat her now? The thought angers him more, she thinks she's right. He growls back at her, "Do not call me Sir, Catryn! Or should I call you Cat?!" He brings his sword sideways near his hip in an attempt to slash out towards her stomach to knock her down.

Cynrain checked his sword of 15, he rolled 8.
Critical Fail!
You check your sword at 15, you rolled 20.
Cynrain rolls 5d6 and gets (6 1 6 5 1) for a total of: (19)
You check your dex at 17, you rolled 18.

Catryn is very seriously angry and when she strikes him again, she gets too confident. Swinging her blade outight, it gets deflected and her grip was too loose and it is flung from her hands as she gets struck with his and it knocks her back, off her feet, from the sheer strength of it. Now both Catryn and her shield are on the ground and his words only anger her more. "That's Sir Catryn to you."

Cynrain walks over to her, putting the tip of his blade to her chest. His eyes stare down at her, "I asked forgiveness as my gift.. because I could not bear the thought that you looked upon me shamefully. I could not stand the idea that you loathed my deeds… and only a King's forgiveness could even come close to making things right again." he gently draws the tip off of her and takes a step back, eyes still burning into her, "Get up. If you want out of this arrangement.. if you want your freedom back. Then take up your sword and take it. But don't hold back.. because my blood on the earth is the only way you'll have it. As long as I breathe, you are mine, Catryn… and I am yours.. So let's settle this. Claim your freedom if you can."

Catryn is beat, when his sword finds her chest, she knows she is beat. The fire that flared so brightly in her eyes ignites further but slowly, slowly dims as she listens to him. As he pulls the sword back, she doesn't move immediately, just watches. After several long, silent moments, she sits up and reaches for her sword, picking it up before facing him. What she does next, is lift it, as if preparing to attack him again, but what she does with it instead, is turn it and slide it back into the scabbard. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood your actions."

Cynrain looks torn between his actions. He closes his eyes slowly and shakes his head, deciding to sheathe his blade as well. He dips his head gently to her and says, "I understand if my intentions were confusing. We still have lots to learn about one another." he nods to her respectfully and turns to go back to his tent so that he can finish sharpening his blade.

You check your proud at 13, you rolled 2.

Catryn watches him, but doesn;t say anything for a moment. Only when he turns to walk back to his tent does she say anything. "A lot to learn." The words echo softly and pride prohibits her from following.. especially after having just lost to him.

Cynrain goes back to sharpening his blade. Each stroke is rhythmic and repetitive.

Cynrain checked his proud of 13, he rolled 9.

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