(514-05-16) Titans Clash
Summary: Two of the largest (though perhaps not the most elegant) knights in the land contest a challenge
Date: 514-05-16
Related: None
bradwyn custennin berit cerys dywana glaw 

Following his early removal from both the lists and the performance competition, Sir Custennin de Falt has found himself with rather more free time on his hands than he had hoped. True, there is a great deal for him to enjoy watching and listening to, and he has happily spent time revelling in the breadth of experience provided by the greatest tournament he has ever been privileged to witness… but there's still a distinct temptation to try to fit in a little more that is decidedly *knightly* before he ventures into the Grand Melee on behalf of his Earl's ally.

Consequently, he has incurred a debt of gratitude to his squire for helping him to track down a fellow unusually-tall Cymric knight, and is now to be found approaching Sir Bradwyn…

Bradwyn is still too new a knight to have his own squire. Checking over his camp tent to ensure it is still secure. Even if none would intentionally try to mess with his belongings, with so many people and with so much wine, it is possible someone with a bit too much could trip and yank out a stake or the like. Though is he really losing much as he's been granted a nice pavilion by the king, which should be ready before too much longer anyway.
Spotting the sun being blotted out, the six foot knight turns and spots the only man he's ever met taller than he is and nods respectfully, "Sir Custennin, well met. What brings you among the pagans?" Using the difference in religion more as a good-natured joke than an insult or a jab.

Custennin laughs, broad shoulders shrugging amiably. "You do, Sir Bradwyn," he answers - a grin slashing through his beard. "I, ahh, have a proposal to put to you. A challenge, of a sort. If you might be interested."

Bradwyn stands fully and dusts off his hands and nods saying, "SUre, what do you propose Sir Custennin?"

"To beat each other around the head for a time," Custennin suggests cheerfully. "Specifically, a challenge 'for love', with rebated weapons and rules to be agreed upon between us. I was wondering if a minor wager, of a sort, on the outcome might be appropriate. And think that I might have something that could appeal."

Bradwyn nods and says, "I am flattered though I believe your wife might cut my head off if it is for love." chuckling good-naturedly and adds, "I'll confess I have been wondering how we'd fare against one another myself. So what is this wager you propose?"

Custennin snorts, then chuckles. "I was wondering about something along the lines of… the right to be the one who offers our services to the Queen, should she ever have need of knights so inexperienced as ourselves. Amidst all the hordes who will seek to assist her, for good reasons or bad. But the victor might perhaps gain the right to offer the pair of us in service - prior oaths to lieges permitting, and so forth - should she ever have such need?"

Bradwyn thinks for a bit and says, "In truth I'm uncertain about offering my own services. Between us I'm not sure if I trust myself. Perhaps another wager instead?" His toen serious, yet also a bit cautious as though he is aware he likely shouldn't say that, but perhaps expecting Custennin not to repeat such a thing to others about a fellow knight, even if a pagan one.

Custennin blinks, evidently more than a little surprised, and remains silent for a moment… before nodding slowly. "I shall not question your, ahh, understanding of your own state of heart and mind," he says thoughtfully. "We can leave the wager undefined, at present? A favour, perhaps? Or I am open to suggestions, certainly."

Bradwyn nods and says, "Coin is always an option, though it seems a bit simple to me. A favor of some sort perhaps."

"And as a newly-enfeoffed knight, coin might be something unfairly weighted in my favour," Custennin agrees. "A favour sounds far preferable. So… I would suggest fighting afoot, with full armour and shield, and rebated weapons. Is that acceptable as an opening proposal?"

Bradwyn nods and says, "I was going to suggest the same in that regard. I have no intent of seriously harming you, nor being seriously harmed myself. Swords as well of course if that suits. As to the wager, a favor owed suits well. The winner chooses when to call it in, and what the favor is. Of course the favor cannot be something to call into question our loyalty or service to our liege or the king. I doubt that would be an issue anyway. Sound suitable?"

Custennin nods thoughtfully. "Would you prefer to match weaponry, or have the option to, say, cast aside the shield and work two-handed? Though such a thing might be somewhat, ahh, risky given our size."

Bradwyn nods and says, "I would prefer to avoid causing any undo injury. There is still a tourney going on and such. Shall we go to a certain number of strikes to determien the winner as I get the impression it could take some time if we seek to knock each other out?"

"I'd certainly advise against aiming for unconsciousness," Custennin says, before gesturing ruefully towards his head - and perhaps the scars, in particular. "It can take a surprising amount, to render one insensible. But… hrmmm. Perhaps five strikes, with knocking one's foe to the ground counting double?"

Bradwyn chuckles softly and gestures to the ragged scar marring his own faxce and says, "Five strikes and a knockdown counting as double sounds suitable to me as well."

Custennin cracks another grin. "Very well. And… either party can call a halt at any time, as required. Changes of weapons and shield permitted, should one break?"

Bradwyn nods and says, "They option to yield is also present as well. Either of us could take a harder blow than expected and can yield instead of risking greater injury."

Custennin nods again. "Sounds fair to me. Any further requirements, we can bring forward when we meet. When and where would be suitable? There are grounds set aside for the settling of challenges, to avoid them… spilling out across the fields as a whole."

Bradwyn nods and says, "Of course. Course if word gets out, we might need a roped off area to keep spectators safe. After all not often two such as ourselves face off with each other."

Custennin snorts, then laughs as he shakes his head. "I had not thought of that. Yes, we had best make use of the formal area, I think. And I shall have to hope that I perform rather better than I have managed to, thus far, so that I can at least provide you with a worthy opponent."

Bradwyn chuckles softly and says, "We likely will both have to fight at our best if we get a crowd, otherwise they might demand we clear the field for worthy fighters." chuckling softly.

Custennin laughs, then offers a bow. "Well, at the least we should provide some passing entertainment for them, even if we do no more than repeatedly fall over in the mud. Shall we say… this afternoon, if possible? I can make enquiries, and confirm that there is space for us."

Bradwyn nods and says, "Sounds suitable, if there is nothing further we'll meet then. If any changes in schedule I'll likely be here or the market."

Some time later…

When your best friend is going to fight, you definitely get in the front lines! So, that is where Cerys de Tisbury may be found. She looks excited, amused and a little bit worried at the same time. Her hands are nervously wrapped around her tight waist. With a squared neckline, her gown is black and appears to be made of linen. Floor-length, the long sleeves descends far enough to fully envelop even the hands, yet loose enough that simply lifting the lower arm is enough to allow use of the hands. The sleeves are cinched a little above the elbow, leaving the upper part of the sleeve a bit more billowy. Fitted along the neckline, a gold cord laces around the bodice under the bust and down to the waistline. A black ribbon surrounds the neck, from which hangs a silver pendant with gold accents, as the two metals twist and spiral around each other in a decorative knot-like design captured within a circle of silver with a matching clasp. "Bradwyn, you can do this. I know you will win. I just know." She whispers quietly for herself, while her eyes scan the tournament field.

The setting for this particular clash of the titans is to be found amidst the portion of the tourney field set aside for personal challenges. The two combatants in question are both hulking warriors in full reinforced chain, with helms and shields - but their blades are not sharpened, and each is younger than their sheer size might lead onlookers to assume. Neither succeeds in cutting a particularly fine figure, at present: they're imposing, even intimidating, rather than looking like gleaming champions of legend. Indeed, the (even) taller of the two, sporting the white raven and black-and-white colours of de Falt, is a particularly ugly brute - outdoing even his scarred opponent in homeliness. Still, he offers the gathered onlookers a somewhat self-conscious salute, raising one gauntled hand to them, before offering a more formal one - and a broad grin - to his opponent as he enters the ring in turn.

"Sir Bradwyn. Welcome. And good fortune to you today."

Glaw makes his way to the challanging field with some delay. The young knight is rolling his left shoulder from time to time with a wince, but otherwise is content to find a place where he won't be jostled and can watch the two opponents. Titans indeed. Were they not said to be ugly giants? How fitting.

Afternoon approaches and Bradwyn and Custennin gather on the field outside the city. Seeing several having heard about the pair facing off and gathered to watch Bradwyn enters the ring of posts connected by rope to mark the boundaries, and catches sight of a familiar face up front and offers a formal bow to Cerys and asks, "If I lay this giant low, shall I be honored with a kiss from the beautiful Lady before me?" with a charming smile and a flirty tone, though there is also mirth in his voice suggesting he isn't serious. He then looks to Custennin and returns the salute with his own sword and says, "Good luck to you as well Sir Custennin. May the better swordsman win, I'm sure if you win your wife can gift you with a kiss of your own." winking good-naturedly and readying his sword.

Cerys eyes widen just a little bit, when Bradwyn speaks to her. The amusement grows in her eyes, and as an old friend, she definitely hears the humor in Bradwyn's tone. She laughs and that is all the answer the giant knight will get. Her eyes follow him to meet Custennin. She looks the oponent over as if trying to guess who of them is stronger.
However, then Glaw shows up and she can't do anything but follow the man with amused curiosity in her freckled features. The ginger leaves her spot. Of course, Glaw tried to find a place, where he wouldn't be disturbed, but soon he will hear a lovely familiar voice behind his back, "I bet that the larger man will win!"

As the voice speaks out from behind him, Glaw does half turn, though regrets it at once as pain lances out from his chest, and he actually winces, then gives a subdued half-laugh, half-cough. "Ah…Lady Cerys. Size is not everything.", he lets her know, before he dips his head at her, turning to gance at the two knights. "How much is it worth to you, that lesson?".

A short distance from the stands, a group of commoners have gathered in a loose crowd to watch the spectacle of two knights beating the snot out of each other with dulled swords. At the front of the crowd stands a particularly savage-looking specimen in a sleeveless brown tunic. His scarred face is impassive behind his scruffy beard, cold grey eyes alert as he sizes up the two towering figures. Though no match for either in height, the peasant has no shortage of muscular bulk, and a fair few battle scars running the length of his weather-beaten arms.
"Seen that big one fight before." Berit rumbles aside to his fellow peasants. "Nasty peace of work, he is."

Laughing, Custennin inclines his head, Looking to the crowd (such as it is), he nods. "This is a fight for love, rather than to satisfy any debt of blood or honour. Let none think that this betokens any grudge between us, or our houses." He then raises his blade in salute, before settling his helm securely into place and preparing to start…

And what a start it is! A bit of initial wary circling, some exploratory jabs and cuts, then Bradwyn over-extends, seeing an opening that really isn't there. His enthusiastic swing results in no danger whatsoever to Custennin, but a certain amount to the hard-packed earth - and more to his sword. Jarred free from his grip it lands, slightly bent, a couple of yards away.

Yet, rather than finishing off his now severely-disadvantaged opponent, the de Falt pauses… then steps back and lowers his blade, inclining his helmed head to Bradwyn.

As one joust or another goes on.. and on. A figure has been seen in the area, a tiny form dressed in the wear of a lady of the land, and a priestess mixed. Dywana is dressed in a flowing over-tunic in the lightest of blues with a cloak of a darker blue that has designs worked into every inch as it lays along her shoulders and trails just lightly on the ground. A tilt of the head sends dark curls tumbling though held in place by a few water grown flowers, as those eyes look for anyone she might know. That means she moves towards the Lady Cerys with slow and graceful steps.

Cerys blinks a few times, staring at Glaw, "What lesson? Not sure, what do you mean…" Without a permission, she settles down beside Glaw and turns her eyes toward the pair, which is ready to fight, "Bradwyn is my friend. Like super good friend. But the larger man," and there it comes. Action. Weapons are swinged, stuff is going on, Cerys gasps and turns away, burrying her eyes into the side of Glaw, unless he has a good reaction and withdraws, "Would you like to bet or is it too late?"

Cerys burries her face against his side, and Glaw hisses again, as his arm and chest are moved. He might even give the pretty Tisbury woman a bit of narrowed eyes. Still, after a moment, he smiles faintly. "That is what I meant. How much are you willing to loose on that bet, Lady Cerys?".

Bradwyn looks about nodding i agreement on the terms placed by Custennin as this isn't for honor or a grudge and calls, "For love." looking to some of the women in the crowd, "I might have even found it." his eyes not really settling as he speaks, likely an attempt to make a few women, commoner or otherwise think he means them with a charming smile on his face.
He then circles his opponent and indeed overextends, striking ground and bending his sword beyond use. Stepping to the side as Custennin waits honorably to claim another sword. The shorter of the two tall knights then returns. Circling once more, Bradwyn appears to get a better feel for the field and swings his sword forward, leaving the taller man unable to properly follow-through, and also taking a blow from the shorter as Bradwyn calls, "One of five!" no doubt formally announcing the scoring system they have agreed to.
Continuing to move Bradwyn circles further with the taller man, at least he got first hit if nothing else. Though whether due to skill or with the size of Custennin, there is just too much to miss… Then the pair strike once more, blades swinging and *CLANG* blade impact with force and the metallic ring echoes slightly through the field as they two push off each others blades and return to their circling, looking for openings.

Dywana comes up near on the pair seated and thinking of betting on the joust. A quick look of Glaw, those ever changing eyes slowly moving over the male as he hisses, but as he's been bandaged under his clothing she can only arch an eyebrow at Cerys before she smiles softly, "Lady Cerys.." She greets the other lady, her voice like normal, a wash of sensual comfort with just a to much hint of otherworldly mystery.
When the clang start though, she has to look away from the pair and the other pair out on the course.

"Oooh…" Cerys blushes a little bit. She withdraws from the man and looks up at him, "I… We can just bet from a dinner? Whoever looses, that person has to prepare dinner, lunch or breakfast. Bring meal and drinks. Sounds good? It was not the most awesome farewell the other time we gave to each other!" She laughs and then peeks back at the fighting pair. But then comes Dywana's voice. Cerys sighs in a mild admiration, if we can name it like that, "The best singer in whole world!" She beams brightly and turns to look at the other woman, "Lady Dywana. A pleasure to meet you."

"Hrrrmph." Berit grunts as a couple of common women in the crowd behind him blush and knot reddened hands in their aprons. The brutish peasant seems unimpressed by both Bradwyn's smile and his display of swordsmanship. But, then again, he has no midnight fantasies of marrying the man.
"Lucky he wasn't in a battle or he'd have a split head after than fumble." The muscular peasant comments to his fellow. "Giving a better showing now though. ought to a ward the big guy a point for being so nice if they're playing by Nobleman's rules." His deep, hoarse voice carries well across the crowded field, possibly audible to the people at the stands if they cared to listen to a commoner's commentary.

That makes Glaw blink a little at Cerysn, but she is given a reprieve for a moment as she introduces the other lady, and Glaw inclines his head at the unknown one. "Pleasure to meet you.", he offers, and since Cerys did not introduce him, does it himself. "Sir Glaw of Newentone.". Only then does he turn to Cerys and offers her a wane smile. "Cook? Me? Ah, I am afraid I have to decline then, Lady Cerys. I would not wish for your household to have more allegation against mine about poisoning one of yours.", he states, apparently pleasantly enough, and yet there is a hint of malice in that voice, behind that statement. "I suppose the match is too far advanced, by now, anyway.".

A soft husky laugh comes from the tiny woman. "Ah, I do wish I could sing, but the gods have only graced me with a voice for speech.." Dywana though doesn't seem upset by the compliment as she glances towards the Knight sitting with Cerys, it is almost as if she is waiting for some reaction for she has winced slightly and touched Cerys's arm gently at the same time.
But blue eyes that shift to the softest of silver blink at the display on the field, there is a pause as the lady watches but then she asks of those near. "Duel or Challenge?" Seems there is a difference in Dywana's mind.

After the combatants separate, Custennin circles for a moment - seeming lighter on his feet than might be expected - then closes again. His plan seems to be to try something different this time, involving a feint and a sidestep. Bradwyn reads the maneuver, and counter-attacks skillfully. Though the de Falt takes much of the resulting impact on his shield, there's a distinct crunch of metal on metal… and he steps back, raising his sword. "A second hit," sounds hollowly from within his helm.

With Bradwyn now clearly in the lead, there is perhaps too much confidence in the Idmiston when they resume - especially since Custennin backs up as if wary, leading his opponent into hurrying forward unguardedly, seeking to press an advantage. Instead, Bradwyn meets a scything upper-cut with the great majority of Custennin's weight behind it. The blow connects with Bradwyn's midriff with both a crunch of protesting chain and a *whoof* of air expelled from the Idmiston knight's lungs. There is certainly sufficient force to lift most grown men clean off their feet, but Bradwyn succeeds in keeping his footing, albeit rather inelegantly.

"Two strikes to one, in favour of Sir Bradwyn," the de Falt observes amiably.

Cerys laughs at Glaw's answer and does not make any comments. Why to bother herself with a man, who doesn't want your presence, when there is a lovely and kind Dywana beside? Cerys tugs gently on the woman's sleeve, encouraging her to sit down beside, "I believe it's a duel. They said they are fighting for love. Cute, isn't it?" She smiles and turns her eyes to the match.
Though, Cerys gasps and jumps to her feet, seeing how Sir Bradwyn gets that hit from the mountain of the Falts! But seeing that Bradwyn stays on his feet, the young ginger soon settles down again.

"And there'd go his guts." Berit grunts bluntly, all the commoners gathered behind him letting out a simultaneous 'ooooo', their faces tightening in sympathy as Custennin lands a telling blow. "I've seen strikes like that split men from crotch to chest. Clear in half with a horse behind them." A couple of his fellows, all rough men showing various scars of their own, nod in agreement.

When Glaw introduces himself, those eyes look back to the pair and Dywana gives a lovely smile, she dips her chin gracefully, "It is a pleasure to meet you Sir Glaw, as the lady might have mentioned. I am Lady Dywana Berick St. James.." She then looks between the pair, "Would I be interrupting if I asked to join you both?" Then Cerys is inviting her and unless Glaw says no, she does join the pair with a gentle hand on Cerys's sleeve in return. "He will be fine my lady.."

Glaw offers a smile as Cerys laughs it off, not persuing the matter further either, leaving her to invite the other lady to sit with them. "On the contrary, Lady Dywana. Please, do join us.", he does not objects indeed, rather extends his invitation as well. Cerys words, however. They draw green eyes to the Tisbury. A heartbeat. Two. "For love. Of combat. It is usually shortened that way, among knights.", he explains, this time trying very hard to keep his voice neutral. "As contrary to 'for conquest' or other reasons. The wagers are more friendly then, in a challange like this.". He licks his lips then, breifly, before peering down at the peanut gallery. Okay, big peanuts. "Best not scare the ladies with such bloodthirsty talk of battles.", he calls down to the man.

Dywana does hear Berit and she blink once or twice as her eyes widen and she has to look back to the fighters, as Glaw corrects Cerys on what they are fighting for, she seems to relax just a little for.. whatever reason. Now thought she speaks softly to the pair and settles to watch the dueling pair. Her eyes are warm and curious of each, but it seems more curious of the style than lust of the body. Though as her voice speaks.. anyone could be confused. "A test of arms is always good between Knights, but I do hope they do not harm themselves to much before the grand melee, though…" she pauses and wrinkles her brow. "They might not be joining in…"

Cerys smiles at Dywana faintly. She still looks a little bit worried about Bradwyn, and the worry grows more, when the man gets a few more hits from the giant. The commoners down there, of course, add more reasons to grow worried with such talks. But the friend is still standing. So, it's good. Cerys now just concentrates on the fight.

At Glaw's shout, several of the peasants immediately behind Berit shift nervously on their feet. The savage himself takes a moment to watch the quick exchange of blows happening before him, then slowly turns to cast a glance over one thick shoulder. Eyes as cold and hard as winter seek out the noble who has taken it upon himself to shout down. After a moment, they lock on Glaw and give the man an appraising look. There is no respect in those eyes, but no real anger either. A few of the common women hurriedly depart the crowd for places unsaid.
"M'lord." Berit rumbles blandly, before turning his back on the knight and continuing his commentary. Though, perhaps in respect for Glaw's wishes, it is somewhat less colorful.
"The smaller fellow is feeling his hits." The peasant rumbles idly, "Might slow him down, but he seems a toughs ort. In a real battle this'd be decided twice over by now, but he's up in points. Could still win this if he's cautious."

Having landed two hits, and Custennin now landing his first, which sends him off his feet and back a bit, causing the shorter of the two knights to dance about a bit, but eh does keep his footing. Bradwyn wastes no tiem and comes back strong, landing a hard blow of his own, enough to down most men, yet doesn't even cause Custennin to stumble. That leaves them at three to one in Bradwyn's favor.
That is until Custennin places another savage upper-cut with his blunted sword which sends Bradwyn off his feet entirely and flat on his back. A hard grunt from the impact and the score is calls, "Tie, three to three!" Seems a knockdown counts for double.

Dywana's words draw a nod from Glaw. "That is always a risk. That is why I will postpone challanging myself until after the Grand Melee.", he confides to the two ladies. As the peasant peers up at him, Glaw does turn his gaze to meet his. There is no anger or overt outrage in Glaw's countenance, merely looks down to the man, before he acknowledges. When the blood shows through the chain, his eyes turn back to the two combatants, however. "A bit of cuts and scrapes are expected though. ", he says, smiling faintly. "You're not getting your money's worth if you don't color from black to blue to green to yellow after a good bout, at least. What's a little red in between?".

And then Custennin smashes the smaller knight to the ground, and Berit states rather flatly, "It's done. If he doesn't let him up, he'll hammer him into the ground as he tries to stagger up in that armor. It'd be the knightly thing to let him up, but that's twice now he's let the fool keep fighting. Not a good showing for the shorter one. He'll try standing. Bet my boots he will. Has to earn some respect back."

Custennin stands back, allowing Bradwyn to regain his feet, adjust his shield, pick up his sword from where it lies some distance away, and then ready himself for the resumption of their bout. Indeed, he offers Bradwyn another respectful salute, before setting to once more. Even with that delay, it seems that the de Falt retains the advantage, gradually driving back his opponent until he lands another blow. Though Bradwyn staggers, he keeps his feet, and they return to their starting positions once more.

"Four strikes to three, in favour of Sir Custennin," reports Bradwyn - before launching himself forward, and returning the favour. Again, it's a blow hard enough to knock many men down, but the huge de Falt barely sways.

"Four strikes all!", Custennin calls out, readying himself for the final exchanges.

"Hrrmph." grunts the peasantly commentator, watching the exchange of blows hop to 4:4 in a clatter of steel. It is then that he gives his shaggy head a shake, spits onto the dirt, and turns to shoulder a path through the commoners gathered behind him. Apparently that is a signal of some kind, for most of them break away to head off on business of their own. it is only a small group that stays behind to watch the epic conclusion of the two titan's clash.

Both men stand sweating and varying degrees of winded. Bradwyn has a couple minor wounds, but nothing a healer can't fix. Still it is a close match, if they had only gone to three Bradwyn would have won, taking only a single blow, yet they seek to go to five instead. The two men swing and there is another louder *CLANG* the time is now one o'clock… Wait that was swords clashing not church bells. Pushing off from each other once more in a flexing of biceps under chainmail. Custennin brings his sword down one last time, though Bradwyn manages to raise his shield to block the blow, it is still a strike. Once more a heavy blow, though this time Bradwyn simply sinks back absorbing the heavy blow without losing his footing. Still it is a strike and so Bradwyn gives a salute with his sword and calls, "A victory! Five strikes to four, the challenge goes to Sir Custennin de Falt!" With full sportsmanship. There is no anger or animosity between the two, clearly a challenge for sport and to test the skills of one another. The match clearly had set rules, likely agreed to prior to the event.

"Oooh…" Cerys sighs, seeing that her friend lost. She stands up to her feet and turns to Glaw and Dywana, "If you will excuse me… I would like to run to my friend and just give congradulation of a wonderful… hmm… show?.." She is not sure how to call it. The girl smiles at Dywana, "I would like to talk to you someday a bit more, maybe we could have breakfast tomorrow? Or take a walk after breakfast in the gardens?" Then she offers a curtsy to Glaw and hurries out to find Bradwyn, when he will leave tournament field.

With the final strikes ringing out, Glaw does not clap, but merely calls down the stands. "Well fought. And Congratulations, Sir Custennnin.". Only then does he glance at the two quiet Ladies, though he smirks at the Lady Cerys. "You would have won. Well, let us not say the Newentone's are stingy. Let me buy you dinner, rather than making it, at one of the Taverns, even if we did not manage to formalize our bets, when we next meet?". He then lets her go, run to see to her friend.

Custennin's joy in victory is perhaps made all the sweeter by virtue of having suffered nothing worse than some damage to his shield and a few thumps that he already seems to be shrugging off. He salutes the crowd - then hands off sword and shield to his squire, removing his helm before striding over to try to clasp Bradwyn's arm. "Well fought. A very close-run thing. My sincere gratitude."

Turning to clasp Cuystennin's thicker arm Bradwyn nods and says, "Who knows, if you had not knocked me to the ground perhaps I might have come out the victor. Well fought indeed." in good cheer and respectful tone. Then stepping over the rope marking the border of the challenge ring, Bradwyn finds Cerys approaching him and says, "I said you owed me a kiss if I won." with a charming smile and playful wink as he extends an arm to offer the shorter Lady a friendly hug. Once close enough he adds a bit more serious, "I'm fine." in a reassuring tone.

Dywana turns her eyes from the finished match and then gives a soft grin to Cerys, "Of course, I am sure we will meet soon, do send him my best wishes as well.." She calls after the lady before those eyes turn towards Glaw and she tilts her head to the side again. When she speaks her words are low.

As Dywana leans over to speak so softly, Glaw's eyes turn to her, studying her for a moment, before his chin lifts a little at her words. There is not exactly anger in that glance, but perhaps just a touch of haughtyness for a lack of better word. His reply is similar quiet, though surely with a certain determination.

Dywana listens to the conversation she is having, her brow wrinkling over something before she turns those oddly changing eyes back to Glaw. There is a moment where she simply blinks once before the faintest of smiles up turn her lips, when she speaks, the essence of her voice can be felt, but the words stay between the pair. Her voice then raises softly, "But you might be correct, and if so, I wish you the best Sir Glaw.." And she seems to mean it before her eyes flicker to the blood on the Knight and she wrinkles her nose gently. "I am sure there might be someone better, but I might should offer to see if the Knights need healer till a true healer appears.."

Custennin cracks another grin at Bradwyn, then withdraws somewhat as his opponent speaks to Cerys. For his own part, he seems cheerful - even verging on 'bouncy' - and not at all hurt as he exchanges words with his squire.

Bradwyn heads back towards the city proper, Cerys escorting ehr friend, or is she dragging him to a healer?

System Mechanics (rolled in advance, to try to help the scene to flow better for the spectators)

You check your tourney at 2, you rolled 8.

Bradwyn checked his tourney of 2, he rolled 3.

Neither manages to do anything particularly fancy to wow the crowd.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 16.

Critical Fail!
Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 20.

The fight starts in interesting fashion: Custennin fails to pose a threat, while Bradwyn loses his sword. Score remains at 0-0.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 19.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 12.

Bradwyn rolls 5d6 and gets (4 5 3 3 4) for a total of: (19)

Critical Success!
You check your dex at 10, you rolled 10.

With astonishing nimbleness, Custennin keeps his feet - but goes 1-0 down.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 13.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 13.

Skillful swordplay results in locked blades. With both using swords, the weapons remain intact.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 5.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 13.

Bradwyn rolls 5d6 and gets (1 6 4 4 2) for a total of: (17)

Bradwyn's replacement blade continues to serve him well, and he moves 2-0 up.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 11.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 19.

Custennin rolls 6d6 and gets (5 6 3 5 5 4) for a total of: (28)

Bradwyn checked his dex of 10, he rolled 1.

Custennin hits back, hard enough to cause 2 points of damage through armour (even with rebated weaponry), after Bradwyn failed to get his shield in the way. He succeeds in remaining upright, however. Score: 2-1.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 1.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 2.

Bradwyn rolls 5d6 and gets (5 2 1 6 4) for a total of: (18)

You check your dex at 10, you rolled 1.

After some extremely crude swordplay from both parties, Bradwyn hits and forces a knockdown check; Custennin keeps his feet. Score advances to 3-1 in favour of Bradwyn.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 8.

Critical Fail!
Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 20.

Custennin rolls 6d6 and gets (6 2 5 5 6 6) for a total of: (30)

Bradwyn checked his dex of 10, he rolled 19.

Bradwyn loses his sword, fails to get his shield in the way, and fails a knockdown check. He also takes 3 damage. Score moves to 3-3.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 7.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 3.

Custennin rolls 6d6 and gets (6 4 1 3 3 5) for a total of: (22)

Bradwyn checked his dex of 10, he rolled 5.

Custennin manages to score the next hit, though Bradwyn remains upright and avoids taking damage. Score moves to 3-4, with Custennin in the lead for the first time.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 2.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 10.

Bradwyn rolls 5d6 and gets (5 2 2 1 6) for a total of: (16)

Bradwyn whacks Custennin again, but not quite hard enough to force a knockdown check. Scores level again, now at 4-4.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 14.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 14.

Another skillful flurry results in a clash of blades, with neither gaining the advantage.

You check your sword at 15, you rolled 11.

Bradwyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 5.

Custennin rolls 6d6 and gets (5 2 2 2 3 1) for a total of: (15)

Custennin claims the win, with a hit so gentle it wouldn't even have hurt in a real fight! Final score: 4-5.

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