(514-09-14) Notable Defeat
Summary: It is Brin against Bryce, in a joust of the first round that proves to be quite the challenge for the Baverstock knight.
Date: September 14th, 514
Related: Sarum Summer Tournament logs
bryce lysanor 

Sir Brin de Strathfel NPCed by


Tourney Grounds - Sarum

The open field south east of Sarum Castle itself, within the city walls, is designated for knightly activities. When the Keep grounds are too full, there is a number of knights that come here to train and practice. At times when Earl Robert hosts a tourney, this is the location of the lists. A slight rise of land to the north of this open field is usually a good place the main stand while to the west, just before the Farmer's Quarter is good place for pavilions. The grouns is worn here, two long rows where the tilts are and there are circles of trodden grass where knights duel each other in mock combat during training, or during challenges at tourney times. When no knights are present the commoner children not laboring at chores and jobs come here to practice with sticks.

Next up in the lists is Sir Bryce de Baverstock. Clad in his armor and seated on his black charger called Devil, the knight of rather short built and angular features scans the crowds that have come to watch his tilt against one of the greater challenges, to ride against such usually an honor in itself - and one a younger knight such as Bryce can hardly expect to win. A faint smile curls his lips even so as he regards his opponent Sir Brin de Strathfel from afar, donning his helmet next when the herald calls his name. His shield in Baverstock black and red is accepted from his squire Carl, a warm smile given the lad by the knight who receives the lance next. The Baverstock man rides to his end of the list, raising his lance in salute to the other knight. "Tis an honor, Sir Brin. May the better knight win," he calls with respectful optimism, before he lowers his lance, until it is aimed to unhorse and spurs Devil on.

This knight, Sir Brin de Strathfel, is no small man. The way he sits straight in his saddle speaks of long ease to it, and the way he nudges his own charger, a creature of mud brown and unremarkable to the untrained eye, is practiced. A sideshift or two, and the burly fellow takes position, lifting his own lance in wordless response. Truly, a man of few words, Sir Brin focuses his intent on staring down his opponent through the visor of his helm. His shield of forest green and sunshine-yellow is at the ready, and his lance slowly levels on Bryce. Ominously.

Standing along the sidelines and surrounded by the shouts and cheers of the audience, Lysanor's small form would be totally swamped by the crowd around her, but it is that mass of red curls that truly stands out, especially to those who know her well. Dressed in the colors of House Dinton, she proudly represents her family, though it is not any of Dinton's members who she is out cheering for at the moment. With the announcement that Bryce de Baverstock was next to tilt, her face brightens up all the more and with her hands clasped together, she can only hope that he performs magnificently today, or at the very least, not get hurt too badly. This Sir Brin is a notable sort, so much that even she had heard a few tales regarding him.

There may be a pair of brows lifting behind the Baverstock's visor, when confronted with such an impressive stare. Alas, this is not a staring contest but a joust, and so there has been that swift glance towards the favor wound about his arm, a braided ribbon of red and blue, with a pendant twined about it, followed by a glance towards its giver, his betrothed Lady Lysanor is among the spectators. Then he is already flying towards the center of the list where he will meet his opponent, Devil's hooves thundering beneath him, as his sole focus is on managing the impossible - to drive Sir Brin off his horse.

Critical Fail!
Bryce checked his Lance of 15, he rolled 20.
Bryce makes a check for Notable Knight Lance at 16, he rolled 7.
Bryce rolls 5d6 and gets (3 6 2 3 6) for a total of: (20)
Bryce checked his Horsemanship of 10, he rolled 13.
Bryce rolls 1d6 and gets (4) for a total of: (4)

Sir Brin de Strathfel has the laser focus of a hawk. No time does this notable knight have for things like favors and loving glances. His focus, his being, is on this match, on the young Baverstock he faces. His lance was already exactly where he wanted it to be, and all that's left is a soft cluck to his mount. The beast surges forth carrying the solid knight upon its back with all the inexorable determination of a crashing wave. His goal, of course, is the same as Bryce's, and his lance is thrust mightily at the last moment to that effect.

His ears are ringing from the thundering of hooves, a sound that amplifies when Sir Brin's steed proves to be no less noisy in its impetuous approach. Bryce swallows, his right hand tightening about the lance, when it is suddenly knocked out of his hand, splintering, while his notable and notably more experienced opponent places his lance with coldblooded accuracy. The impact is immense, and the Baverstock struggles to stay in the saddle, alas, to no avail. When he looses his balance and is finally pushed out of the saddle by the momentum of the hit, only to fall to the muddy ground in a clattering heap of agony.

While she knows that she should be proud and supportive of her family and friends and especially her betrothed in events such as this and that her heart should swell with pride, Lysanor, personally, always has some worry on her mind. Perhaps that comes with being a healer, but though this isn't life or death combat and is an exhibition for knights to merely show off their skills, even she knows that not all knights leave the field unscathed. So as sounds of hooves continue to fill her mind, her breath gets trapped within her chest as the two knights draw nearer and nearer. It's hard for her to watch, but she forces herself to do so; hearing the impact of lance striking… what should have been a shield, but the sound would have been louder than that. In all her nervousness, with her fingers wringing in agitation at her tunic, the way they do during tournament matches, she can only wince when she sees the results and quickly moves forward to the fallen Baverstock to ensure his safety and to help escort him off the field. Surely, the man's squire isn't too far behind.

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