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NPC played by  |
Success
Ailil checked his Tourney of 5, he rolled 2.
Success
Ailil checked his Lance of 15, he rolled 13.
Success
Myfanwy makes a check for Young Knight Lance at 13, she rolled 9.
Ailil rolls 6d6 and gets (6 5 4 4 3 3) for a total of: (25)
Success
Myfanwy makes a check for Young Knight Horsemanship at 10, she rolled 9.
Success
Ailil checked his Lance of 15, he rolled 12.
Failed.
Myfanwy makes a check for Young Knight Lance at 13, she rolled 17.
Ailil rolls 6d6 and gets (2 4 2 2 6 3) for a total of: (19)
Success
Myfanwy makes a check for Young Knight Horsemanship at 10, she rolled 7.
Success
Ailil checked his Lance of 15, he rolled 4.
Success
Myfanwy makes a check for Young Knight Lance at 13, she rolled 1.
Ailil rolls 6d6 and gets (2 3 2 5 2 3) for a total of: (17)
Failed.
Myfanwy makes a check for Young Knight Horsemanship at 10, she rolled 13.
The advent of the summer tournament brings out a few men from the Dorset front. Ailil de Broughton is among them, riding perhaps the ugliest horse this side of Saxony. The piebald, patchwork beast is a big brute ridden by a far more respectable fellow in a helm, reinforced chainmail, and tabard bearing the fish of Broughton in all its leaping glory. He comes into the lists with his kite shield on his left arm and a very serviceable, undecorated lance handed up by his squire. He makes a round of the field first, riding in front of the assembled crowd. A shout of greeting to them is made to build their interest, adding, "Broughton!" to declare his loyalties. Then he sends the ugly charger coursing in the opposite direction, playing to the showmanship and taste for frivolity that some of them have. When the marshal looks ready for them to begin he circles the horse 'round to find his space, and salutes his opponent, lance upright.
His opponent is not so grand. Sir Aedan de Calubriga is a young, and nervous, knight who has found himself at his first tourney against a man who looks to have done this before. He raises his lance to the crowd and squeaks out, "Calubriga." There is universal silence. Clearing his throat he kicks his horse forward to the list and raises his lance once more in a salute to Ailil.
Ailil shows none of that nervousness. When the flag is thrown upwards, he leans forward and his ugly mount acts like a thing possessed. One minute calm, the next it's a scourge thundering down the list. The tall man has a good grip on his lance and swings it low in the first few strides, peering through the narrow confines of his helmet to find his target. Oddly, he neither speaks nor shouts, but aims with considerable accuracy. The strength of that blow is not modest, plowing into shield and seeking to train on Calubriga's chest for maximum efficiency.
Sir Calubriga charges against Sir Ailil, but his lance strike falls off the mark, and ends up hitting only glancingly at the man. This allows him some respite by way of positioning his shield just right, but everything the good Broughton knight needs is a little push, and off his horse goes Sir Calubriga, whose ass is rudely introduced to the ground after being so forcibly removed from his mount.