(514-09-14) Sir Trystan de Laverstock vs Sir Ceiriogwen de Brunton
Summary: Trystan takes up jousting for Laverstock pride.
Date: 514-09-14
Related: N/A
trystan 

NPC Played By

eirian 


Success
Trystan checked his Tourney of 11, he rolled 4.

Failed.
Trystan checked his lance of 13, he rolled 18.

Success
Idris makes a check for Average Knight Lance at 15, he rolled 10.
Idris rolls 6d6 and gets (2 5 2 3 6 2) for a total of: (20)

Failed.
Trystan checked his Horsemanship of 12, he rolled 14.

Trystan rolls 1d6 and gets (4) for a total of: (4)

Coming late in the line up, Sir Trystan de Laverstock approaches the field, astride a black charger and wearing his house colors of black, orange, silver, and green. His armor is in good shape, and well maintained and his squire walks alongside the charger, holding Trystan's blunted lance. Trystan takes the lance and takes a few moments to trot his horse around a bit, warming up. While he does this, he hoists his lance up to work the crowd a bit before they begin.

With perhaps the sourest expression ever seen upon a knight, the tournament grounds bear witness to the arrival of Ceiriogwen de Brunton. A little more than five feet of solid vim and steel circles around a sleek brown horse dressed in red-on-yellow caparison that looks to be a size or hand too small for the spirited horse. The cause for such sourness appears to be a spat of some kind with her squire, her voice low and harsh. "I told you he would go lame if you rode him that hard. And he did. I will remember, boy. Blaze is too green for this!" Not the most auspicious of beginnings, and the cowed youth hands up a shield emblazoned by three red eagles rampant. She slides her arm through the straps and checks her grip, hand open and shut. Next comes her spear, and she checks to see it's been properly blunted before settling it next to her arm. Her mouth forms a scowl as she rides up to the tourney field, and so much for the showmanship there. Her eyes are narrowed on the marshal, awaiting his instruction for them to begin, and Trystan beyond. The poor squire skitters off to get two more lances in preparation, and the chestnut prances on the spot, chomping at his bit in pure excitement for the noise and fanfare.

Once his horse has warmed a bit, Trystan turns it towards the jousting field and trots over to the line. Trystan's gaze falls on his opponent for the first time and he offers a nod down the field. His squire brings him his shield, a rearing horse on a field of orange and silver with a black star. Trystan takes up the shield, and then settles his lance under his arm.

At the indication to begin, he kicks his charger into action and begins to race down the field towards Ceiriogwen de Brunton. His lance is set and aimed, and when his opponent comes into range, he leans forward in the saddle, thrusting out with his lance at the other knight. His own thrust is not well aimed, and his position in the saddle seems off kilter enough to leave him vulnerable.

Ceiriogwen draws herself up her saddle and waits at the line for the marshal to raise his flag. Her thigh muscles as much as the reins in her left hand try to keep the horse from dancing back and forth, his movements causing the dyed cloth he wears to ripple. A low, squat helmet and her chain are both in good repair, even at a distance. She points her lance up in salute to Trystan, and another to the crowd, signalling her readiness to engage soon as the moment comes. That cushioned point barely wavers, a sign at least of how tightly she holds what she carries.

Then the marshal thrusts his flag into the air. "Hyah!" She breaks the air with a shout and kicks the chestnut, but it's almost a pointless effort because he wants to be three legs ahead of everyone. Big hooves punch into the earth. Lowering her lance in an arc, the Brunton knight points right at Trystan and sweeps her shield into place so she might guard against the incoming blow. Squires take note, the formation isn't a bad one even if her posture in the saddle is a bit twisted. When Trystan aims to strike her, his lance diverts between the eagles and goes high. Not so much her, though. Speed comes with force on a trajectory to hit the Laverstock lord right in the belly.

The spear, blunted though it may be, connects with a loud crunch and Trystan, still out of the saddle from his attempt is thrown back and away from his charger. The black stallion rears a few moments later and continues to race down the field. For the first few excruciating feet, Trystan's foot is caught in a stirrup and he's dragged until a fateful, if painful, twist dislodges him.

Trystan rolls a few times and then just lays ther for a moment, dazed and confused. He coughs once…twice and then swallows down some bile that comes with that second cough. Certainly not his finest hour, but in the end Trystan is a lord and he will act the part. So with slow, but deliberate movements, he starts to crawl to his feet.

Plunging ahead through the well-trod dirt, the chestnut carries the day for Sir Brunton and she gives him no opportunity to savour the sudden shift in weight and the forceful impact that rolls right up her arm. The lance does not crack or shatter, but she immediately swings the point right up. Visibility being somewhat limited, she pulls the excitable horse around in a series of tight circles and shouts, "Penna! Don't stand there, go! Help him!"

That might be something of a belated command, but the squire who apparently lamed her horse goes scrambling over the field towards Trystan. She gets points for being plucky, Penna does: she whistles sharply at the horse and waves her arms wildly in front of it. "Back! Back, fellow! Hey-hey, no trampling him!"

This will not go well for Sir Trystan back at the homstead, but such is life. His own squire goes off to help with the horse, knowing better than to try and help the Knight. For his part, Sir Trystan manages to get to his feet, if slowly. He turns to try and find Ceiriogwen and once he does, Trystan offers her a half bow. About as much as he can muster after that hit. "Very well done, Sir. A well deserved victory."

A few moments later his horse is led back by his Squire and Trystan walks back stiffly and with a mild limp to have his armor checked out…amongst other things.

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