- ARCHIVE - Jousting Tournament [Byzantium]

[Mettermrck]

The effects of the flux having mercifully skipped him, Reginald insisted on walking through the camps, hoping to meet some of his competitors and enjoy the company of knights. After all, wasn't this the real purpose of his trip here, to prove himself as a knight?

He approached a row of tents who's style was similar to his. Iberian, hmm. He turned to Sir Joao, who naturally was escorting, having an insisted on a guard being present at all times.

"Whose camp is this?" Reginald asked.

Sir Joao look around before spotting the standard. "Ah, this appears to be Sir Basileus from Aragon."

"Aragon, eh? So, we're not the only Iberians represented here. Basileus? Such an odd name for an Iberian knight. Sounds Roman. I would've expected the Despot of Morea to be favored with a name like that. And he seems to be missing. No matter. Is Sir Basileus present? Perhaps we could invite him to our camp for a meal and some conversation? It's been a while since we've heard from Aragon, particularly since the death of King Alfonso."

Sir Joao approached the camp and called out to see if anyone was present.

 

[von Streusser]

"An admirable tip, I'd say."

"Bah. That damned Dutchman is good...he only missed one."

"But you beat the Mongol..."

"But I still lost. Unacceptable. God I hope I don't wind up having to hear him brag about his prowess later...ugh, the very thought makes me sick."

"Temper temper. I'm going out for a walk. Do you need anything?"

"Get me something to eat, and a lot of water. That armor is hot."

--------------

Bogdan Litovoi exited the tent, and as he closed the flap he heard another piece of armor drop noisily to the ground. The Lup Rocu was clearly upset about the tip, but these things happen. It was the three runs at the lists that mattered.

As he strolled through the camps, he looked at the other contestants milling about. Ugh, that Basileus...Roman training this, Roman style that, bah! Bogdan spat. If the Romans were so great, how come this is their last city? Arrogant imbecile. Once inside the social tent, Bogdan chafed at the very presence of the leering Hungarian. He seethed briefly, and vowed to keep an eye on him. No one could trust a Magyar.

With food on his tray and a jug of water, he headed back for his tent. He passed the Ottoman contestant, a brazen heathen who openly proclaimed his treachery! There was no death good enough for him, but perhaps one could be delivered in the ring...no, such a man deserved to die from a knife in the back, not in honorable combat. Passing a woman covered from head to toe excepting only her eyes, Bogdan rolled his own eyes and wondered to himself why such females even bothered leaving the home. Islamic fashion, or the lack thereof, was just so...well, he couldn't find the word. But he knew he disproved.

Next he passed a group of German knights. Agh, those arrogant bastards that burned the Genoan Doge just for refusing to give in to their petty power games. Barbarians. Worse than barbarians, they were fools. It would appear that there were no kindred spirits in this tournament at all. Petru seemed to be hitting it off well with the Mongol, but who could trust one of them? Bah. Petru was too trusting, too kind. He would learn soon enough.

Opening the tent flap, Bogdan presented the Lup Rocu with the meal and water. The jug was not full long.

 

[unmerged(9167)]

The servant came out and saw that this is King Reginard. He looked to be a bit awe. He heard that Reginard wanted to meet Sir Basileus. The servant spoke in Aragonese,

Please follow me, good sir.

They walked to a space behind the tents and there is a man who is sharpering his damascus steel sword. He looked to be a Thracian. He looked up and smiled for he is in the presence of a royal and that this man is known for his courage. He is one of very few whose he could respect. He stood up,

Greeting, King Reginard. I am Sir Basileus.

 

[Mettermrck]

Sir Joao stepped forward to announce him, but Reginald waved him off. It wouldn't do to overuse the privileges of royalty, and after all, he wanted to talk to Sir Basileus as a knight, not a king.

"Greetings, Sir Basileus. It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I trust we did not find you at a difficult time? I was taking a tour of the camps, hoping to meet some of my fellow knights, and I was delighted to meet a fellow Iberian here, from Aragon no less! And with a Roman name? You'll forgive my indulgence, but I am a student of good stories, especially knightly ones, and I was wondering if it wouldn't trouble you to partake of my evening tale and swap stories?

"It has been a long time since I was in this part of the world, and does me good to remember my roots. I suspect you would have a good story to tell. If you know of any other knights who might like to join us, they are welcome. My squires will be delighted to host any of your companions here who would like to come as well."

Having finished, Reginald couldn't help but look at Sir Basileus' equipment, particularly the swords. Hmm...different curvature there...a touch of the eastern?

"Have you fought in many tournaments, Sir Basileus?"

 

[unmerged(7347)]

Night…

Hakim couldnt sleep, he just keept thinking about all campaigns he would participate in when he became a little older, all the dreadfull enemies he would strike to the ground and how everyone would celebrate him as a hero…

With such thoughts in his mind, it wasn’t easy for a ten year old boy to go to sleep. As soon as he heard the slumber of his brother and sister,a swell of the servants, he slowlyc sneaked out from the tent. Abdul Basir sat at the fireplace, watcing the movements of the night, but Hakim had for a long time ago, learned how to trick the old warrior and pass him, unhindered… It was done in a second.

Getting away unhindred, Hakim turned his steps towards the stable, where he had hidden the sword he “borrowed” the day before. He took it up and began to shout “Die Infidel!” at the same time as he tried to swing the heavy sword with his two hands towards his target. The “Infidel” was a wooden pole, supporting the cealing…

At first he had a hard time, getting any good hits on the “Infidel” but then it began to go better. First a strike upwards, then downwards and so on, just as he had watched the knight train in there training sessions. Hakim began to smile as he saw the “infidel” began to show marks of “injury”. “Allah Akhbar!” He shouted and hit the pole once again…

Beginning to get tired in his arm of this “swordfight with the infidel”, Hakim turned his eyes towards the horses instead. A brave Mameluke Knight shoud not only be able to ahdnel a sword he must also prove himself valinat on a horse back, he thought for him self and began to saddle the nearest horse. The horse looked astonished on him and began first to object, but as Hakim whispered gently words into his ears on arabic, the horse seemed satisfied with that and let Hakim put on him the saddle.

Gently, Hakim led the horse out from the stabble and was just about to mount the animal when a strong hand took a firm grip around his neck.

“Hakim! Killing infidels I hear! Well time to end the battle and go to bed…”

Hakim was being led back to his tent by Abul Basir…

 

[HJ Tulp]

After Jeroen had told Maia that he would still Tip in here favour he made himself ready for the Tip.
Unlike the last Tournament he wasn't nervous at all and while Frederik helped him with his armour they didn't say much.
When he looked at his shield the unicorn that was painted on it wasn't very visible. Obvious reason had been the battle at the walls of Bursa. He had heard that the Timurid contended as well.

"Frederik." he said suddenly.
"Yes?"
"The Timurid contender was at Bursa."
"Have you seen him there?" while Frederik said that he looked at the ground.
"No, not that in those dreadful hours we had time to look at those faces, we were to busy with trying to stay alive, or failing to. You know that. Shall I ask him if he was there?"
"What will you do if he was there."
"I'll kill him, or be killed."
"No you will not. You know we were only allowed to come here if we wouldn't end up in trouble. The Grand Governor only has 120 men, he can't afford to lose his second best soldier. He needs all the help he can get."
Before Jeroen could respond he was signaled that it was his turn.
Jeroen who had practised alot on the Tip and when he charged onto the last ing he hadn't missed a single ring. However when he looked at the tribune he saw a beautifull lady however not Lady Maia! A gulf of disappointed sounds came from the crowed as they had hoped that the Dutch Jonker would have been able to take them all. However, the mediocre prestation of the other participants made him win the Tip.
When the crown was put on his lance Jeroen considered his options.
He couldn’t crown a lady that wasn’t even present. There was actually only a single option left.

“I was planning to let destiny decide, I was planning to throw a coin to choose for me. To choose for me between lady Maia and lady Zoe as they are both equal in gaciousness and both are equal beautiful, however, lady Maia isn’t present so the logical choice is the beautiful lady Zoe, the man that earns her love must be the most lucky and most happy man of the world.” And with those words he placed the crown on Lady Zoe’s head.

 

[unmerged(9167)]

As Sir Basileus listened to what King Reginard said, he put down his sword which is made of damascus steel. the sword is strange, not quitely western, yet not quitely eastern either. He spoke,

You are welcomed to talk with me. No, you didn't find me at the difficult time.

I apologize to disappoint you but I am not an Aragonese but a Roman. If you are interested, Don Diego de Vega is here as well and he is real Aragonese. I am from the village, which no longer exists, in Thrace. The village was destroyed in the massacre of 1426. I was one of few survivor of that massacre. I had seen my parents and family slained brutally. Only my brother, Belisarius, escaped that and that was because he was away to study in Western Europe. In fact, my brother had agonized over that. In fact, he wanted to stay in Constantinople and keeping fighting the Turks, only his severe injury had prevented him from staying and was forced to lift from Constantinople. Let me tell you of what I heard from his bodyguard, that he was in rage when he found that he had woke up in Mystra instead of Constantinople. At least, he had it better than Constantine. Constantine was send away from the Roman Empire by his father, Emperor Alexius, over Constantine's objection. Yes, he did immediately sought for the support for the Roman Empire against Turks and eventually liberation of his homeland especially in Aragon but he always feel guilty of not being at Constantinople when it fell. Do you have heard of Constantine? He is a husband of Blanca, King Joan's daughter and he also gained the full legimtacy of title of Emperor after Mystra gave it to him and he is a ruler of Mystra now. In fact, his situation is much like yours, my majesty.

Yes, I have fought in several Tourney. In fact, I was a champion until my injury in the previous tourney against Orghuz. Neither of us won however, he is one of very few who managed to match my swordmanship. Thus, I was injuried badly, so badly that I lost the conscious and had to stay in England to recover for awhile since I can't be moved at all while the Roman Empire fell to Alergia. After I had recovered, I had traveled through the Europe. However, it didn;t last long for my brother, General Belisarius, had sent me a letter, inviting me to Aragon. There, I worked hard in trainning the ex-patriated Romans and Aragonese soldiers. I shown myself to be one of the best knight thus my presence here.

I am curious, have you heard of my brother from your generals? I think that he had studied in Portgual for awhile a decade ago.

He fell silent and for a moment, looked at teh direction of Thrace and in that moment, the pain shown itself as the arrogance disappeared for a moment. Then he asked in uncharacteristical lack of arrogance which seemed to be out of his respect for Reginard's courage and skill,

I am curious, my majesty, what land do you consider to be your home? Portugal? Jerusalem? Your family's homeland in the Empire? Pardon me if I shouldn't ask that question.

Then his arrogance returned in full blow. He spoke,

Would you mind if Don Diego joins us for the dinner or do you prefer to dine with him alone? I think that you would like to meet Don Diego since he is a real Aragonese.

 

[unmerged(3236)]

Azirga Khan strung his bow and straddeled his trusted Aba. He were going to show this Moldavian that the Mongols are indeed the finest horse archers in the world!

As the young servant dropped the hankachief Azirga yelled to his horse in a way which his father have learnt him, apparently it was a word of great power which the ancestors used to comunicate with their horses.

Aba reacted imidiatly to this word and begun riding in a high speed, yet softly, the perfect speed from which to fire an arrow. Azirga saw that Petru had started of in a considerably higher pace, clearly he would barely be able to fire an arrow in that speed.

As Azirga closed to the Ring he drew his bow and begun to close of the rest of the world. Azirga stoped seeing the arena around them, stoped hearing Petrus riding, stoped smelling the smell of the many sick in the camp. Azirga became one with Aba, as he have done so many times before. He focused on the target and let his arrow fly off, Azirga never saw where the arrow hit since he were already focusing on the second target and drawing for the second shoot but still Azirga knew the first arrow had hit dead center, as it always did.

Azirga let the string loose and the arrow fly towards the dummy. Azirga were equaly sure it was a perfect hit this time but he didnt look now either, he were busy riding down the lane, where he were going to meet Petru once again, a Petru who were considerably ahead of him by now, sevral horselenghts.

Perhaps Aba were growing old, perhaps it was time for Azirga to let Aba retire and begin to ride Abas offspring, the 3yearold Al Seni Kuko (Red night sky), the wonderfull red stallion which by itself could be inspiration enough to name the Empire the Al-Agta Khanate.

Not knowing how Petru had shot and suspecting that he had won the racepart Azirga was unsure that he had won this competition, Petru seamed to be no more sure he eaither so the two men rode toghether to look at how the shooting had gone and ask the servant who had been the first to leave the ring.

The Two men unsaddeled and went over to look at Azirgas shots, just as Azirga was certain both shots had hit the center and given him 20 point in the shooting. Petru seamed to be very impressed by this shooting, never had he suspected that someone could be a that good shot from teh back of a horse, Petru had rarely seen men who shot that good while standing still!

Afterwards the two men walked over to see how Petru had shoot, and it was, in Petrus opinion quite good shots, the first one had scored a 8, only a few thumbwidths from the center, and the second arrow had hit 6, which was about a balm away from the center. Azirga was impressed that oen could shoot so good from a horse riding at the speed Petru had rode in.

When the servant arrived he declared, not unsurprisingly, that Petru had indeed been the first to leave the ring and he was therefore the winned with the score 24 to 20.

Azirga Khan was devestated, first an arab outrides him then a Moldavian wins in a horsearchery. Azirga couldnt be worthy of representing his the Al-Agta Khanate, someone in that grand Khanate must be able to win over both of these.

However Azirgas Chinese freind have not only learnt him to read faceexpressions and other reactions, he had also learnt him to controll his own, and therefor Azirga was able to keep his shame for himself and apear like a good and nobel looser.

I must congratulate you Petru, rarely have i seen someone being able to fire at the speed you rode in, truely amazing.

But now I belive we both should go and ssleep so that we are prepared for the tourney. Ill buy you that dinner we played for tomorow, and trust me it will be one grand dinner.

With those words spoken Azirga rode off to his yurt on the side of the hill so he could get some much needed rest. Hopegully he could rest off the shame of loosing a horserace and a archery contest, however comming in 3rd of 16 contestans in the tipping felt quite good.

 

[Mettermrck]

Reginald listened to the knight's story, deep in thought. How he was looking at a mirror, he thought in wonder as he listened to Sir Basileus' tale of Thracian villages, lost countries, and personal identity.

When Basileus, Reginald turned to Joao and held up his hand. Sir Joao understood and nodded.

"Walk with me, Sir Basileus?" He indicated a path towards some open area along the outskirts of the camp, where the brush and rocks of the countryside didn't intrude as much on the landscape.

"I am not so old, I reckon, to have come to terms with the events of my life, and indeed, one of the major reasons I have journeyed this far to compete in a joust, is to help myself answer many unanswered questions of mine."

"You say you lost a village? Hmm, I too, know what is like to lose a home, to look to the east and wonder what might have been. To never feel perfectly at rest in our new surroundings. To wonder who exactly we area. Roman or Aragonese? Jerusalem or Portugal? We are not far apart, you and I."

"This ground reminds me of home, when I used to take long rides in the hills near Tiberias. I would ride out towards Hattin and hear the echoes of the Templars, and sit and wonder. I had never known a real home until them. My father, Stephen, was a soldier and had served in several European armies."

"When the Emperor dubbed him for the rulership of the Holy Land, we were stunned and honored, of course, but didn't know what to expect. This was the land of the birth of our Faith. The Holiest of Holy Cities, and we were its keeper. So while we trode lightly upon our arrival, soon the land began to grow on us."

"I began to realize that I was not the Prince of a relic. Nay, I was the Prince of a vibrant land, and a joyous people, who wanted to accomplish so much if just given the chance. But it was taken away from us!"

Reginald turned to stare Basileus hard in the face, surprised that he was revealing so much, but wanting to continue.

"Do I wonder what I am? More than you know, Sir Basileus. Come, show me some of the countryside."

 

[von Streusser]

8 and 6!? Gah! though Petru. He may have won the score, but his shooting had not been up to par with the Mongol's...not even close. Had it just been a shooting match, he would have been annihilated. Two perfect shots...amazing.

"I must admit, Azirga Khan...I have never seen shooting like this, especially not from a man riding on horseback. Amazing...anyway, I don't know if I can even call this a victory, to be so impressively outshot, but the experience is one I shall never forget."

He shook Azirga Khan's hand, then headed back to the Moldavian pavilion.

 

[unmerged(9167)]

Sir Basileus' respect for King Reginard increased as he had courage to speak frankly. Beside, he could understand Reginard very well. He spoke,

I also have myself that question. The life is full of what if and possibilities, that is what my brother always say.

All I can say is that I hope that we both succeed in liberating our homeland and to be allowed to do much. I wish you a great luck in liberating Jerusalem.

Then he took Reginard on a walk in countryside. Sir Basileus spoke,

This ground too remind me of home only that this is a bit warmer and fewer in vegetables. I used to rode to Constantinople with my brother and listening to the City's noises and watching it and the people who is coming and leaving the City. It was mysterious place for me, no matter how often I went there. To listen to the music from Hagia Sophia. The City was full of mystery and stories. I also often took a long walk in a forest near my home and just listening to the forest noises and few villages nearby.

Sir Basileus suddenly felt home sick for a moment then it passed. Then he showed Reginard some more of the countrysides.

 

[unmerged(3110)]

​

Ye Grand Orthodox Tourney (Day one) ​

The QoLaB: The Lady Zoe Paleologus

There will be two scoring passes.

=====================================

Sir Guillaume d'Arsac *
1st Pass (1) -10
2nd Pass (7) +1

afoot
(3) (3) (6-4=2)(6-5=1) (8-10= -2) +2 to foe (12-11=1)

Vs

Champion Sir Basileus(1 mount left)horse damaged and out of tourney

1st Pass (7) +1
2nd Pass (2) -5

afoot
(3) (8) (5)(9) (5) (9+2=11)


Sir Basileus gets a touch to his opponents shield as Sir Guillaume d'Arsac takes his horse from under him when his horse stumbles on the first pass. On the Second pass a touch by Sir Guillaume d'Arsac startles Sir Basileus's new mount and it runs to far , striking an attendant.

They go afoot

Both warriors start with a fine show of their art. Ten minutes of fine play results in little effect but a fine spectacle. Soon into the next ten minutes the continuing fine display is highlighted when the ex-Champion Sir Basileus manages to get a strike to his opponents upper leg, causing him to stagger.. They fight on. S tumbling about, Sir Guillaume d'Arsac cannot react as Sir Basileuslands a crushing blow to his head. As Sir Guillaume d'Arsac is indisposed Sir Basileus strikes hard and fast taking full advantage. He strikes at his opponents vulnerable leg and he goes face down in the grit. Sir Basileus allows him to rise and sets about the dazed knight again. A strike to Sir Guillaume d'Arsacs head again puts him on the floor but the brave knight gets up again. He is in no state to contest as the coup de grasse is delivered by Sir Basileus and he suffers a permanent compound injury and is out of current tourney. (Sir Guillaume d'Arsac -1 to all rolls in future jousts when healed).

​

Viscount, Sir Mordain Blackcloak The Black knight ( +3 "Legendary Champion")Wins mount (+1 horse)

1st Pass (8 +3=11)+10.
2nd Pass (4+3=7)+1

Vs
Marquis. Sir Henrik von Balslev Forfits horse. (1 mount left)
1st Pass (3) -3
2nd Pass (4)0

The Black knight makes it look easy as he raises Marquis. Sir Henrik von Balslev out of his saddle, making him drop his lance, and trots on. On the second pass the Marquis misses as his opponent has mercy and only breaks a tip upon his shield.
=======================================

Lup Rocu. 'The Red Wolf' Wins mount (+1 horse)

1st Pass (2) -5 2nd Pass (10) +10.

Vs
Sir Reginald of Witau, King of PortugalForfits horse. (1 mount left)

1st Pass (2) -5
2nd Pass (7)+1(No BBT)

As the first pass starts a pack of the towns dogs bust in on the lists barking madly. Both horses are that startled that they stop and rear up. After the dogs have stopped snapping at the horses legs and been chased of the knights have trouble stopping the mad cavorting around the stadium of their mounts. It is deemed they show insufficient control. On the second pass things change. Sir Reginald of Witau, King of Portugal manages a fine touch but the petite knight , Lup Rocu, still unhorses him in fin style. Not a murmur is heard from the Red Wolf

=====================================

Tahir al Din Forfits negated*
1st Pass (1) -10 2nd Pass (10) +10.(No BBT)

Vs
Sir Azirga Khan (1 mount left) horse damaged and out of tourney

1st Pass (5) 0
2nd Pass (10) +10.(No BBT)

Sir Azirga Khan sweeps his lance across the route of Tahir al Din causing him to strike his mount on the first pass. The second is most spectacular. Both knights strike hard and true and are lifted bodily from both their saddles to land with a clang on the ground. There mounts are gathered by their squires.

=====================================

Jonker Jeroen van Barel (+1 Champion of Renown) (1 mount left) horse damaged and out of tourney.

1st Pass (4 +1=5) 0
2nd Pass (4+1=5) 0

Vs
Sir György *
1st Pass (4) 0
2nd Pass (1) (first time) -10

Jonker Jeroen van Barel just cant get into his best stride. He breaks his lance by sweeping, both times but it is understandable on the second pass. For on the first Sir György misses but on the second he hits his opponents mount.

=====================================

Sir Wratislaw of the Greif

1st Pass (6) +1
2nd Pass (9) +5 (awarded to each knight)

Vs
Sir Reginald of Witau, King of Portugal

1st Pass (4)0
2nd Pass (5) 0Actual +5

Sir Wratislaw of the Greif breaks a tip on the first pass and causes Sir Reginald of Witau, King of Portugal to miss. On the second Sir Wratislaw of the Greif brings a score to both by causing the tips of the lances to meet and shatter.

============================================

Sir Ali A'ku Wins mount (+1 horse)

1st Pass (4) 0
2nd Pass (10)+10.

Vs
Sir Hans Rokycana Forfits horse. (1 mount left)

1st Pass (5) 0
2nd Pass (3) -3 (No BBT)

Sir Ali A'ku has a Missed strike and Sir Hans RokycanaBreaks a lance by sweeping.
Sir Ali A'ku compensates by unhorsing his opponent and Sir Hans Rokycana drops his lance when struck.

=============================================

Sir Grünenwald Forfits negated
1st Pass (4) 0
2nd Pass (10) +10.

Vs
Despot Sir Theodore Paleologus Forfits negated
1st Pass (10) +10.
2nd Pass (7)+1(No BBT)

Sir Grünenwald misses as he is unhorsed by Despot Sir Theodore Paleologus But where Sir Grünenwald missed Despot Sir Theodore Paleologus manages a touch as he is unhorsed in the next pass.

===============================================

Hitting a horse (first time) *
Hitting a horse (second time) ** Disqualified.

All retire to

Where the girls are friendly the atmosphere warm and the booze great. Besides, the physicians advise a massage by Jasmine....

 

[von Streusser]

"Good God!" yelled Petru as the pack of dogs burst in to the lists. Off at a run, he used a stick to try and shove them away from his Champion. Throughout it all, the Lup Rocu was the very picture of serenity. The horse reared and began to run about the arena, but the Red Wolf would not try to clear the dogs off with the lance, instead attempting to soothe the horse. After finally bringing the beast under control, the judges announced that both knights had shown insufficient control and were to lose 5 points.

"Damnation" muttered Petru, returning to his spot as an attendant.

Once both contestants had lined up at the lists for the second run, though the first proved to be rather anti-climactic, the two horses charged at each other. The Portugese King landed a lance tip on the Lup Rocu's shield, but the Red Wolf planted the lance firmly in his chest, and with a twist launched him off the back of his mount. The crowd erupted in cheers for the mysterious knight, and the Lup Rocu bowed deeply in the saddle before trotting off to the Moldavian pavilion.

"A fine horse this is!" said Petru. "And an excellent run! I shall bring the horse back to our tent so you can have a good close look at it." The Lup Rocu simply nodded and left the arena.

 

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A confusion swept through the crowd at the end of the day. Sir Reginald of Witau, King of Portugal had run twice at the lists. There had been an error. What would happen? As the sun settled to just above the horizon and half an hour after the Lists had finished there was a blast of the official tournament horn, the notes rising to the "recall". The knights in attendance were called as witness.

When all had been found and brought, in escort, to the field a solemn drum began its mournful toll...

*Thummmm*

*Thummmm*

*Thummmm*

A figure escorted by a guard of six men at arms is "slow marched" to a recently constructed tripod of halberds and is lashed to the cross sectional halberd that created an "A" frame.

*Thummmm*

*Thummmm*

It isn't until the figure is offered a leather "bit" to bite on that the gathered knights realise who it is.

Sir Erik. The assistant master herald is to be flogged.

Sir Paul Rebelodicus steps before the gathering and speaks in a firm and merciless tone.

"Brother knights. Some of you have been wronged most foully. I hold myself responsible and have found the culprit responsible"

He glowers at the half naked man strapped to the tripod.

"Sir Reginald of Witau, Most majestic King of Portugal has been given unto the lists two times this day and the Tourneys integrity has been jeopardised."

He turns to the Portuguese king and bows low as he speaks.

"Your majesty. Honoured knight. I beg your forgiveness for this appalling error. This fiend of chaos will feel the "cat" bite a dozen times before his sentence is to be considered. He brings shame to this Tourney and will feel this as a minimum."

"As first wronged you may pronounce your punishment after the "Entrée". Next shall be the host."

He bows to the Despot.

"After that, Sir Wratislaw of the Greif and Lup Rocu may suggest final suitable recompense for their inconvenience."

"If you don't like the "Cat""

He produces one

"Take your pick from these.......... "

He then returns to the gathered people.

"Another run at the lists shall be arranged for Sir Reginald of Witau. His prior score will not count. All other contenders may keep their score."

"I will personally provide his majesty with the very best mount this tourney has to offer and a further 10 pounds weight in gold as recompense"

He nods to the "Drummer boys" and they begin a "rattle" as two sturdy men at arms take up their whips each side of their victim and begin their gory work.

As they finish he turns again to speak.

"Gentlemen. Inform me what you will about your desires for suitable recompense and I will entertain your ideas."

"Sir Reginald of Witau, by your leave. The black knight will meet you in 1 hour in the lists. Sir Harold and Sir Rowan will adjudicate as I may be seen to be prejudist. Meanwhile I will ensure your punishment is carried out and seek to rectify further this error."

He bows low and makes to leave when the King does.

 

[Mettermrck]

Tired and a bit battered, King Reginald struggled to maintain his dignified postured as he observed the proceedings. He felt no empathy for Sir Erik and his impending punishment, which was unusual for Reginald. Yet he had been made to face death twice in the same tournament, and while the danger was not what angered Reginald, it was the disruption it caused to the tournament.

As a king, he would only participate in tournaments that were above question. Disruptions like this could only tarnish a knight's reputation. His whole being had been centered in his role as knight since coming to Sparta, and now, hearing that he would soon joust against the legendary Sir Mordain Blackclock filled him with immense joy, and all weariness vanished. This was it! The epitome of chivalry and glorious combat. He would face off against the Legendary Champion!

"You may whip this fool as you wish, Sir Paul. The recompense for my horse and the opportunity to face the Black Knight are all the compensation I need. I will be ready in an hour."

 

[unmerged(3236)]

Azira Khan didnt visit the tavern after the tourney. Sure he knew he had fought good and surely was in the top, but Azirga didnt care much for that now. His trusted Aba was dead, killed by the lance of the Mameluke.

Azirga knew, deep within his soul, that Tahir al Din had not killed Aba intentionally but right now Azirga just wanted someone to blame and noone could be better for that then Tahir.

However what filled Azirga the most was not anger, it was sorrow. He remembered all the good times he and Aba had shared.

The glorious battle of Bursa where Azirga lead his large army of horsemen from Bukhara against the hordes of Geran soldiers and slaughtered all who wasn't so cowardly that they fleed the battle.

Azirga Remembered the invasion of Macedonia, the failed attack on Ragusa, the easy victory over the Il-Khan. The many fiests the army had during these campaigns.

Azirga also remembered his many rides on more peacefull missions but somehow Azirga felt that such simple tasks such as transporting a man was to easy to honour Aba in the way he should be.

Azirga sat on his knees infront of Aba and begun to slowly and silently chant a short verse in the old language his father had learnt him. He continued to chant these very same lines over and over again for hours, after more then 6 hours of mourning and chanting Azira finaly rises up and takes of his armour. Aba died a honourable death at a high age, what more can ahorse possibly ask for?

Tomorow Azira would ride on Abas child, the 3yearold Al Seni Kuko, and win in Abas name.

 

[unmerged(3110)]

As the last vestiges of the sun hit the horizon and torches were lit for the on coming dark two knights face each other in the lists in the fading light.

One a king and one an ultimate champion of the Joust. Lances are dipped in salute and they steady their mounts, but before the run is started Sir Mordain gestures his squire to him and sends him walking down the lists to Sir Reginald of Witau.

The boy arrives before the king and placing one leg behind the other, sweeping his hand in a low arc he bows and gestures to a groom standing in the North camp.

"Most honoured and gracious Majesty. This mount is the best we have and it is yours."

From the growing shadows a true knights war-horse is brought forth.

"His name is "Titan". He's a four year old and battle trained. He will ride where others will not and has legs that wont break but run all day. Able, your majesty, to take an armoured man better than any thin legged mount no matter it's breeding."

"Sir Mordain also would like to salute you for you chivalry and sends his best wishes for this test."

In the evening mist the Black knight is seen to lower his lance in salute again as the squire gestures to him.

The squire returns to Sir Mordain and stands ready as Sir Harold De Falenite prepares to drop the flag for the first run.

Sir Mordain Forfits horse.

1st Pass (1+3=4) 0 (No BBT)
2nd Pass (3+3=6 ) +1

Vs

Sir Reginald of Witau Wins mount (+1)

1st Pass (10 ) +10.
2nd Pass (5) 0

On the first pass it is evident that Sir Mordains heart is not in this contest for his lance swings casually down too late, and as the knights meet Sir Reginald of Witau skilfully jams his lance into the abdomen of his opponent sending him to the floor with a crash.

His dignity bruised the Black knight remounts and on the second pass he breaks a "dignified" tip as Sir Reginald of Witau only manages a sweep of the lance.

As the torches take over from the dusk the black knight rides up to the king and dips his lance in silent salute to an honourable brother knight and departs into the darkness of the south camp.

Soon the rectifed list would be printed and the scores displayed.

 

[unmerged(3110)]

Ye Grand Orthodox Tourney (Score after day one) ​

​

Despot Sir Theodore Paleologus+11.
Sir Grünenwald +10.
Sir Azirga Khan +10(1 mount left) horse damaged and out of tourney
Viscount, Sir Mordain Blackcloak The Black knight (+3 "Legendary Champion")+10.
Sir Reginald of Witau, King of Portugal+10.mounts (+1)
Sir Ali A'ku +10.Wins mount (+1 horse)
Sir Wratislaw of the Greif +6
Lup Rocu. 'The Red Wolf' +5.Wins mount (+1 horse)

Tahir al Din0*
Jonker Jeroen van Barel (+1 Champion of Renown)0(1 mount left) horse damaged and out of tourney

Sir Hans Rokycana -3 Forfits horse. (1 mount left)
Marquis. Sir Henrik von Balslev -3 Forfits horse. (1 mount left)
Champion Sir Basileus-4 (1 mount left)
Sir György -10*

​

Sir Guillaume d'Arsac -9*suffers a permanent compound injury and is out of current tourney. (Sir Guillaume d'Arsac -1 to all rolls in future jousts when healed). HONOURABLY DISCHARGED THROUGH INJURY

 

[von Streusser]

Petru comes forward to address Sir Paul quietly.

"Lord Master Herald, the Lup Rocu has declared that it desires no further punishment for Sir Erik."

 

[Mettermrck]

His head was beginning to spin from the amount of wine he had drank. The evening had been a heady one, and it was only getting grander as King Reginald's camp celebrated their King's performance in the joust against the Black Knight.

While all of them knew the tournament was far from over, and indeed they were fortunate in the result, everyone was delighted with the clean unhorsing of so great a champion, not least of all Reginald himself, who, all caution to the wind, was cheering lustily with the rest and toasting his men repeatedly with freshly refilled tankards of some of the strongest wines.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind clamored for him to moderate himself. What would the Queen think......forget the Queen, a second, louder voice intoned. Have another drink!

Reginald felt a hand clap on his shoulder. It was Sir Joao, looking as staggered on his feet as he was. "Come, your Majesty...you did promise." Reginald thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "But that was a lark, when our chances seemed small."

His men laughed and shook their heads, helping him to his feet. A shout came up in the camp, "The Pavilion! To the Pavilion!" Reeling with wine, Reginald let himself be dragged towards their destination. The tiny voice was screaming now, telling him that his boast had been foolish, that it could only lead to trouble...ah shut up, the louder voice retorted. He's a victor and deserves a celebration.