[Warrick] No tomb so proud as his...

[Vincent D'Ordyn]

Gray spent most of his time between the first round and the next working the pain out of his recently healed shoulder. Kala had done a great job on the treatment. The wound was mostly healed, and now the only side effect that Gray really felt anymore was the annoying ache that popped up from time to time. So with slow deliberate movements, Gray worked the pain out of his shoulder in preparation for his next match.

About a break passed before he heard them start calling people for the second round. As Gray listened for his name, he again started emptying all the useless thoughts from his head. His shoulder, Sabine and the information they had found, and all the things that had happened over the passed dozen trials. As Gray's name was finally called, Gray exhaled slowly and again rose from his spot under the tree.

As he made his way onto the tournament grounds a steward in the livery of House Warrick stood beside the gate. "Master Gray, is there anything you would like me to hold for you?" The man asked, obviously eyeing Gray's cloak. Gray was about to answer in the negative, but stopped himself. After a brief moments thought, he unstrapped his sword belt and pulled it off his waste with the two blades still sheathed.

"Thank you." Gray responded as he handed the blades off to the steward and entered the grounds, cloak still on and hood still up. As Gray made his way into the middle of the grounds his opponent did the same from the other side of the grounds. Allan Reid, Gray had heard called along side his name. The man was roughly the same height and build as Gray, though maybe a little heavier in the arms in chest. With another deep exhale Gray let go of the last bit of tension in his body and stepped up to the line with his opponent.

This time there was no exchange of pleasantries or salutes, just a simple nod from his opponent that Gray returned. Then each of them took up their stances, and the gong was sounded, signalling the start of the bout. A few trills passed before either of the two moved. Then Gray made the first move. Taking a step forward into his opponents space, Gray transferred his weight slowly from his back foot to the now forward foot. As his closed, Allan swung his fist at Grays midsection, and with that the fight was started in earnest. Each throwing fist and deflecting or dodging them right before they made contact, or taking the blow to land one of their own. For a solid two bits the two men stood in the center of the grounds throwing fist after fist. Eventually the two broke apart and eyed each other from across the distance. Gray had come out of the exchange with a few bruises to his arms and torso, but Allan had left with a possibly cracked rib, and a few bruises of his own.

A small smile touched Allan's lips before he rushed Gray. As the man closed Gray went to side step his opponents charge, but Allan had been prepared for that and at the last minute, pushed of his back foot and drove his shoulder into Gray's chest. Gray hand been expecting the move, and had no time to get out of the way of the attack, so he did his best to mitigate the damage, and just before Allan made contact, Gray began to leap backwards. The blow still hurt, and sent Gray tumbling a good distance, but Gray was able to catch his feet mid roll and ready himself for Allan as he came charging again. This time Gray didn't sidestep Allan's charge, but a moment before the man would have run him down his placed a hand on the other man's shoulder and with a powerful jump sprung over him. As Allan went to the ground Gray turned and used the time to catch his breath. This fight was dragging, he needed to end it.

As Allan stood from the dirt and turned back to Gray, his eyes had started to burn with a small fire of anger. Seeing this Gray's mind began working. This time Gray charged Allan, and again the small smile appeared on the other mans face. Squaring himself Allan prepared to, what Gray assumed, grab him and slam him to the ground. Though just as he entered the mans range his ducked low and took a small half to outside. As he twisted around his opponent Gray, hit him with and elbow in the side, then a fist to the other side as he continued the spin onto his other foot. Neither blow did much damage, but they kept Allan moving.

Gray continued twisting and dodging just outside of Allan's reach for about a bit, and each time Allan swung at Gray and missed the more frustrated he became. Each time Gray danced his way under Allan's guard and landed a few more strikes, the more his anger grew. Eventually Allan couldn't see Gray through the red and that's when Gray struck. Allan threw a wild left hook that Gray let slide buy, and then slid underneath the other mans arm and using both his legs and arms drove a punch square into Allan's abdomen. With a guttural 'humph', all the air in Allan's lungs was force out of his mouth and eventually the man fell to the ground holding his core.

Gasping for air himself Gray took a few trills to ride down the surge of the fight. When he had finally mastered himself, and slowly made his way over to the steward that held his swords. As Gray took them from the steward, the man just seemed to stare for a moment. Then as he returned to his senses he began to speak.

"Umm... Sir I was told to tell you that you are not to go anywhere as your round for the Blades Competition will begin on this grounds in five bits." The steward spoke loud enough to be heard but his eyes seem to never meet Gray's. "Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?" He concluded.

"Water, please" Gray said as he took to leaning against the gate he was just about to exit. A bit passed and the steward returned with a waterskin. The water inside was nice and cool against Gray's warm throat. The rest of the time Gray spent working the new pains in his shoulder out. It had started to throb again after the match had concluded.

Finally the moment of the second round for the Blades had come and Gray's name was called, along with a Stephen Denril. As the other man entered the grounds Gray turned back to the steward that had stood waiting during the intermission. The man offered out a hand, an unspoken offer to again hold anything. Gray immediately handed over the waterskin, and then after a slight delay undid the fastener at the neck of his cloak and handed that to the steward as well.

As Gray approached the line Stephen, a short, stocky man a handful of arcs older than Gray broke into a wide grin. "Did I miss the part in the invite that this was a masquerade?" He said, smirking up at Gray. Silent and cool, Gray drew one of his swords. "Yes, yes, lets not mince words." Stephen continued with a flip of his hand as though he was shooing off a fly. With a heavy metal shield on his left arm and a longsword in his right hand, Gray knew this fight was going to have to be fought differently than his last.

As the gong sounded the start of the round Gray began to side step to his right, trying to keep on his opponents left. Stephen just smirked from behind his shield. Again Gray made the first move, striking at the man's leg. Stephen saw the move and lowered his shield before bringing his longsword to bare for a counter attack that Gray knocked away before attempting another strike that Stephen block again. These exchanges went on for quite sometime, and after half a dozen bits, though Gray was starting to feel the fatigue set in from his hit and run tactic, Stephen had already spent most of his energy having to adjust his shield for each of Gray's attacks.

This time when Gray closed with Stephen, he approached on the man right, and after crossing blades with him for a few trills struck in such a way that Stephen again brought his shield up to intercept the blow. Gray had been wait for the shield and instead of the sword strike, Gray's boot met the shield. With a massive push Gray forced the shield back into Stephen and in the confusion, bashed Stephen's sword had with the pommel of his sword. Breaking the man's grip on his blade. As Stephen stumbled backwards trying to regain his balance Gray picked up his sword and looked at the other man. "You are disarmed" Gray stated plainly. "I believe that is my win."

When Stephen didn't yield right away, Gray took up a combination stance of The Ox, and The Plow. Using each sword to fulfill one of the stances. Finally with nasty growl to his voice Stephen conceded the match and Gray dropped his sword on the ground at his feet. Watching as Stephen retrieved the blade and left the field. Gray didn't turn and walk back to his side until Stephen was well away from him. It was a bad idea to turn you back on a man with a blade. No matter the circumstances. Finally Gray sheathed his own blade and returned to the steward to retrieve his cloak and the waterskin. "Thanks." Gray said as he left the field. Once again trying to slowly work the building pain in his right shoulder.

"Why do I do this to myself." Gray muttered to himself as he walked off into the crowd.

[Zvezdana Venora]

When Rafael joined them again – much to Zvezdana’s great distaste – he proceeded to be childish and unruly again. This time, mostly to Vivian. Personally, she could appreciate him picking on the Warrick soldier in a way. Then again, he was acting less like a nobleman and more like a peasant child. There was a place and time to give family members – cousins and siblings mostly – grief. This was not it. Had Rafael been one of her students, she would have had him reading text books and writing sentences for weeks on how to treat a lady. When he gaze fell upon her in a very disgusting way, Zvezdana felt her skin crawl. No. She would have beaten him black and blue with a switch to teach him manners.

Something about his gaze reminded him how she despised the way men looked at women. They looked upon them as trinkets and trophies, only adequate for their beauty and ability to be arm candy. It irritated her that few found intelligence attractive and work ethic even less so. At least the peasant men had that right. They knew how to love a woman properly. Zvezdana sighed, tucking her arms neatly under her breaths. At least she knew how to play the game of nobles. May as well make Rafael wish he’d never laid eyes in such a manner on a pretty woman.

Before she could get a biting tone in – now the second opportunity missed to reprimand Rafael – Duke Warrick was joining them. In tow, a stunning man dressed in black and wearing Burhan blue. She untucked her arms immediately, folding her hands neatly at the dip just above her buttocks. This pulled her shoulders back, making her chest naturally perky instead of plumper as they had been not moment ago. Duke Warrick introduced him as Veljorn.

So this was to be Lazuli’s husband. Lucky. Quite the catch.

The thought poisoned her good wishes for a healthy relationship between the betrothed couple. No, envy was beginning to take hold of her. She wanted what Lazuli had. A caring family, a seat of power, a man willing to marry her. Zvezdana wanted every single bit of it and much more. She watched what transpired between the couple. Clearly, Lazuli was not the best match for Veljorn. She was quick with her words. Lazuli had taken the attention off of herself and put it squarely onto Zvezdana’s presence.

“As Baroness Warrick stated, I am Lady Zvezdana Venora. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Duke Warrick. Lord Burhan.”

Stupid girl. Have I taught you nothing? Why don’t you give him to me on a silver platter? It might be easier than you fumbling about as you are.

Probably would have been slightly neater too. Lazuli had been quick with her words, but was even quicker with her step as she hauled herself away to her next competition. Duchess Warrick followed after her, but Zvezdana paid little head as their party became smaller. Her eyes were fixated on Veljorn. He had a strong jaw, dark waves of hair, and something about him exuded dominance. All of it made her thirst for him. Before long, even Vivian had left them. Rafael was a ghost in her presence.

“May I fill a mug for you Lord Burhan? Please, follow me.” Zvezdana purred, her words honeyed with manipulative experience. She did not take his hand, or suggest that he was bound to follow him. She just assumed he would. After all, men follow a nice piece of tail.

She made it to a table where servants were pouring cold mugs of ale from a barrel of special brew for the main family. Zvezdana waved the young girl away from the barrel, filling a mug up herself. It had more foam than a practiced bar made would have poured, but it was still alcohol in a cup. What more could he want. She turned to offer it to Lord Burhan, whom took it without a word really. They just made eye contact now and then when Zvezdana felt the timing was appropriate to lift her eyes to him. It was all about timing. How long she held his gaze before “shyly” dropping hers was all a matter of technique. If she held it too long, she was aggressive. Too little, and she became as meek as Lazuli.

”Since Baroness Warrick did not gift you with a token for the tournament, I hope you will take one from me,” Zvezdana tittered, adding a pause here and there to make it seem like she was a bit timid about the request. She reached into her dressed, pulling the hem of her bodice aside to reveal more pale, soft flesh of her bosom. She trailed her finger nails over her skin before latching on to a pink corner. She pulled out a pale pink, satin handkerchief. Embroidered onto it was the golden rose of House Venora. ”I want to give you a little luck. Will you wear this when you ride in the joust?”

Zvezdana was such a conniving little viper indeed.

[Griffin]

G R I F F I N

"Thank you," Lazuli acknowledged, "I should get to the arena and participate in the final round. This is Zvezdana, Lady Zvezdana of House Venora," she smiled at the woman, if it meant she could look anywhere but into Veljorn's eyes, it was a welcomed distraction, "and my cousins Vivian and Rafael," Lazuli added before moving to pick up her crossbow.

“A pleasure, my Lady” Veljorn nodded a farewell paused until Lazuli had taken her leave and finally returned his attention to Victor who looked like a cat who had gotten into the butter.
“My lady Zvezdana, but of course the vines of Venora produce the prettiest roses,” Victor offered the lady Venora an elaborate bow whilst Veljorn looked on. His expression hard to determine. Both men nodded a polite farewell as the dark-haired Warrick also took her leave.
“Perhaps she was frightened off by the lad here,” a sly onlooker interrupted which caused Victor to burst into a bought of loud laughter. He was not a man who lived by half-measures.
“I think it would take more to worry a Skyrider,” Veljorn returned with a faint hint of a smile. It was then that the Venora claimed his attention.
“May I fill a mug for you Lord Burhan? Please, follow me.”

The Barons exchanged a look before Veljorn followed, stalking silent at the woman’s heels as Victor turned on the youngest Warrick, “lost your fight young, pup?” He rested a large hand on Rafael’s shoulder, “well don’t watch your cousin if you want to keep you pride. I’ve bet a silver nel for her to best Genevive, and Genny is damn good…damn good,” he trailed into a mutter and guided the young man to the edge of the box.
It was fair to say the crowd wasn’t necessarily behind the Warrick. The largest gathering was intent on watching the ranged display. Victor cheered Lazuli’s deliberate shot, before joining the rest of the company in a bought of laughter at Christof’s self-disqualification. Beckoning a steward he requested that the pig be served at his table that evening. His pale gaze fixed on the retreating shape of his niece through the crowd. Leaning forward he locked eyes with Isabel. Lazuli would need to be retrieved, she would have to stand after the joust and receive her prize. It was only fitting.

The mid-day sun almost reached its zenith and the crowd beyond the main stand bayed for blood. Chanting a single word ‘Gray, Gray, Gray!’ The steward who handed the man water retreated with respect and admiration for the man, “your final fight will be with Lady Warrick,” he explained before retreating and allowing the sandy-haired man to rest.

Vivian was beckoned back towards the stands by Victor who looked her over with a serious eye “well I won gold on your success today, niece, but your next competitor is tipped to win the unarmed combat also. Save your strength in the joust if I were you,” he offered his advice and meant well.

***

Veljorn accepted the mug with an amused smirk, eyes travelling as directed by the coy lady as she retrieved her favour and offered it to him. He accepted the token with care, expression considerate of their position, the crowds and his impending wedding to the Lady of the hour. A woman he heard through travelling gossip had already fled the field.

“I want to give you a little luck. Will you wear this when you ride in the joust?”

“Perhaps,” he took a sip of the foam before setting it oneside, “a little luck is better than none,” and with that the token was accepted and slipped into a pocket. The man collected the beauty’s hand, turned it palm up and bestowed her wrist with a kiss, “but armor would serve me better, and I need to change,” it was with a grin that he took his leave and departed.

***

The joust began with thunderous applause. James O’Cain had won the melee competition of blunt instruments with an enormous Warhammer, but not without cost. A wrenched shoulder had meant he was unable to hold a lance and therefore withdrew from the lists. Perhaps the event was to be unlucky as a second competitor also withdrew, Genevive Allanach claiming she no longer wished to partake. She was booed from the field as she took her bow in front of the box and walked away stiffly. Jeered with shouts that she simply hadn’t wanted to lose to Vivian Warrick twice in one morning. Her departure left Vivian to advance unchallenged.
Victor Warrick fared well, managing to score two of three hits on Nikolas Petrov, a man who was even larger and fairer haired than the Warrick Baron. However, in the third and final charge, it was Victor who was unhorsed and landed with an almighty thud in the hard dirt of the arena to hisses of sympathetic pain from the gathered crowds. He stood, bowed and made his exit limping and glad to get back out of the plate metal. Rejoining the box in time to see Veljorn thundering down the lists against Stephen Denril.
Veljorn on the large ink-coloured charged seemed to destroy the smaller mans’s confidence with the first strike. He won the match with ease and simple scores, striking his opponent thrice in the shield. Critically perfect in his execution of the blows and with the horse barely breaking a sweat as it turned and Veljorn dismounted. What seemed like a crowd of Burhan blue surrounding him like a sea. His armor was dark, also tinged with familial colours in the black toned and beautifully detailed metal.
Debris was cleared and all eyes turned to the young Warrick Skyrider, mounted upon her horse.
Nikolas was an imposing man, nearly seven feet tall and with a pale golden horse to match his colouring and his height. The horse stamped excited feet, the steward lifted the white flag and the charge began. The audience held it’s breath...

[Vivian Shiryu]

Vivian was getting helped into the plate armor her family was loaning her for the joust when her uncle called her over. Walking over to him, albeit rather more stiffly than usual due to the unfamiliar weight of the armor, she inclined her head in recognition of his advice. "I intend to do so, uncle. I do plan to win the joust, but it's sort of along the lines of that time when I was eight that I planned to sneak two platefuls of sweets out of the family kitchens during a party. I'm not used to wearing heavy armor and I haven't been in a real joust before, just a few practice matches when I younger." she said, grimacing before she went back to letting servants help figure how the heavy plate went on.

When the time came, the young skyrider was seated on a nervous Speckle and fiddling with equipment that was only slightly less alien to her than the deck of warship, if admittedly less frightening. Her opponent, however, was definitely an imposing sort, as both him and his warhorse dwarfed Vivian and Speckle. "Oh, this will be fun." she said, grimacing as the flag was raised. Kneeing Speckle into a gallop, Vivian got her lance and shield in place well enough, but it wasn't enough resist the massive amount of force Nikolas hit her with and Vivian knocked cleanly out of her saddle, the match coming to an immediate end.

Fortunately, the only injuries she sustained were a noticeable headache and a blow to her overly inflated ego that would quickly heal. Letting one of the servants help her, Vivian worked her shoulders than listened as it was announced that she would be jousting against Veljorn pretty much immediately. "Excellent. Let's see how good this one is." she purred, walking back over to her horse and hauling herself into the saddle as her shield and a fresh lance were recovered for her.

Nudging Speckle back into the list despite the mare's resistance to the idea, Vivian looked at Veljorn. His armor was good and he had won his match quite handily. She figured she was in for a second loss, but she would give it her best regardless. The flag was raised and both nobles spurred their mounts into a gallop. The first past showed the difference their skills, as Veljorn landed a solid hit on her shield while she missed. The second pass was much of the same. The third was almost a formality, but this point Vivian had started to realize how this whole thing worked. Gritting her teeth, the Warrick Skyrider set her lance and aimed squarely at Veljorn's shield. This time she was able to score a hit, her only point in the joust, but so was Veljorn and the match was done, her opponent declared the winner. After the announcement of his victory, she took off her helmet and nudged her horse close to the other noble.

"See that you protect my cousin with the same skill, Veljorn Burhan. If I find you've allowed her to come to harm, our next meeting will not be so cordial." she said, her tone haughty and cold, before she looked over at Nikolas. "And I wish you luck with that one. He hits like a smith's hammer on a recalcitrant piece of metal." she said before nudging her horse over to the side where she could get out of the damned plate armor.

[Griffin]

G R I F F I N

The Baron fixed his gaze on the Skyrider, hand smoothing down the neck of his steed.
“My thanks for your advice,” a rare smile pulled at his expression as he studied her with respect. She’d learnt quickly and adjusted to the tournament well; “you rode well My Lady Warrick, I might even consider your talents wasted with the Skyriders,” it was then that he offered a polite bow and nudged his horse back to the starting line.
The edges of the jousting field were lined with row upon row of eager faces. People jostling for a better view, children sneaking through legs to set on the edge of the grass. The shouts of food and drink for sale had diminished and left only the excited euphoria of the people, waiting for the final bought and the Joust to be settled.
Nikolas and Veljorn took up their opposing sides, the Baron in Burhan blue and with a surprising amount of followers waving flags amongst the populace. The tall man with a green banner, however did not seem perturbed by the rising cheer of ‘Veljorn! Veljorn!” That made the platform shudder. Feet stamped the hard dry ground and softened it. Soon it would be mud, all the grass stripped away from the borders of the pitch.
Riders adjusted the grip of their lance and horses turned towards one another. In a thunder of hooves and flying turf, they charged. Lances levelled across the lists and smashed in a spray of splinters. A fair point to either man, that left Veljorn flexing the fingers of his shield arm, and Nikolas calm, sat like a stone on a river bed. The larger man would be hard to unhorse and he carried his weight low.
They readied and ran again, with the same result. Lances shattering on either shield as horses galloped past. In the rising heat of the day, sweat coated their fur and left them panting. Veljorn ran fingers over the favour, tucked into the neck of his chest plate. Considering his options. Another straight run would leave the tournament in a draw, a stalemate to be settled by a dangerous fourth pass. His visor snapped once more into place. His planned maneuver was a risk, but it was to be all or nothing.
The crowd had turned silent, watching with held breathe as the horses charged for a final time. The lances crashed, but Veljorn had risen in his stirrups. If Nikolas had noticed in time, he would have been an easy target and the unseating would have been violent. However, the Baron measure his attack and the advantage of height allowed him to shift the balance of the tall man, forcing him from his saddle to roll with a groan in the dirt. The crowd erupted in cheers and it was with a grin that the victor cast aside the lance and turned, circling around the ring in a lap of victory. Passing before the platform of nobles, he scanned the faces, taking note of who had remained and more importantly, who was absent from his victory.
Grinning like a fool, it was Victor who bade him remove his helmet. Veljorn obeyed, turned to bow, still upon his horse to the crowd. A pouch of gold then thrown down to him and caught easily in one hand.
The Joust complete, the man withdrew from the cleared field. A pouch of silver was passed to Nikolas who limped towards the platform to collect it, and finally a pouch of copper set aside for Vivian.
As the crowd settled, eyes returned to the field once more, in anticipation of the final event. The sword match between Lady Warrick, who had ridden to valiantly in the joust, and the man they called Gray. Cheers and whistles followed the man onto the pitch. His previous matches had made him a favourite of the crowd. But the Lady had gained their respect and she found a few followers and more than a few admirers who called out from the rows of people.

[Rafael Warrick]

21st Ymiden 716

Rafael met Vivian's cold, clipped reply with a stifled chuckle. Out of the whole bunch of them, Vivian was by far the easiest to egg on. "Dream on..." he managed to whisper into her ear before they all stood to greet Veljorn. He took notice of uncle Victor's warning gaze and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks to avoid bursting into laughter. There wasn't anything particularly funny about the situation. If anything, it was all dreadfully serious. Yet that was precisely what amused him so. The mere fact that his uncle expected him to cause a ruckus made him feel proud in a twisted sort of way. In the end, he managed to keep his composure and let all the formalities pass without any trouble. He bowed and smiled when expected to do so, but secretly shot glances at Veljorn in the meantime.

He looked tough. Warrior material for sure. Not all that handsome though. More gruff-like and hardened, though he supposed that could be considered attractive by some. He wondered how much Lazuli actually wanted this marriage. It wasn't his business to ask and she didn't really have much of a say in the matter...but still.

After Lazuli had excused herself, Rafael relaxed somewhat. Some onlooker commented on him having chased his cousin away, which seemed to amuse Victor far more than it should. Veljorn's comment stung. More?. That was a backhanded way for the Burhan to say that he didn't think too much of the youngest Warrick.

Rafael gave Veljorn a hard stare. At times like these he wished to have been blessed with a sharp tongue. But no rebuttal came to mind. There was no other option but to accept the mockery with a feigned smile.

For a brief moment he considered that Veljorn went with Lady Venora a little too easily. She seemed eager to talk to him and Veljorn succumbed fast. But before Rafael could think much more of it, he felt the considerable weight of Victor's hand on his shoulder.

"Nah. I let her win," he joked half-heartedly before shrugging. "Pups grow, you know." Still he wished he'd won. Then at least Victor and Veljorn would be less inclined to mock his youth.

He really, really hoped Vivian wouldn't win against Genevive. Victor's remark that "Genny" was damn good gave him some hope that he'd be able to keep his pride. Unfortunately, his uptight cousin won. Unwilling to grant her the pleasure of rubbing her victory in his face, Rafael snuck away from Victor at the earliest opportunity. Besides, he was more than a little curious what Lady Venora and Lord I-expected-more were up to.

He caught a glance of Veljorn accepting something from Lady Venora, though he couldn't tell what it was. He tried to get closer so as to better hear what the two were discussing, but unfortunately their conversation ended before he could eavesdrop on it. With Veljorn away to impress the crowd and his soon-to-be-wife, Rafael seized his change to stalk after Lady Venora.

As soon as the chance presented itself, Rafael caught up with the frightfully handsome woman, but not to drool over her. Not this time. "What did you give him?" he asked with the elegance of a brick. "Aside from a drink, I mean," he added venomously.

[Vincent D'Ordyn]

As the jousts finally drew to a close and Veljorn was named winner Gray made his way to the gate, where he was greeted by the same House Warrick steward that had assisted him on the previous match.

"Master Gray." The young man said with a slight bow of his head. "I am, again, here to assist you with whatever you may need before your duel with Sergeant Warrick." He continued, offering a had out for anything Gray may want to entrust to him.

For a moment Gray stared at the young man's hand before nodding and, again, undoing his cloak and handing it over to the young steward. Taking a final pull from the borrowed waterskin, he handed that over too and with a small nod turned and headed onto the grounds. As he made his way closed to the center he tested his bladed in their sheathes. Pulling them loose a few inches before letting them fall gently back into place.

When Gray finally reached the center of the grounds, he simply stood and waited for his opponent to set up across from him.

[Vivian Shiryu]

Vivian had watched Veljorn joust and admitted that the man was quite good. She accepted her prize for third gracefully, then left to go prepare for the final round of the blades tournament. She had been doing well so far, but she figured her opponent was liable to be just as good as she was. She looked over her armor for any rents in the hardened black leather, grateful to find none, and her sword was, of course, still in perfect condition. Satisfied, she took a drink from her waterskin and walked out onto the field.

As she walked out to the center of the ring, the young Skyrider loosened her rapier in her sheath and tightened the straps on her shield before she stopped in front of her opponent and grinned. "May the best warrior win." she said, her excitement clear in her voice as she rested her hand on her rapier, waiting for the signal to start.

[Vincent D'Ordyn]

As the Skyrider took her place across from Gray, he could help but notice the eagerness in her voice. Even after her defeat in the joust the you Warrick spirit still burned bright. "May the Immortal's guide us." Gray returned as they were given to signal to ready their weapons. With that Gray drew both his swords. He didn't think this was going to be a match that he could win with giving it his all. As his opponent drew hers, he made note of the long, thin blade. A rapier. Tiring her out wasn't going to be an option then, as the blade was relatively light.

As the signal to start was give Gray took the first few moments to side step his opponent. Watching how she moved with him, adjusted as he adjusted. Looking for a weakness to show itself. When nothing jump out in the first few bits, Gray decided that he wasn't going to find a flaw in her stance, and moved in to check the form of her defense.

With that Gray stepped up, and into the reach of her rapier. Swing his right hand at her left thigh, Gray ready his left blade for any kind of retaliation that might come from her rapier.

[Vivian Shiryu]

Vivian drew her rapier as soon as they received the signal to begin. She turned the same circle as Grey did, always staying directly opposite of him, waiting for his attack. When it came, she was ready. Her fighting style attempted, with some success, to blend offense and defense, and the Warrick Skyrider deflected her opponents short sword with her rapier by letting it hit her blade. She then raised her sword to throw off Grey's attack and thrust, her attack aimed for his shoulder.