(1310-04-25) A Friendly Spar
Summary: Two Valerians of Rose Sauvage encounter cousins about to spar whilst visiting The Citadel with an invitation to a debut.
RL Date: April 25th, 2018
Related: None
timeo severine tempeste desarae carenza 

The Citadel

High on a promontory on the southern peninsula of Marsilikos, the Citadel stands tall and firm against the winds whipping in from the sea. Its only approach is from the north, a set of stairs carved in a coil directly into the granite of the mount, wide enough for only two to pass shoulder to shoulder, rising to meet the single gate room between the inner and outer walls of the citadel, both of travertine, white against the dark grey bedrock that rises high over the port, studded with guardposts, each flying the billowing blue banner of Marsilikos.

Within the twin walls of the citadel the granite has been leveled into a flat rectangular surface, atop which a variety of buildings have been built. The most well-fortified of these is the great octagonal watchtower, crafted in grey granite blocks which match the terrain, rising ten stories higher than the top of the citadel itself, in the top belfry of which is kept a wide array of spyglasses, alarums and masive flags to haul aloft to warn the town below of the arrival of various ships from sea. On the other side of the courtyard are two shorter granite buildings with big bronze doors, under guard all day and all night: the Treasury and Armory, respectively, of Marsilikos. There is also a wooden barracks-building to house the troops which staff the citadel, and the bulk of the citadel floor is open and used for military drills and exercises.

The cool weather is perfect for getting in training amongst those that generally wear armor and swords out in the field. For Timeo, it allows the recently arrived Vicomte a chance to give his blade a work out. While there are many that are more for the peace and such, he's one of those that knows the neccessity of war and battle - and the scars on his forearm and hand bear witness to that.

The blade cuts through the air, heavier than the standard sword - but he appreciates the weight of it as he brings it around into a resting position, reaching over to ladel up some water from a bucket to take a drink with a long draw. There are others that are about - training and sparring, the clatter of wood and steel heavy in the air.

Blades hold a fascination for Valerians, occasionally. And yet, this Valerian may be here for other reasons today. The hood is drawn over her head to offer protection against the chilly air, and yet, a few honeyblonde curls with that hint of red tumble from the confinement, and the features are visible, fine frail sort of features. No marque would give away the status of Séverine and the young creature in her company, as their backs are hidden away beneath gowns and said cloaks, but it is the guard that follows in their wake who wears the sign of the Rose Sauvage emblazoned upon the doublet's back. Spotting the preparations for sparring, the courtesan's hand comes to rest upon Desarae's arm, and she pauses, guiding her glance over to where the Camaeline prepares for his sparring match. They have just exited from within the tower of the citadel, from an errand, or merely personal delivery of an invitation. After all, there will be a debut upcoming soon at Rose Sauvage, and the soon to debut novice is there in her company.

Although Tempeste d'Aiglemort is a recent arrival herself she has already judged not to like Marsilikos. Too pretty, the climate is too pleasant and the afternoons are filled with song and merry.

And this just won't do.

The sunny noble walks into the area following the sound of clattering steel and the prideful boasts of the men who train. It is not a smile that paints her lips, but the brooding airs of disapproval dissipate ever so slightly. She approaches the training noble with a pleased demeanor, her finger idly tracing the contours of the pommel of a nearby sword, feeling the cold touch of steel on her skin, so familiar and welcome.

"It is good to see someone has been keeping their sword-arm honed as it should be. Of course it had to be you." It is as close to a compliment as these things get from Tempeste. As she peers at the Valerians, eyeing them head to toe, before her eyes go back to Timeo.

"Enjoying Marsilikos?" Spoilers: The right answer is 'no'.

"Might we pause for a while?" Desarae asks of Séverine, her steps pulling to a halt along with the Second's. Smoke grey chiffon billows beneath the hem of the heavier wool cloak that she wears, and a hand darts to the side of her face to anchor back a capricious strand of dark hair from where it's slipped. "Though, I do not suppose that it will be as thrilling to watch as the duel in the marketplace the other evening. But still?" Bright eyes shift their attention to the woman that arrives, and she quiets for a second. "Their faces are unfamiliar to me. Are they anyone of your acquaintence?" She doesn't turn her face to Séverine as she asks the question of her, but keeps her attention instead firmly fixed upon the two Camaeline nobles.

No height quite approaches the Camaelines here, nor even a foothill. Even by Eisandine standards, the provincial capital is a bit flat. But all things being equal, the Citadel may command the finest view over the whole harbour ever since proto-Akkadians rowed up to those shores centuries beyond counting ago. Seeking the heights is no particular trouble for Carenza, and she takes the steps two at a time. Perhaps a tad unseemly for the general tastes of the court, but they can die on that hill.

Honey-gold skin is a hallmark of the House ruling the place, and she has that, and the trademark vigor to boot. Boots, as it happens, that clatter in soft patter and still when she reaches a height satisfied to grant further passage and escape from the harbour, and its inevitable noise.

Instead, for another sparring match by those entranced by steel and others — the Valerian pair — by the cutting. Whatever measure she makes of them through her serene gaze, the whole and entirety warrants a soft laugh; not unkind. Merely musing, the way one will.

"A fine day to you all." See, manners. And the most Eisandine of accents, bleeding Caerdicci rhythms and southern hymns, all in one. "Another opportunity to witness prowess with the blade? Delightful."

Maybe in Tempeste's mind that the correct answer is no, but for Timeo, the presence of the brooding woman brings a grin to his face. Amusement, or perhaps irony as he reaches out to grasp Tempeste's forearm in greeting. "I take it you haven't found a proper brooding place in this beautiful land?" he asks her with a crinkling at the corners of his eyes before releasing her.

"Are you here for reasons similar to eye? Our cousin would put out multiple feelers to seek matches between Eisande and Camlach, after all…" and that's when a new voice enters the fray, and Carenza gets a small bow of his head. "Speaking of, this is Vicomtesse de Saumur, Carenza Mereliot - she introduced me to a possible match in the heir to Comte de Florac. Carenza, this is my cousin, the Vicomtesse of Vienne, Tempeste d'Aiglemort. I suppose she will be more than willing to test my arm blade - though she knows I'm better with the glaive and polearm." there's a smirk at that.

The pair of Sauvage's are glanced towards and Timeo gives a polite nod of his head. "If she allows, you are more than welcome to observe." he offers warmly to the small trio.

"Certainly," Séverine allows towards Desarae, and after all, it was the Second who decided to pause and revel in the view of glinting steel in the first place. And yes, she straightens even a little and lets that hood drift down to release her own glimmer of gold, long and yet carefully coiffed hair that tumbles over her shoulders. A chin lifts, and an expression as confident as has ever graced the features of those of submissive canon manifests itself on her faintly frecked pale complexion. Carenza is recognized for what she is, a member of House Mereliot, and Séverine lowers herself into an effortless curtsey at the greeting. "Good day, my lady." She, too, knows the finer heights of courtesy, and the greeting is given in a soft, amiable voice. Attention shifts back to where the martial pair exchanges words, and the names that are given are noted. The Rose smiles, when Timeo invites them to watch, and thus she approaches a few steps to have a better view - pulling Desarae along and the guard following them anyway. "Thank you, my lord of Aiglemort. Séverine nó Rose Sauvage, at your service." A fine smile curves her lips, before the Second turns her look towards her novice. "And this here is Desarae Mereliot nó Rose Sauvage. It has been a while since I've been able to observe a sword fight. Desarae has bee more fortunate, in that regard."

Tempeste allows her forearm to be grasped, not minding it one bit, although her gaze does fall to Timeo's scars, which she visibly takes note of. At the grinning remark, however, the brooding woman simply tilts her head, looking right into Timeo's eyes as she responds.

"I don't get it."

She keeps staring, as if expecting him to explain it, but thankfully Carenza's presence keeps the awkward from expanding beyond that single moment. Although she dresses like a widow, in dark cloth over darker cloth, and silver highlights, Tempeste still smiles briefly at the arriving woman, giving her a curtsy.

"I am hardly a true test for a true warrior of Camlach like my cousin," she offers with a smile and speaking quite matter-of-factly. "But you are most welcome to observe." And at Severine and Desarae, "As are you."

She looks at both Roses with an added layer of curiosity, obviously taking note of their features and the way they dress. Tempeste seems to take a moment to take these mental notes before she turns at Timeo and, with an almost-smile, she picks a blade up. Something light and easy on the arms.

"Ready when you are, cousin."

Desarae carefully lowers her hood from her head, allowing the folds of it to pool about her shoulders so that the rich darkness of her hair is given a freedom of sorts. Deep as night in contrast to Séverine's gold, they make a striking pair as they walk closer and approach the small group. "It is a pleasure to meet you my lord and my lady." Her eyes slip to Carenza as she offers her own curtsey alongside Séverine's, and the smallest smile of recognition just curves the edges of her lips. "Cousin Carenza?" A tilt of her head is given, and she takes a moment to properly scrutinize the woman that she's perhaps not seen for a while, but has nevtheless overheard the introduction that Timeo made. "You were always away on your travels Carenza, but now you are here." A deepening of that smile, and then she adds as an afterthought should her cousin not recall whom she is. "I am Desarae, Monique and Armand's youngest."

"I hope we end up fairly safer than that particular action. I heard it was fought over an affection - it was not for your debut, was it?" Timeo asks Desarae with an air of amusement before his attention turns to Tempeste as he brings forth his greatsword. "Thank you for the honor, Tempeste." he offers to his cousin, though his first attack is held cautious - as if he knows that his cousin's going to come at him hellbent.

The Camlachian blade is brought around, and while he is capable of making the glancing blow against the side of Tempeste's head, he's having to quickly withdraw as she seems to be of a like mind as she comes moving in on his head in turn. "Looking to knock some sense into me?" he asks her. Better to try to keep her confused with humor. Or his version of it.

Never it is more apparent that Tempeste d'Aiglemort isn't quite all there in her head when she is asked to fight, or she takes the field 'just to watch'. Although she picks a light blade, she weights it like the noble actually wants to fight, and from that moment on, she isn't talking to the lovely courtesans and nobles around them.

"It is me that is honored, Timeo."

As the male strikes first, his blade grazes her head, and the Camlachian woman stares at her cousin with fury in her eyes. The fury was already there, she would have struck him even if he had stayed his attack, but as the man takes his sword-arm back, preparing another strike, Tempeste chases him.


She lets out a yell that is as unhinged as it is loud, and although she bites Timeo's arm with her blade, and smiles at it, it is clear they are mismatched skillwise… even if Tempeste does edge her cousin in the insane bitch department. She is grinning too, waggling her eyebrows at the stronger, faster man.

"You talk too much, Timeo."

The tip of Deserae's nose crinkles, and her face dissolves with another smile. "Would that it had been, my lord. But alas no. No such honours for me. I had not met the gentleman but five minutes before the duel began. I did hear that Lord Ghislain de Ferraut did speak some insult of Lord Belmont's sister, and that was the reason for it." She falls to silence as the two Camaelines square off with each other, and with the first clang of steel on steel excitement suffuses her face. She'd likely watch the whole thing through without commentary, but Tempeste's unholy yell has her taking a sudden step back. It's almost barbaric. "Blessed Elua!" She squints, eyes narrowing and shoulders hunching halfway to her ears. Perhaps she imagines the woman will come for her next.

If he were a normal Skaldi, or even most Camlachians, Timeo would have totally broke under Tempeste revealing that crazy side of her as she rushes in on the attack. While he takes the attack in stride, the Camlachian is taking several steps back to prepare himself for the next attack. However, it is when Tempeste speaks that draws a laugh from the Vicomte of Marilux.

"Did my ears decieve her word?
Blessed Elua,
Even as she swings her sword,
She has learned a sense of humor!"

There's that bad poetry he was rumored to have, making up a poem on the fly even as he prepares for the next attack, but the wild woman is upon him, and this time the strike is squarely against his head, and when Timeo is taking several steps back, blood trickles from the corner of his temple, before becoming a small stream that moves down the side of his face and into his neckline.

Maybe creepily enough, even if appropriate to the insanity so far, Tempeste does crack a grin at the poem aimed her way, something that makes her look like just another person who heard a joke. Timeo, however, knows how someone shot full of adrenaline and battlelust behaves, and those signs are also apparent in the Vicomtesse.

Humored, she strikes again, but this time she is just riding the wave of success, empowered by some warrior's luck that just happens to be shining on her star this day. Timeo misses, and for all his humor, Tempeste returns his poem with a powerful strike to the side of his face.


Most people have stopped to watch by now, as the brooding Aiglemort gives her cousin gash to the side of his temple, before jumping back. She curses the fact her dress is on the way, and teasingly, but without any regard for whoever is watching, Tempeste touches her own face with the flat of the sword, running it downwards until her lips are coated in the blood of her cousin.

There's a sharp intake of breath and a visible wince from Desarae at that hit to the head that Tempeste delivers. "Good strike, my lady. You're doing well my lord!" she calls, her voice raised only just enough that it might offer Timeo a degree of encouragement in the face of raw fury. She rocks back on her heels and then up on her toes, her hands knotting behind her back to trap her cloak neatly in place. No flapping fabric here to distract the sparring pair. "It is a shame that my 'kerchief was not yet returned from Lord Belmont, Séverine, for I could have offered it to Lord Timeo to mop the blood from his face." A pause as steel rings out again. A frown. "I did think that he might have come to the salon to return it by now, or have sent a servant bearing it. Perhaps he was hurt worse than I thought." And then Tempeste licks her sword and words fail her.

Most would concede. The hard strike to the temple would have been enough to bring them to their senses and realize that they are in way too deep with the wild woman. Most would break and run. Or beg for forgiveness.

Timeo doesn't. He knows that Tempeste will not stop until she has been sated. Even the drawing of blood does not pause her as he watches her taste him. "Really?" he asks her with a lift of his other brow. "Don't we all taste the same to you by now, or does Skaldi blood taste different?" He's baiting her - he knows he's in trouble. And the taunts have their intended effect.

As she charges in for another strike, Timeo uses the blunted end of the greatsword to slam it hard enough into Tempeste's midsection to bruise and knock the breath out of her hopefully, even as her strike drops him to his knee with a wheezed, "Yield!"

Companions, let her be winded enough to return to normal.

Tempeste does arch her eyebrows. Deep down she knows she is being goaded, but the point of sparring isn't winning, and if she ends up bleeding all over herself, well, perfect. She charged Timeo, and the man slams his sword on her stomach!


Still, that leaves him awfully open, and in anger, she just slams her arm against the gash on his temple, turning a bad wound into something that needs medical attention. He knees, she falls on her fours, and both scions of Camlach end their practice.

Tempeste waits for a moment, breathing hard, gritting her teeth, before she eyes Desarae:

"T-Thank you, Rose." Talking is for after the fight is done, but she heard the woman's words, at least. Looking at Timeo, she grins, and nods.

Well met, cousin!

There's something about that word which Timeo speaks as he drops that has Desarae glancing to Séverine with, some might say, a bit of a twisted smile on her face. "Well that was quickly done. I wonder why they did not spar with blunted or wrapped blades so as not to draw blood. Perhaps it is just a favoured method of training by the Camaelines, and perhaps that is why they are the fiercest of Terre d'Ange's fighters. I should ask. But not now. I imagine that we are already late as it is." The hood is drawn up carefully to cover her head once more, but not so far that it shadows her face. She needs to see and be seen after all.

There's a few huffs of breath as Timeo tries to regain his senses. Tempeste has done her best to add another scar to his already impressive collection of marks that adorn him. Gripping the woman's shoulder, his squeeze is one of famille affection that is shared between those that share in the defense of the land.

"You carry your name well." he manages, before pushing himself to his feet to offer his hand to her. "I should get my head looked at, but perhaps later, we shall meet again and discuss your presence here and plans for the future." As he notices the pair of Roses that are preparing to leave, Timeo offers the pair a small bow and a pained, if genuine smile. "I hope you found the entertainment appeasing." he doesn't know of which canon they are, but if they are of either, they most likely enjoyed the show of force either way.

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