(1310-09-14) Marsilikos Tournament: The Joust
Summary: The jousting competition of the Marsilikos Tournament
RL Date: Fri Sep 14, 2018
Related: Marsilikos Tournament
ailene ashton audrialla cyriel delilah desarae drake edmund etalon foulque isabelle isla matthieu olivia thibault zephyrine 

Tournament Field — Eisandine Countryside

The wind billows pennants and banners as far as the eye can see, here. The terrain is generally flat, with some signs that areas of the plain might have been built up to help flatten it— one corner in particular overlooks a steep downward hill. The plain is partitioned off by fences into walkways and competition grounds, and in the middle of each set of fences feet have long worn away the grass, leaving the centers of each area naught but earth and dust, all the better not to accidentally trod in a hole and break oneself.

On the western edge of the field a huge mass of stands has been erected out of fresh beams of wood, all redolent of pine and of cedar, nailed in place with giant iron stakes and sturdy enough to stand firm below the mass of humanity which moves onto and off of it every day during the tournament competitions. Opposite the stands are the brightly colored pavilia, each with its banner waving overhead, where the competitors of each family might store equipment, rest and prepare. In the middle of the pavilia is a raised stand where the Duchesse, her family, and invited VIPs may sit under a canopy of their own and watch the games from closer to the action.


The time has come for the the most traditional of knightly disciplines, the joust competition, to take place on the tournament field. And so benches and boxes are filled with high nobiity, clad in their fine dresses and doublets and breeches, the ladies wearing their hair in courtly fashion. Of course, such a gathering of refinement needs their own staff that attends to them, having fine wines at the ready to offer refills of goblets. Along with it will go the usual fine pastries, and special delicacies provided by the local baker, Mademoiselle Audrialla.

Those competing have had their tents and pavilions erected beside the tourney field, and there are banners of great houses such as Mereliot, Rousse, but also Camaeline Houses such as Ferraut and Montchapetre, among others. There have been already a couple of tilts, the first rounds having narrowed down the field to a final eight. The crowd had cheered with each lance splintering, and there had also been an instant unhorsing of a lord of House Tremaine, that had caused quite an uproar.

The field is being cleared at the moment from the last shards of lances and a battered shield, as people begin to prepare for the next round.

Duchesse Armandine Mereliot watches the proceedings from her Ducal Box, amidst her ladies. She glances towards the Duc de Valliers who sits close by, "An excellent tournament, is it not? But then again, you must have more impressive tournaments happening in Camlach."

Audrialla hovers near her dessert table, as always ready to serve the perfect treat to the genteel of the city. Her golden hair is crowned by the ivy wreath she won in the Axe Throwing completion. Skilled with knives and apparently axes too. She waits excitedly to see the tourney riders in their finery.

The joust! It's simply the biggest crowd pleasers of the tournament with the grandeur of its tradition, and the favourite of many of those that flock to the tournament grounds to cheer the competitors that'll be entering today. Amongst those arriving is the diminutive figure of Desarae Mereliot, figure neatly contained within a gown of rich copper silk that pays homage to the changing of the season, her hair for once swept back from her face, constrained with matching tortoiseshell combs that flash with polished amber. The dark-haired young woman keeps company today with one of her Kusheline cousins, and her arm is tucked firmly through that of Ashton de Morhban's as he assists her to navigate the churned up grounds around the perimeter of the jousting arena. "But sincerely, cousin, who am I to give my favour to today if you yourself are not entering?" There's a teasing complaint in her voice for the situation that she sadly finds herself in, and she flicks the ribbon that's still unbestowed so that it flutters against the side of his face. "Perhaps you could pretend to know how to tilt at an opponent. It'd please me immensely!"

It's down to the final eight and despite not being at full strength, Matthieu de Rocaille has managed to make his way there. As the broken lances are being cleared, he keeps himself hunkered down on a bench, broad shoulders curved inward and a waterskin in hand. His breastplate has been removed while he waits, left in just his linen shirt, white-gold hair darkened to silver by sweat, and plastered on his forehead. As the clamor rises around him, his thoughts appear to be elsewhere for the time being, pale eyes and their silver filaments turned to the ground…until a towel drops over his head, deposited there by the dark-haired, gray-clad figure of his Cassiline. It coaxes him to lift his head, face momentarily covered by it, before he tugs it off him and furrows his brows at his friend inquisitively. With the rise of another wave of cheering for the present contestants, whatever conversation the two men are having are thus drowned out.

A solitary figure in white sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the more fashionable colours that have taken a seat in the stands today. It's Olivia d'Albert nó Rose Sauvage, Second of the Alyssum's of the salon of that name. She sits quietly with her hands knotted in her lap, her eyes straining towards the lists in search of a certain someone, and her veils flutter gently about her head, trapped to her hair by a circlet of silver and a delicate floral clip. Unlike others that might be eagerly anticipating the event, anxiety emanates in waves from her, and the pastry that she'd earlier bought from Audrialla's stall is left untouched beneath her hands. "He'll be fine," her companion says quietly to her, giving a pat of his hand to her arm.

"Well! This is exciting. I don't even remember the last time I've attended one of these." Isabelle's cheerful words accompany her sweep into the stands, directed towards her companion - a relatively new acquaintance that she has managed to strike a conversation with in one of the most glorious of tournament traditions: pre-drinking at the local watering hole. "So you say you're an opera singer? For L'Opera Marsilikos then or some other outfit? I've not had an opportunity to attend the most recent productions, mind, but I heard that the latest - Les Travailleurs, I believe? Has this particularly well-done sequence in which the protagonist and his crew fights a giant octopus. If that's true, I'll most definitely have to see it." After a considering pause, she angles a mischievous look towards Etalon's way. "And if you're singing the part of the octopus, then I'll most definitely have to attend!"

Drake Rousse has a girl to impress. It can be the only reason the young dragon signed up for riding in the joust despite having little clue what he's doing. He's taken a few quick lessons in how to wield a polearm and strike a blow. It's served him surprisingly well in his first rounds and he's made it to the grand finale. His horse covered in the blood-red colour of his house, he himself in splendid red-gold armour. While he waits to be called again, his eyes waner across the stands, looking out for someone.

A very short woman may be found in the stands of commoners and her curious dark eyes observe the event with a high amusement. Even if majority of the people around her are way taller, Delilah still managed to win one of the best places to watch the joust. Maybe it's her status within common folk, or maybe her connections, or maybe her proud posture made people give her a way. They also seem to have some respect to the woman and interact with her gladly during the breaks. A loud laugh as well as whispers can be heard from her side, when Madame L'Amour Méchant interacts with her companions.

While Delilah's gorgeous dark brown sleeveless gown seems to be worn for many times, it still has a unique look and fits to Delilah well. Her dress features a built-in sweetheart corset that creates the ideal hourglass figure. The overbust corset is made from subtly striped brown brocade decorated with draped chains on the bust and ornate buckled straps along the waist. Flowing naturally from the bodice, shimmering brown satin forms the skirt, which ruches high in the front for a dramatic look, revealing milky chocolate skin of her flawless legs up to the knee. Her slippers are quite simple but she does have a small brass bracelet wrapped around her ankle. It twinkles every time a woman walks and every time the rays of sun catches the metal. "I believe that this lord Matthieu de Rocaille will come out victorious," she states to one of her friends who nods in agreement.

Foulque Shahrizai walks onto the jousting field, after a good showing in the sword competition, the tall, silver haired man will be trying his luck with lances. His armor is pure black and shiny, his long hair flowing down his back, since his squire is carrying his helmet for now. Seeing Audrialla, he makes his way to the stand and asks. "Good day to you, mademoiselle, you would not have any honey sweets, would you?"

Ailene enters the grounds along with her faithful and handsome guard, Cyrille. She looks over to the field, eyes searching for someone. Cyrille breaks her concentration, however, nudging her to find a seat. She nods, distracted, but takes her eyes away just long enough to find somewhere to sit and watch. Spying Isabelle, she grins and heads her way, plopping down next to her. "Good day, Lady Isa!" she greets her and also passes a smile to her companion. "Hello there." she says to Etalon. "Who are you favoring today?" she asks chirps happily. "I am here for Lord Thibault again." she says, blushing prettily and giggling. Cyrille rolls his eyes and sits down next to his charge.

Edmund is sitting before the pavilion erected for his house near the tournament field. Unlike some of the other competitors he's elected to remain dressed in his breastplate, so a servant stands nearby ready to assist him in standing when the time comes, and if necessary. The servant is dressed in the black and gold livery of house Shahrizai. Presently both remain quiet however, observing the preparations for the next round of the tournament.

This time not late and at the last possible moment the tall Valliers noble struts into the tournament grounds, making her way to the Valliers area. As is normal for Zephyrine she shows little by the way of expression and walks with the grace of a soldier. She lacks her sword for the moment and is dressed suitably for a joust. Whether it is to take part or not is unclear given she rarely doesn't have some sort of armor on. tHe stoic noblewoman, for the moment, lacks her two difficult companions.

Audrialla seems a little nervous that the Alyssum woman isn't eating the pastry. But she forgets all about it as Foulque steps up to her, silver and Black and shiny. "Oh of course. Honey dipped fried dough, with a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar," she offers, presenting a small bowl of them.

Foulque hands over a few coins, then smiles. "Thank you, mademoiselle.." he takes one of the little fried delicacies, munching on it, then wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. "Thank you so much, I needed something sweet, now wish me luck in the joust.." he beams brightly and watches his large black stallion prance a bit impatiently as his squire leads the large beast.

Thibault is standing off to one side of the jousting field as it is being cleared from the latest round of riders competing and prepared for the next stage of the joust. He has been watching intently as the other competitors have been eliminated one by one, leaving only himself and five others in the competition. He has removed his armor to take a closer look at his injuries from the Grand Melee some days earlier, but clearly has deemed everything to be fine to proceed as he starts donning it once more with the help of a younger boy looking to be in his early teens. He removes something from the hilt of a broken lance and attaches it to the hilt of a new lance, getting ready for when he is called up, looking up to the stands shortly to search the crowd. A smile shortly breaks his otherwise determined expression as he sees Ailene arriving, before turning his attention back to the competition in full.

Only eight contestants are left, and they are standing somewhere to the side, their horses close by, and some attendant preparing lances for the tilts.

"PEOPLE!!" That was the herald, bellowing out to gain the crowd's attention. "…of Marsilikos! We have only eight competitors left, and yet, it is a long way to determine the winner. Long and painful. I am talking about getting a lance shoved against you, and a fall from a horse! We are talking about risks here, people, and yet… these here are willing to take them!" A pause as he inhales for the announcement, "I call to the field Lord Matthieu de Rocaille. He is to face Thibault Charlot. Drake Rousse will compete against Foulque Shahrizai." He clears his throat. "After those, please prepare, Lady Zephyrine Valliers, as you will ride against Lord Edmund Shahrizai. And Lord Serafin Ferraut will face Lord Guisbert Bretel. Wait for my sign though…"

Audrialla nods at Foulque and curtsies. "Companions guide your hand, my lord. Ride well," she wishes him with a brilliant smile. "May you best the Rousse!"

The red-haired Trevalion's greeting earns her a wave from the designer. "I see your champion has acquitted himself well yet again, Lady Ailene!" Isabelle calls out from across the seats. "I shall pin my hopes on him also!"

Drake totally did not hear Audrialla. He just hears the foreign name of his opponent and smirks at his squire. "Never know where you're at with them foreigners.", he comments while he's being helped back into the saddle. "Well, I'll show him the business end of my lance." He lowers his helmet back over his head, accepts the lance and rides out into the field to await his opponent.

Foulque smiles as he hears his name called, then takes the wineskin his squire hands him, taking a long drink from the pale, golden wine to wash down the sweetness of the honey cakes, then he puts on his helmet and mounts up, leading his horse towards the lists, where he selects a lance, holding it raised upwards for now, in salute to the ducal box. He makes his horse dance a bit to get him warmed up.

Cyriel has come down to the sidelines, to offer his cousin a few words of encouragement. "You have made it this far, Thibault. Be careful.", he murmurs to the younger Charlot, pale blue eyes glancing to where Matthieu is preparing. "He is older. Has more experience. But there is something about him… he is not at ease. Aim to unhorse."

Edmund raises his head at the sound of the Shahrizai name, but it is Foulque that is called to the field first. Nodding later as his own name is called for the second set he glances back and motions his servant forward to assist him up in preparation. A squire stands by with his black horse, and a lance at the ready. Edmund takes the few paces over there to join them, brushing the neck of his horse and nodding to the squire that it is almost time to mount.

Ailene giggles to Isa and nods, then looks out to the field once more. She sees Thibault's smile and flutters her lashes at him, blowing him a kiss. When the herald speaks, though, her eyes go wide. "He is facing Lord Matthieu." she murmurs and shakes her head. She peers over to the Rocallie nobleman. Seeing Gabriel with him, she sticks out her tongue at the Cassiline. "Hey Cyrille." she tells her guard. "There is Madamoiselle Audrialla." she tells him. "Go and get me some raspberry tarts to eat while I watch." she tells him. "Get a couple of extra and give them to Gabriel on your way back." she adds. The guard sighs and nods, then goes to get the tarts.

Oh look, a name is announced that Desarae knows for a fact wore no favour about his wrist. As she settles with Ashton within the ducal stand, she beckons a young servant over and hands him her ribbon. "Take that to Lord Edmund Shahrizai and tell him that it would please the Lady Desarae Mereliot for him wear it if has the favour of no other." She looks rather pleased with herself as the lad runs off, and she turns to accept a glass of red wine from one of the servers that waits on their group.

"I believe that Kusheline is going to win," a common man states.

"I agree. He is much younger and seems to be more focused," adds another man and leans forward pressing a slimmer and shorter friend of his with a large belly to the side of the stands.

"Ouch! Watch what you are doing!" That small man grumps but nods, "I agree that Kusheline lord will win."

Delilah laughs. "Okay, guys, let's bet!" She offers to a large group of her companions. "I believe that Lord Matthieu de Rocaille will win this. If I am right, then you all pay me 10 silver coins each. If he loses, then I will provide a discount for drinks and girls at my establishment!" She laughs. The man burst in laughter as well and eagerly nods.

/This/ Ashton clearly takes heed of and he gives Desarae a tired look and a sigh, "Do not encourage /them/, cousin, it's cruel." Though something about the giving of the favor to the Shahrizai has the Morhban grinning faintly as he relaxes with Des and sips his own wine. "I have a new painting you should see."

His armor re-strapped and securely, Matthieu hands his waterskin over to Gabriel, the two men clasping hands before he releases his grip. Booted feet move towards his horse once his name is called, helmet in hand and the visor turned up. It isn't long until he's threading the reins in his hands before steering the animal towards the lists. Approaching his end, his armor and lance are simple in design, but well-made, his only embellishment an array of ribbons tied on his upper right arm, deep blue, red, gold and white, marking the colors of House Toluard's coat of arms - ostensibly in honor of the spirit of his deceased mother. He salutes the ducal box, and then his opponent - a young Charlot who outlasted him during the Grand Melee, and thus, not one to be underestimated - before slapping down his visor and prepares himself for the tilt to begin.

When he hears his name called, Thibault looks to the young squire assisting him, giving him a nod to make his gear ready. A glance is cast in the direction of his opponent for this round, the newly returned heir to Siovale. When his cousin, Cyriel, approaches, he greets him with a small nod and a small series of nods at the words spoken to him. "Thank you, I'll make sure to do that. Hopefully I can perform better than at the Grand Melee the other day." He answers, a slight annoyance on his features at the mention of the competition a few days prior. He then moves to don his helmet and mount up on the bright white horse he's been riding for the competition, making his way towards one end of the jousting field with a final nod towards his cousin.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Drake=Riding
< Foulque: Great Success (7 7 5 8 8) Drake: Good Success (4 5 8 7 6 8 2)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Drake=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Drake: Failure (6 6 5 5) Foulque: Success (1 4 2 4 7 3 6)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Matthieu=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Matthieu: Failure (1 1 5 4 4 6 2 6 1) Thibault: Good Success (2 3 2 8 2 8 3)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Solid Victory

Raspberry Tarts? Of course there are tarts. Cherry raspberry blueberry strawberry- a choice offering. She puts together a plate for the Cassiline before she's too distracted by horsies and riders with pointy sticks.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Matthieu=Riding
< Thibault: Failure (6 5 1 4) Matthieu: Success (1 2 6 2 1 1 8)
< Net Result: Matthieu wins - Marginal Victory

Foulque sees the signal from the herald and spurs his stallion on, gaining speed slowly as he couches his lance , aiming it at his opponent's shield, hearing his lance crack, and he feel Drake's lance slide along his own. At the end of the lists, he raises his cracked lance in salute…and selects a new one, preparing for another tilt.

Drake gets whacked in the chest with Foulque's lance but manages to remain in the saddle. "Bloody hell.", he mutters to himself and turns his horse around for another go, lance still intact.

Edmund is watching the current events on the tournament field when a servant arrives, it takes a bit to pull Edmund's attention from the field however. When at least the servant succeeds he explains the delivery of the favor, to which Edmund accepts slowly, and his eyes glance up to take a look at those in attendance. If he spotted her or not is unclear but he does offer a nod in case the other is looking, and fixes the ribbon to his wrist, tucking it in quite tightly so that it offers no interference.

The Heliotrope courtesan in the stands beside Isabella stands and applauds with a broad smile as he spectates. Muscled and tall he seems himself a potential for the field of faux combat, however he is renown for his skills in the opera and night court rather than a knight's court. Etalon looks to Isabella with mild excitement and then sits back down with a casual smile, his back exposed to the nobility behind him.

The herald marks go and Matthieu coaxes his stallion to run, his chestnut charger dashing along the lists to meet his opponent. Body curling forward, feet braced securely in his stirrups in anticipation of a blow that may not land, his arm lashes out in an effort to strike at Thibault but misses entirely, and narrowly endures a swipe himself. Reaching the end, he steers the horse back around for the second charge.

Ashton de Morhban leans in a bit against Desarae, his blue eyes locked onto Edmund as the other Kusheline lord looks up towards the Vicomté's cousin. He frowns.

Cyriel curses under his breath as he watches the first clash of Thibault and Matthieu in the lists. But overall, he looks to be in good spirits. After all, neither of them managed to hit home with their lance.

Cyrille, Lady Ailene's guard, purchases the tarts from Audrialla. On his way back, he stops and gives a couple to Gabriel, pointing out the red haired noblewoman in the stands. Then, he returns to her and hands her tarts to her. "Thank you." she murmurs, while keeping her gaze focused on the joust. Her eyes follow Thibault's every move as she takes a bite of a tart and chews, worry and tension written upon her face.

Olivia shakes her head. "I don't think that I can watch any more…" Her eyes are enormous, though it'd appear that her words belie her actions. Unable to look away, she watches through her fingers instead, an audible gasp escaping her as Matthieu's first pass results in a miss on both sides. "Thank goodness Lady Somerville de Toulard isn't here to witness this," she murmurs to the man at her side, hand coming from her face as they riders reach the ends of the lists and whirl to face each other again.

Furthermore, Etalon no Heliotrope offers a gregarious smile towards Isabelle, "Oh, I can sing the part of the octopus for you but I am afraid it would be a private audience. I am not in that play, sadly, as I am helping a good friend of mine write what I think will be the play of our generation. I long to sing in it. I think my role will be that of an embattled king, inured to the plight of other nations who softens in the end. And, oh, I've been around a little bit but I love the sea here and the boats and this is my home now, I think." He glances at the Duchess, biting his lower lip and clearing his throat. "I do love the sea."

As the herald gives the signal to start, Thibault and his steed starts to gain speed slowly, reaching a solid tempo before the lance is lowered , muscles tightening and leaning slightly forward into it to secure it in it's holder. He spurs his horse on to add a bit of extra speed shortly before lances meet armor, but the impact never happens as both men miss each other. The speed is lowered as he makes his way to the other end, turning around to make ready for the next attempt. A low curse is muttered from the depth of the helmet, the lock of red hair bound with a pink ribbon still hanging from the hilt of the unbroken lance.

The Cassiline's expression is an indescribable combination of relief, exasperation, affection and anticipation, dark eyes roaming over the benches to catch a glimpse of a figure in white and the way she clutches her companion's hand. There's a quiet mutter under Gabriel's breath, fingers pushing through his hair…and is distracted briefly by Cyrille's delivery. Taking the tart, his attention wanders past Olivia to Ailene, and with a lopsided smirk, tilts her a jaunty salute….and shoves the entire pastry in his mouth.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Matthieu=Riding
< Thibault: Success (8 5 2 5) Matthieu: Good Success (2 8 8 1 4 4 8)
< Net Result: Matthieu wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Drake=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Drake: Success (4 3 5 8) Foulque: Good Success (7 4 7 6 4 5 1)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Drake=Riding
< Foulque: Good Success (1 4 8 6 7) Drake: Failure (3 1 3 6 3 3 1)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Matthieu=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Matthieu: Great Success (5 6 3 7 6 8 7 6 8) Thibault: Great Success (7 8 6 8 3 1 7)
< Net Result: DRAW

Audrialla is distracted by the AMAZING jousting on the field to pay attention to any other customers. It results in a few objects getting swiped by hungry hands but she doesn't seem to mind.

"Stop glaring that way, I had to give it to someone." Desarae's notes, her voice lifting a little to compensate with the clash of lances on armor as the jousting continuees. "Besides, my ribbon complements his house colours." It's very likely that she adds insult to injury with her commentary, and there's a definite gleam of wickedness revealed in her expression as she lifts her glass for a sip of her wine. "He will win. I know it."

"It really does go with his house colors…" Ashton replies to Desarae with a faint smile and wicked gleam all his own. He looks around, "Wasn't there someone taking bets? You seem awfully confident… or drunk. I can never tell."

Ailene sees Gabriel's smirk and salute and returns it with the same. Hearing a familiar voice behind her, though, she turns and her face lights up to see her cousin Desarae. "Desarae!" she greets, also giving a nod to her companion, a man she has not yet met. "You favored someone?" she asks her, eyes twinkling merrily. "Hmm…who could it be…?" Her gaze returns to san the field. "Someone whose House colors match your ribbon…" She giggles.

"Oh?" Isabelle turns a curious eye towards Etalon. "The play of our generation, hm? Historical or pure fiction?" Sharp eyes that hardly miss anything follow his eyes towards the ducal box, though she does not remark upon it.

Foulque's lance hits Drake again and the Shahrizai, with his long hair flowing out from the back of the helmet comes to the end of the lists, needing to replace his lance again, and while does so, he lifts his visor, to take a long drink of wine again from the wineskin his squire holds up. "Ahh, that's better.." he grins, before lowering his visor down and he takes his place in the stands, charging forward for the last pass, his lance lowered, aiming at Drake's chest.

"I thought history /was/ pure fiction?" Etalon replies to Isabelle with a feigned frown. "I think 'inspired by true events' would be the most accurate description." He reaches an arm around Isabelle with a smile, somewhat flightily stating, "I should learn to joust… what is that you do, Isabelle?"

Drake's curses get more colourful when he fails to hit the other man again. Well, at least he learned -something- in Tiberium. He uses the short break to peer at the stands again, now with less longing and more relief. Then he readies for the last round to at least go out in style.

The second charge commences, and Matthieu leans forward as his horse rushes from his end of the lists. The lance levels towards Thibault by the second or third stride and his arm shoots out and drives as much strength as he can muster behind it. It manages to land a solid hit on his much younger opponent, but he manages to stay on the saddle. Expression safeguarded by his helmet and visor, he turns his horse around for the third and last tilt.

Ashton scowls for a second at Foulque's great successes and then he raises a brow and tells Des, "You know… I don't think I hate that one… Foulque? I believe he is unwed…" The last part of his comment coming out with a faint shrug as he takes up more wine. "Have any of the horses been injured?"

Thibault's head turns towards the stands shortly, lingering there for a moment, before turning to face the direction of his opponent at the other end of the field. His armored fist grips the lance tightly and if anyone was near they'd hear a low grumbling curse muttered from inside the visired helmet. Then the herald gives the signal once more, and he brings his steed into motion, the lance coming down at a slightly different angle than before, attempting to correct his aim. As the two men nears eachother again, he leans forward to thrust his lance into the shield of his opponent with as much force as he can. But alas, he misses again, his inexperience in this type of competition showing. He manages to lean to one side as Matthieu's lance impact on his armor, just enough to make him stay in his seat after a short second of regaining his balance. Another curse is muttered as the steed slows down and he continues to the other end of the fireld to turn and make ready for another go.

"You're terrible, Ashton." Desarae looks down into the glass in her hand, and offers up a sigh. "I barely drank as a novice, as you well know." She swirls the liquid around in it's glass and smiles at something that's then whispered in her ear. "I take that back, you're not terrible at all. You're incorrigible. And what has being wed to do with whether you dislike a person or not?"

"And with a single comment, a gasp was heard all through Academia!" Isabelle declares dramatically, her smile hinting at her usual good humor rising to the fore. "You ought to be a duelist instead with that kind of tongue, monsieur." There's an incline of her head at the arm draped over her shoulders before those undercurrents of bemusement show themselves again. "As for what I do, I'm an artist at heart, but an adventuress in spirit. If you mean practically however, I design clothes."

Zephyrine continues to idly watch the jousts, for the time being keeping silent. Her expression might be emotionless but she has something about her that indicates approachableness. For someone who is not intimidated by a stoic and verty tall woman.

Audrialla is clearly cheering for Foulque, as he was wise enough to buy good luck pastries from her. The baker woman realizes she's being robbed, albeit briefly, and shoots a glare at a grabby hand, smacking it harshly. She then goes back to watching the matches.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Drake=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Drake: Good Success (8 7 1 1) Foulque: Good Success (6 7 6 4 3 7 8)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Drake=Riding
< Foulque: Failure (5 1 4 6 4) Drake: Success (7 4 6 5 6 2 2)
< Net Result: Drake wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Matthieu=Riding
< Thibault: Success (7 3 3 6) Matthieu: Good Success (2 4 8 1 7 3 4)
< Net Result: Matthieu wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Matthieu=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Matthieu: Good Success (1 4 3 6 8 8 3 7 2) Thibault: Success (8 3 5 3 4 5 2)
< Net Result: Matthieu wins - Solid Victory

Ailene 's head whips around from trying to chat up her cousin and her companion back to the joust. Her eyes widen as Matthieu's lance manages to hit Thibault, but thankfully, her lord remains seated. "Go Lord Thibault!" she suddenly cries out, standing abruptly and clutching her skirts as the third pass is about to commence. She nearly drops a tart, but scrambles to save it. Waste not, want not and all that.

Ashton inhales just to sigh a phrase out to Des, "I am that." A faint nod agreeing though his smile never fades. Though he motions back to the two Shahrizai's in question and remarks of the youngest, "He has a /beard/, Desarae." As if that were all the comment one need make. Then to the elder, "And while not an heir to a Comte, this one is, after all, already a Vicomte. No waiting for power. Already in your hands. And look… utterly d'Angeline. Isn't that a rarity these days?"

Thibault spends 1 luck points on Thibault=Polearms vs Matthieu=Riding.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Matthieu=Riding
< Thibault: Good Success (8 7 7 1) Matthieu: Success (2 1 2 8 3 1 4)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Solid Victory

"I do like it when I can draw a gasp from a crowd." Etalon remarks to Isabelle with a growing smile. At her words though, the smile fades into something warmer, tinged with awe before he remarks casually, "Ah, see? There I go, falling in love again. If you ever need a companion for art or adventure or modeling clothing or costumes or long ornate evenings spent in rapture, I do hope you would not have forgotten me by that time and would recall to call upon such a humble servant of that which you have set your life towards."

At least Drake manages to survive the third round without being unhorsed as well. His lance even scratches across the other man's chest. He removes his helmet and nudges his horse to approach his opponent and offer a hand to Foulque. "Well ridden, Sir", he acknowledges and even manages a little smile.

Not the best showing, but at least he seems to have weathered the pass, and Foulque raises his visor as he gets to the end of the lists, handing over his lance and he comes over to Drake. A gauntleted hand is extended. "Likewise, my lord." The Shahrizai's grin is wide as he watches the other jousters, as if trying to see who will emerge victorious.

The third pass actually has Matthieu's lance breaking into Thibault's armor, and Thibault's lance on his. The impact is a jarring thing that has his body twisting sideways, but true to what has been observed earlier, experience has him compensating immediately despite the gnashing of teeth from the brunt of the blow. His heels press into his stirrups and he plants himself on the saddle. One hand deftly controls his horse, to prevent it from running off just in case at the force of the strike. It's hardly needed, much like its rider, this is not the chestnut's first joust and he trots towards the end of the lists for a fourth pass. He salutes his opponent, however, before doing so - Thibault may be younger, but he is doing well.

"PEOPLE!" The crowd is listening. "Lord Foulque Shahrizai proceeds to the next round.", the herald announces. "Whereas… Lord Thibault Charlot and Lord Matthieu Rocaille need to ride a fourth pass, to decide who will stay in the contest."

Olivia is on her feet as the third pass between Matthieu and Thibault ends in two shattered lances and no clear winner. She winces at the sound of the splintering wood, her shoulders hunching to her ears before she wraps her arms about her waist. "This is practically unbearable. WHY did I come here to watch?" But the answer to that would be obvious as her eyes follow intently the preparations being made for the fourth, and hopefully final, pass of the two.

Drake and his horse disappear from the tourney grounds towards the family's tents and isn't seen again for a while.

Once again the herald gives the signal and once again the heir to Siovale and the heir to Châteaugiron charge at one another. This time both of them impact each others armor hard, the tips of both lances breaking against the steel but both men managing to stay in their saddles. There is a slight winch of his posture as he makes his way towards the far end for what is very likely their final pass. He leans a bit to one side but the heavy armor blocks the movement. He makes his way to the end where he is handed a new lance, his squire quickly unfastening the small ribbon from the broken lance to re-tie it to the new one handed to the Charlot lord. He sees the salute from the other man and returns it. This is an opponent to be respected.

"Come on! Hurry up! I want to see my Shahrizai ride," Desarae says, poking at the tender parts of Ashton's ego with a very big stick. "I expect Lord Rocaille will take his heat, and I'd very much like to see how my Shahrizai and he match to each other. He sits a horse well, don't you think?" There's an uplift of her chin towards the field, and to Matthieu in particular with the last of those comments. "Apparently he suffered terribly in his captivity. It's good to see that it didn't break him, don't you think? Ashton…" a nudge to her cousin's arm. "I said, don't you think?"

Audrialla is cheeky enough to blow the Shahrizai a kiss of congratulations as his victory is announced. The baker, ivy crown in her golden brown hair, then goes back to selling her wares between the bouts. Busy woman.

With a short inhale, Ashton cants his head a bit to his cousin, Desarae, "Yours? Oh my. Does that make Foulque 'mine'? What captivity?" Though before he can get a complete answer, more or less, he pats Des's hand and stands up to approach Zephyrine with a charming, cold smile and a deeper than usual bow, "Might I make your acquaintance? Are you not in the joust as well?"

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Matthieu=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Matthieu: Good Success (6 7 8 3 5 3 2 7 5) Thibault: Good Success (5 5 3 5 3 8 7)
< Net Result: Matthieu wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Matthieu=Riding
< Thibault: Good Success (1 8 8 8) Matthieu: Failure (4 6 5 6 4 5 5)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Solid Victory

Matthieu spends 1 luck points on Reroll of Last Attacker Roll.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Matthieu=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Matthieu: Success (6 1 7 2 1 5 5 4 1) Thibault: Success (8 4 2 2 6 2 1)
< Net Result: DRAW

Isla arrives to the joust a bit late. A modest gown of pitch black silk with purple roses sewn onto the skirts is her attire for the day. The golden haired Cherevin drifts through the crowds and makes her way to where the nobles sit. Spotting Drake disappear off the field as soon as she arrives she frowns briefly but then scans the area for familiar faces as she moves to find a seat. She spots Ashton briefly and a flicker of a smile graces her lips before she settles in to watch.

Ailene is jumping up and down now, one tart in her mouth, another in her hand, as Thibault stays in the saddle. She hurriedly finishes eating the one in her mouth and starts to cheer again, her voice loud and encouraging. "Come on, My Lord Thibault!" she shouts, obviously not caring if she is not being lady like in her enthusiasm for her champion. "If you beat him, I shall give you a great big congratulatory kiss!" she calls out to him. Cyrille sighs and rolls his eyes again at his charge's words but Ailene just grins and pushes the last tart in her guard's mouth. Then, she clasps both her hands together and prays. "Please Companions." she prays. "Favor Lord Thibault today."

Ashton smiles more than normal at Isla's arrival and he motions to two empty seats near Desarae in invitation, even though he is, at the moment, attempting to engage Zephyrine in conversation.

The fourth pass is ridden, and the crowd watches, holding their breath. A cheer rises then, at the perhaps slightly unexpected outcome. "Lord Thibault Charlot proceeds to the next round," the herald announces. "Lord Edmund Shahrizai. Lady Zephyrine Valliers. Lord Serafin Ferraut. Lord Guisbert Bretel. Please prepare."

When the second round of combatants is called, Edmund turns to his squire for assistance mounting his black horse. Once up he takes a moment to settle himself, and then leans over to accept the lance from his squire and leads his horse on towards the tournament field.

"Charlot!" Cyriel is pleased if a little surprised at how well Thibault manages to hold his own against Matthieu de Rocaille. The man is definitely quite skilled, and the Vicomte de Chavagne had his doubts that Thibault would actually be able to best the Siovalese.

When Ashton approaches her the Valliers woman turns her eyes on him then offers a partial smile. It is not the most friendly one ones but it is not cold. "Lady Zephyrine de Valliers." she offers. She is about to answer Ashton when her name is heralded, "THere's your answer." A Valliers valet has gone to gather Zephyrine's horse and the beast is large, undoubtedly to match Zephyrine. IT is not really a pretty horse, it shows being used for long travels and battle. A wink is given to Ashton, "I hope you've luck to spare. It has been some time since I did more than ride and battle on my stallion." With that she turns to her horse to get on and get set up for her joust.

Ashton returns the smile but leans in to whisper just before the lady Zephyrine turns to leave. His last words are easily heard, though, "I would say 'good luck' but I imagine you need it not." Then he also states, with the offering of a kerchief of his own, "Also, if you would take my 'favor' it would allow me to tease my cousin which is, undoubtedly, why I've come to the joust at all."

As Thibault is called the winner, Olivia allows a quietly held breath to escape her lips. Anyone watching would think that she were relieved that the Rocaille had just been eliminated, and she slips from the stands and disappears in the direction of the tents from which banners fly. She'll intercept him there rather than accost him as he exits the competition.

Thibault gives another glance towards the stands when he hears his name called, bowing his head and raising his lance in the direction of the voice. His posture visibly straightens a bit from the wincing as he receives the new lance with the favor of lady Ailene now moved from the shattered lance and onto the hilt of the fresh one. He returns his gaze to that of Lord Matthieu, focusing on the man at the other end, leaning forward in his seat already before the signal is given and the horses start moving. Once the signal is called by the herald, his steed immediately starts moving, a little faster this time than in his other starts. They move towards each other and again both lances find their target, however this time it would seem that the Charlot lord hits true as his more experienced opponent reers from the impact and is almost thrown of his horse immediately, while the younger lord manages to remain securely in his seat, even if there is a loud sound escaping his helmet when the lance shatters against his armor. He continues towards the far end for another round, but then his name is called out as the victor and he leads his steed to the side for the next competitors to take to the field, after giving another salute of respect towards Matthieu.

It's the last tilt, but true to his ability to withstand a tremendous amount of punishment despite pre-existing injuries, the deciding pass has Matthieu leaning forward, lance leveling towards his younger opponent. He times his strike, and while he manages to make an impact, the young Charlot manages to break his polearm against his armor. It causes him to twist, this time the other way, but he manages to buckle once more in his seat and hold it. With the bout decided, a hand pushes up his visor, ice-and-silver eyes falling on Thibault and while most of his expression is masked by his helmet, there is no resentment, or even frustration. He gives an acknowledging nod to the young man before he spurs his horse out of the lists so the next round of riders can prepare. He is joined by a very relieved Gabriel de Montreve, who seizes the bridle.

"I hope that armor has padding," the Cassiline grouses towards his charge. "You're not going to fall on me, are you? Any broken bones? Internal hemorrhaging? You're the academic, can you remind me again which insane ancestor of ours invented this sport?"

A hand pulls off his helmet, Matthieu turning his attention to his friend, swinging his leg off one stirrup and dropping on the ground. "If I said Cassiel, would you believe me?" the ducal heir wonders.

Once on the ground, the two move off, with Gabriel lifting a warning finger and pointing at his friend. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Pause. "Blasphemer."

THe tall Valliers cants her listen to the whisper from Ashton, "A little extra luck is not refused." says te noblewoman with another ghost of a smile. THe offered favor is accepted and around her wrist on her dominant hand it is tied securely. "IT will aid me in, potentially, winning." says Zephyrine. The favor accepted and placed has Zephyrine moving to take her place.

Zephyrine's reply has the Kusheline Vicomte smiling and nodding his head low to the departing contestant. He returns to his seat with Desarae and if Isla is not already there, seeks to invite here there more cordially than before.

Isla has already made her way to the seat Ashton indicated. With a faint smile and a bow of her head for Desarae she settles into it and watches the event calmly, her eyes betraying little of what she might think. As Ashton returns she inclines her head politely. "Lord Ashton, it is lovely to see you again."

Ailene is bounding down from the stands now. She sticks to the sides of the field, staying well out of the way of the next round of jousting. Passing Cyriel, she gives him a wide, victorious smile, but doesn't stop. She makes her way to where Thibault is, resting after his victory and before his next round. "My Lord." she greets him, her face flushed and her gray-blue eyes dancing. "I have come to congratulate you for winning that round." She stands there, for he is still mounted upon his horse.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Serafin=3+3 Vs Guisbert=3+3
< Serafin: Good Success (7 7 8 3 4 3) Guisbert: Success (7 6 1 3 3 1)
< Net Result: Serafin wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Guisbert=3+3 Vs Serafin=3+3
< Guisbert: Success (2 4 5 7 2 3) Serafin: Failure (1 5 4 4 4 2)
< Net Result: Guisbert wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Edmund=riding
< Zephyrine: Good Success (6 3 7 6 1 8) Edmund: Success (4 7 1 5 5 2 4)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Good Success (6 1 7 8 6 6 7) Zephyrine: Good Success (8 8 3 2 3 4 1 3 8)
< Net Result: DRAW

"Have you met my cousin, Lady Isla?" Ashton asks the Golden Rose beside him, leaning back a bit and presenting Desarae on his other side, "Heir to Marquisate de Chavaise. And Desarae, please meet my close friend the lady Isla de Cherevin, the Golden Rose of Cherevin. She has taken an interest in my art, and I an interest in her."

Sneaks a stage whisper in to Des as well after the first round of the joust, "Oh my, what's that? My favor on the lady Zephyrine… who is winning? Fancy that." Then he sets a large stack of gold coins on a small tray between he and Desarae. "To make it interesting."

Perhaps it is the favor Zephyrine as claimed that makes her ridign and jousting put her in the place that gives her a slight lead. IT might be more she is just a season warrior that does raiding on people from her horse as much as possible. Either way, her jousting is pretty decent. Likely not as well as the seasoned sorts.

Guisbert and Serafin ride to the front of the ducal stand, both tilting their lances towards the Lady of Marsilikos before turning to head for their ends. Visors are lowered and nods are given their squires. Serafin's squire smacks the rump of the knight's horse as it jumps past him, and the two gallop towards each other, lances lowered. Lances slide of shields and armour, and the two pass each other and slide to a halt in clouds of dust and mud. "A new lance…" Guisbert mutters to his squire, throwing the one that he holds to the ground.

On the first pass the Lady scores a point with a light strike, Edmund is able to rebalance quite easily as his horse slows and begins to turn for the second pass. Before the then though he does lift his visor for a visual inspection of his person, nodding satisfied everything is still as it should be, and lowering the visor of the helm again as the two prepare for the next pass.

Audrialla is distracted by the excellent matches. Go Knights! She cheers and roars along with the crowd, no particular rider favored this time around.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Serafin=3+3 Vs Guisbert=3+3
< Serafin: Great Success (7 1 7 7 6 7) Guisbert: Success (8 6 1 5 3 4)
< Net Result: Serafin wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Guisbert=3+3 Vs Serafin=3+3
< Guisbert: Success (2 5 7 2 4 6) Serafin: Good Success (8 8 2 5 2 1)
< Net Result: Serafin wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Edmund=riding
< Zephyrine: Failure (2 1 5 3 3 2) Edmund: Good Success (1 7 3 7 4 6 5)
< Net Result: Edmund wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Failure (4 2 1 5 1 5 3) Zephyrine: Good Success (6 8 8 5 6 8 1 2 2)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

Isla offers Desarae another soft smile. "A pleasure to meet you my Lady." She glances towards the ongoing bout with a smirk as Ashton admits to handing out his favor to the woman riding against the Shahrizai. "You think your favor has the power to insure a Shahrizai defeat here my Lord Ashton? I will be curious to see if that is true." She watches the ongoing bout thoughtfully.

Desarae dips her head to Isla. "It is good to know that my cousin has found someone to appreciate his art. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Isla." A lift of one brow to Ashton. "I hold hope yet that my Shahrizai will emerge triumphant." Perhaps she's not watching the jousting too closely.

"Oh, if anything, my lady… I have my faith." Ashton remarks to Isla as he claps lightly, staring at the Shahrizai lord.

Thibault leads his horse to the side of the field where his squire is waiting in front of a small pavilion bearing the colors and symbol of his house. The broken lance is handed to the young boy who quickly moves towards where new lances are kept, clearly instructed to move the small ribbon from the now spent one as he did before, securing it to a new one and bringing it closer to where Thibault is. He keeps a bit back, though, as he sees Ailene approach, merely nodding to the lord. Thibault himself doesn't notice Ailene approaching before she is right next to him and speaking, his peripheral vision obscured by the helmet. He removes the helmet and turns his steed around a bit to better face her, offering her a wide smile before he dismounts with more than a little effort, the impacts from Matthieu clearly having hit home despite not unseating him. "Thank you, my lady. A rather unexpected turn of events, I was sure that the Lord Rocaille would be the last opponent I saw in this competition, he is very skilled at this, much more so than the others I faced before him. But then again, with such promises called out, how could I do anything but win." He offers her a wide smile before bending at the waist where the armor allows it to let her bestow the promised prize on him instead of simply claiming it.

His comment earns an appreciative laugh, brows lifting towards her hairline and a sidelong look directed towards Etalon. "Spoken with all of the eloquence and flair of a true troubadour, monsieur," Isabelle tells him, dark eyes shot with gold falling on the competitors in the field. "You'd only be the second to say such things to me, and that is enough to earn you a place in my memories. Not that there was any doubt there, however, I hardly ever forget a face to begin with. Could you imagine if I did? Nobody would ever deign to patronise my salon. But yes, I shall, in exchange for at the very least sending me a notice should this 'play of our generation' be completed, for I would very much like to see this for myself." Her attention returns to the singer once lances have been broken. "Forgive me, have I asked you on which voice do you sing? Tenor? Baritone?"

Her pass by Edmund misses and she manages to avoid being unhorsed by his second pass. The favor from Ashton flutters on Zephyrine's wrist. While she is set up to be properly armored and such for the next round she resecures the favor.

"While I have a range renown, I tend towards the Baritone. I feel I can project better in a deeper tone. I had to fight not be a bass, however. Would you mind too terribly if I invited you to the opera as my accomplice? I can introduce you to the actor playing the octopus if you like." His bold brows waggle a bit at that offer to the lady.

<FS3> Ashton rolls Intimidation: Amazing Success. (7 4 4 5 5 7 8 2 1 4 8 7 7)

Ailene 's blush grows pinker as Thibault dismounts. "I have known Lord Matthieu since I was a wee child." she murmurs to him. "Normally, I'd have cheered for him, but how could I favor another when you are competing, My Lord?" She flutters her lashes and steps close to him. When he bends, so she does not have to step upon her tiptoes, which she usually must do with him, she chuckles softly. "Now your prize." she murmurs and closes her eyes. Her lips find his as she gives her favored jousting knight a soft, lingering kiss. She doesn't seem the least bit worried that others might see, and she is no hurry to end it. After a bit, however, she reluctantly pulls back, thus ending the kiss. She then whispers something to him, and takes another ribbon, intending to tie it around his wrist. "I think you may need some extra favor for the next round, My Lord." she murmurs to him.

Guisbert and Serafin's horses leap forward once more, spurred on by the heels of their riders and the cheers of the crowds. Serafin's lance cracks upon his opponent's left shoulder, and splinters fly high in the air. A groan goes up from the Bretel contingent as it becomes clear that it will take something rather special indeed for him to snatch victory now. His visor snaps up as he rolls the shoulder that'd borne the brunt of the last pass. "Now or never…" A grunt is given as he turns his horse once more to the lists, waiting for Serafin to signal his readiness and for the flag to be dropped.

The second pass goes by with a clean miss by both parties, Edmund is shaking his head even before raising his visor as he and the horse trot and turn. He does lift the visor as they settle at the ready position, and he notes the glare offered him by Ashton as he sits near Desarae, the glare is matched for a moment, but Edmund lowers his gaze shortly after under the stare instead seeing to wrist, ensuring that the Lady's favor is tightly tucked into his sleeve as opposed to being free to flutter.

The promise of being introduced to the octopus has Isabelle turning a brilliant grin in Etalon's direction. "I would be happy to be accessory to whatever mischief you intend," she replies, for what are accomplices for? "Though I hope it doesn't backfire in any fashion on your account. Why, I might be so charmed I might very well decide to elope with the octopus, tentacles and all."

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Serafin=3+3 Vs Guisbert=3+3
< Serafin: Success (5 3 7 5 6 1) Guisbert: Good Success (4 7 8 3 3 8)
< Net Result: Guisbert wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Guisbert=3+3 Vs Serafin=3+3
< Guisbert: Good Success (7 8 4 5 8 4) Serafin: Success (5 4 3 1 1 7)
< Net Result: Guisbert wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Edmund=riding
< Zephyrine: Success (5 4 3 5 5 7) Edmund: Success (3 4 2 6 7 3 6)
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Good Success (6 7 1 6 7 6 4) Zephyrine: Success (2 4 3 5 5 1 8 5 3)
< Net Result: Edmund wins - Marginal Victory

Etalon laughs, it's a glorious sound, as if the gods themselves were coming down in a good mood to watch the joust. He nods as if in secret agreement with Isabelle. "Excellent. It's a date."

Isla looks down at Edmund critically before offering Ashton a smirk. "Well I will admit he could definitely be a better horseman. I could ride better blindfolded. But alas I must offer him at least a touch of support." Her eyes gleam with amusement as she regards Ashton's stare looming down on the Shahrizai. "You have quite the impressive presence my Lord. At this rate the weight of your stare will push him off his horse."

Edmund nods his head with satisfaction after the third pass, finally having managed to crack the Ladies defenses, even if only just. Similarly to the latter passes he lifts the visor, although this time he can't suppress a quick smirk as he glances towards the location of Ashton and Desarae. The emotion is short lived however, as the point now ties the pair, and he prepares for the fourth and deciding pass.

The tall Valliers is a stubborn soldier. There is a reason Zephyrine is a House Blade for Valliers. Though she is pushed back and nearly off her horse she manages to keep her grip and stay on. Barely. The stoic Camaeline does not give any indication to her thoughts. She simply prepares for the tie breaking round.

A cheer goes up for Serafin's victory, and he rides his horse to a spot in the crowd and tilts his lance to woman in the stands. A favour flutters from his wrist and the woman removes her crown of flowers and slips it over the end of his lance. Another roar goes up, and he wheels his horse around and sends it galloping from the field. Defeated, Guisbert nevertheless stands up in his stirrups, waving a farewell to the crowds with his hand before turning to follow in Serafin's wake. At least no bones were broken.

Ashton is forced to smile slightly at Isla's comment and he seeks to lift her hand and kiss her knuckles if she allows him such a sign of public affection. "I will leave the horsemanship to others, such as yourself. I am trying to see if there will be a day my glare might knock a man off his feet. Some day."

"PEOPLE…" The Herald shouts out once more. "Ser Seraphin wins and passes to the next round, whilst there is another draw to be decided by a fourth pass between Lord Edmund Sharizai and the Lady Zephyrine Valliers!"

From the Ducal Box, the Duc de Valliers watches, clearly pleased. He makes a remark towards the Duchesse, something about Camaelines and Kushelines, before his attention sweeps back to the field, where Zephyrine is about to engage in her fourth pass.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Edmund=riding
< Zephyrine: Success (2 8 4 5 5 3) Edmund: Success (2 4 4 8 4 6 3)
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Success (6 6 3 7 1 3 3) Zephyrine: Good Success (5 2 8 8 3 2 1 2 4)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Marginal Victory

Isla blushes as her hand is lifted but she doesn't withdraw it, allowing Ashton to kiss her knuckles as he wishes. "I hope to be there to watch, the day that happens." She favors him with a small smile and then goes back to watching the current bout rather intently.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Edmund=riding
< Zephyrine: Success (4 2 2 1 7 4) Edmund: Good Success (2 6 2 8 3 4 7)
< Net Result: Edmund wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Success (6 2 4 3 2 5 8) Zephyrine: Good Success (8 7 6 7 1 2 2 1 5)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Edmund=riding
< Zephyrine: Good Success (2 7 8 5 4 3) Edmund: Success (4 6 1 2 3 3 7)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Good Success (1 5 2 7 5 8 8) Zephyrine: Good Success (7 7 4 3 2 7 1 2 5)
< Net Result: DRAW

Ashton is clearly, very engaged in the joust at this point. "Well now… I am mightily impressed by both parties. I am glad you got me to come, darling." He offers the latter comment to Desarae as his fingers drum on the considerable pile of coins between he and his cousin on the tray. More than 2 years wages for a peasant. He looks to Isla with a charmed smile, "It is no sure thing who will win, hm?"

Thibault looks a bit surprised as Ailene speaks but the smile remains on his lips. "Really, you are acquantied with lord Matthieu? I wasn't aware. I am even more honored, knowing that you would choose to favor me over an old friend. You must introduce us sometime." He leans down to accept the kiss, only reluctantly allowing their lips to part. He watches her intently as she moves a little close and produces a second ribbon, holding out his arm for her to tie it around his wrist as she leans in for a whisper. Whatever she says, he doesn't look unhappy or disappointed at the words, quite the opposite. "Any favor from you is most appreciated, my lady, needed or not." He moves a gauntleted hand to take hers as best he can in the bulk of it, leaning down again to place a faint kiss on the knuckles before whispering something back to her. He then turns back to watch the ongoing competition for a moment, the riders competing right now seemingly matching eachother perfectly.

Edmund spends 1 luck points on Reroll Joust.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Good Success (7 8 3 1 5 1 5) Zephyrine: Success (5 1 8 2 3 1 6 4 1)
< Net Result: Edmund wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Edmund=riding
< Zephyrine: Good Success (5 2 4 5 7 8) Edmund: Failure (4 4 4 5 4 4 2)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Edmund=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Edmund: Failure (3 1 2 5 4 3 1) Zephyrine: Good Success (7 3 7 2 1 5 8 2 3)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

Ailene looks pleased by whatever Thibault had whispered to her. Her blush becomes deeper and her lips turn upwards in a very happy smile. "Then I am sure you shall do your best, My Lord." she tells him. She then stands upon her tiptoes and gives him one more, very quick, kiss upon the lips. "I shall be watching and cheering, My Lord!" she promises, her eyes lit up in excitement. She gives a wave then starts to skip pff. She pauses a few feet away to turn back and wink at him. A little feminine laugh, then she is skipping back to her seat.

The Lord Shahrizai and Lady Valliers continue the contest with neither having much luck taking the upper hand. What was to be a three pass event turns into six before the Lady finally claims victory. Edmund, perhaps tiring from the length of the match seems to ride right into the Lady's lance, taking it quite squarly in the chest, and nearly knocking him from his horse. The offending lance cracks with the solid impact, and Edmund loses a grip on his own in order to right himself on the saddle. Looking over his shoulder her raising his visor, and looks to the victor, offering her an inclination of his head before turning and heading for the tents to dismount.

The last bit of the jousting between Edmund and Zephyrine stays quite even. She keeps on her horse even when he hits her and she, likely, gets her own strikes in. One can never claim Zephyrine to be weak willed. She can be accused of being down right stubborn. The final pass between her and Edmond cracks her lance, pretty much right in half. She keeps a good hold of it until she is safely passed Edmund so he doesn't stumble over it when she drops it. Deftingly she unwinds the hankerchief to let it flutter in her hand as she turns to return to her 'camp'. She, absolutely, has expectations one of the Valliers servants will go collect up her broken lance.

Ashton stands up, applauding the lady knight and her victory. He leans over and whispers to a servant while picking up the pile of gold that was almost Desarae's and giving it to the servant. The servant leaves and approaches Edmund's servants with the considerable small fortune. He frowns to Des, "I will make this up to you, I promise." He then smiles vibrantly to Isla, "And you, my Lady Isla, would you like to come to a private showing of some of my art?"

"I'll do my best to make you proud." Thibault answers to Ailene before accepting and returning another short kiss. His eyes follows her for a moment as she makes her way back to the stands, lingering there until he returns his attention once more to the competition and calling over his squire to prepare for when next his name is called. And then his name is called. He is helped back onto his horse and handed a fresh lance before moving towards one end of the field to face off against a fellow Kusheline.

Upon seeing Edmund almost fall out of his saddle Isla lifts a hand to her lips to cover a soft laugh of mirth that threatens to spill out. She claps for the winner and favors Ashton with a warm smile. "I would be delighted my Lord Ashton. I did so enjoy the last piece you showed me." As the next riders are announced she blinks. So many of House Shahrizai here today. I'll have to cheer for this one though. Those inferior Charlot nags that they dare call horses are not fit to be in a proper joust." Isla's eyes burn with opinion and heat for just a moment before her composure returns and she smiles sweetly to Ashton. "When did you wish to arrange this art showing then my Lord?"

Foulque has been waiting, watching the jousting with interest, sipping on his wine and munching on some of the honey cakes he got from Audrialla. Now he inclines his head, and picks up his helmet, mounting up again, and he salutes Thibault, against whom he has been matched. Riding to the end of the lists, he takes another sip of wine, then hands the wineskin to his squire, picking up his lance and raising it in salute, before his visor is lowered..and he awaits the signal to charge.

The poor Herald looks rather harassed as he rises to announce the outcome of Zephyrine's and Edmund's bout. "Lady Zephyrine Valliers passes onto the next round." He motions to the lists, and waits for her crest to be hoisted alongside those of the others that had advance to the semi's. A mop of his brow. "Next up, Lord Foulque Shahrizai will ride against Lord Thibault Charlot, and Lady Zephyrine Valliers against Ser Serafin Ferraut. To the field, PLEASE!"

Ashton applauds the Charlot, his vassal house, as Thibault sizes up against Ashton's rival house member, Folque Shahrizai. Immediately he waves around idly, "I am taking bets. That the Shahrizai lays low the Charlot. It's free money for all of you, the line of Charlot horses can only be rivaled by those of…. well…" He offers a splendid smile to Isla as her comment cements his own. "You are beautiful when you are wrathful."

Edmund has just dismounted, and is in the process of having his breastplate removed outside the black and gold tent of house Shahrizai when a servant of the Morhban approaches. Despite his present mood and condition he nods the servant forward to address him as he finishes unarming, and toweling off. The latter is quite quickly exchanged for a glass of red liquid however, quite certainly wine. As the servant explains the reason for the interruption Edmund takes a moderate drink before offering the glass back to his servant. Clearing his throat before responding, "I am afraid that is quite impossible." he explains and shakes his head as further evidence of his feelings towards the offer. "It is not a matter of price, it is the sentimental value of the horse to me." he explains, and moves to run his hand up and down the neck of the beast in question. If he used this time for further consideration, it did not change his mind, because he shakes his head again as he turns back to the messenger. "I simply cannot part with it. If you will excuse me now, I must change." he explains, heading to the tent to do just that.

A glance is given to Ashton by Zephyrine as she holds the favor he gave her towards him, leaving it to him if she continues to bear it for her next match or if he intends to reclaim it. She leaves her horse just long enough to get a good stretch in. This gives time for her broken lance to be collected and a new one to be brought over. When she notes Edmund he is given a salute and a respectful dip of her head. THen Zephyrine returns to her horse to climb back on and prepare for the next round. She gives little indication if she hurts after the well matched joust with Edmund.

Desarae gives a shrug of her shoulder as the gold on the tray is claimed by her cousin. "I suppose you won fairly…" she narrows her eyes. "I think my favors must be cursed." She says no more than that, though something's troubling her, for it shows in her eyes as she turns her attention back to the tournament grounds and the assembling of the next round of jousters in the lists. "I have nobody for whom to cheer now. Who is it that you favour, Lady Isla? Perhaps I shall add my own voice to yours when they rush forth."

Ailene returns to her seat, just in time to hear Ashton's wager. She turns to him, her eyes dancing. "And I say that Lord Thibault will beat your Shahrizai." she says to the man who seems to be friends with her cousin, Desarae. Desarae gets a wide a smile, as does Isla. "The man is favored heavily by me, you see." she explains to them. "So, he might have a bit of extra luck on his side."

Isla blushes prettily at that comment from Ashton. "Thank you my Lord. I do my best to maintain my composure but there are some things that cannot help but rouse my ire. I have been told that while I may be a Golden Rose, my thorns are still quite sharp." She smiles slyly to him and turns her attention to the field once again as the next rounds are about to begin.

"Those… inferior… Charlot… nags?"

The voice comes not too far away from Isla, and it sounds a faint touch dangerous, the Kusheline accent unmistakeable. "And who might you be?" Cyriel raises a brow, as he assesses the blonde lady. "We have not met before, or the encounter was so little remarkable that I may have forgotten."

"Golden Rose?" Cyriel snorts. Amused.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Seraphin=3+3 Vs Zephyrine=riding
< Seraphin: Good Success (3 2 1 8 8 7) Zephyrine: Success (4 7 1 5 6 4 6 1 1)
< Net Result: Seraphin wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Good Success (8 5 5 1 8) Thibault: Good Success (7 3 8 8 6 2 5)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Serafin=3+3
< Zephyrine: Success (7 4 5 5 2 3) Serafin: Success (6 2 1 8 2 5)
< Net Result: DRAW

Ashton receives his servant with the response, clearly unhappy. He hands anothe rpurse to the servant and sends them on their way to politely await an audience outside the tent of Edmund de Shahrizai. Ashton's jaw muscles work idly and his blue eyes watch the joust even as his mind wanders. Finally he beckons another servant and whispers something to them. They, however, go towards the baker. At the sound of Cyriel, Ashton's smile becomes a thrilled, cruel thing and he turns to regard both Cyriel, his ally, and Isla, apparently his date. His bottom lip caught in his teeth as his blue eyes gleam with amusement.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Thibault: Success (5 8 2 1) Foulque: Success (2 3 7 3 3 3 5)
< Net Result: DRAW

Ashton says, "Ailene, a bet made, then. I wanted people to be happiest when the Charlot rider wins and taking such a bet is my act of charity today."

Seraphin is clearly buoyed up by his success, and when the herald drops the flag, his horse leaps forward. He still wears the crown of flowers about his lance placed there by his lady love, though it flies off as his lance shatters upon Zephyrine's shield. It illicits another roar of approval from the Ferraut contingent, and one of their number rushes forward to claim the flowers from the mud. The useless lance is exchanged for another, and the crown quickly replaced. "For love and honor!" he shouts, whirling around to spur his horse forward once more.

Lances crack as Foulque and Thibaut come together , but then as they ride away, it seems neither of them managed to rattle their opponent too much. Foulque raises his lance to salute Thibault's good effort, and he picks up a new lance, returning to the lists, his eyes bright behind his visor. He takes a new lance , then charges down the field, his lance couched slowly, the tip aimed at Thibault's chest.

While she is not pushed off her horse Zephyrine takes a pretty hard hit from Seraphin. Since Ashton hasn't claimed back his favor Zephyrine ahs it once again bound around her wrist. Her attack is blocked. Since this doesn't involve one of her people the Valliers does not get phased.

Thibault raises his lance in salute to his opponent who is wearing the colors of House Shahrizai, a faint smirk on his lips at the chance to face off against one of the self-claimed "old bloods", before his own visor is lowered and he settles more firmly into his saddle, preparing for when the herald gives them the signal to start. The signal is given and his lance is lowered as his steed picks up speed, resting securely in it's holder as he makes tiny corrections to his aim. As they come closer to each other his lance is thrust out in an attempt to dismount his opponent but his lance only manages to glance the armor despite the impact breaking the lance. The lance of his opponnent also slides of his own armour, he impact enough to break the tip of the lance but not enough to rattle him from his seat. He rides to the end of the field, accepting a new lance after the small ribbon had been hastily tansferred, getting ready to ride against his opponent once more.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Success (5 7 3 6 5) Thibault: Good Success (5 8 3 1 2 7 4)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Thibault: Failure (6 3 6 6) Foulque: Great Success (7 7 2 7 8 7 2)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Crushing Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Seraphin=3+3 Vs Zephyrine=riding
< Seraphin: Good Success (7 1 2 6 2 7) Zephyrine: Success (6 5 7 3 6 2 4 1 3)
< Net Result: Seraphin wins - Marginal Victory

Slowly Isla rises, turning to face the source of the voice with a venomously sweet smile and subtle narrow of her eyes. "Indeed my Lord. Surely you do not support House Charlot's desire to pawn off substandard ill trained horses on unsuspecting buyers? After all a rider is only as good as the horse that carries them and to ride a Charlot horse into battle might make it the last horse you ever ride. But surely you know that? You are Kushieline after all." She smiles once more, sweet yet with a danger laced tone. "We have not met no. I have no doubt I would remember if we had." She curtsies just low enought to be polite. "I am Isla de Cherevin, daughter of the Marquis de Cherevin." Anyone from Kusheth who listens to gossip would know that name, the Golden Rose of Cherevin they called her. The supposedly most beautiful flower in that house. And while she is quite lovely right now that loveliness is paired with a carefully controlled touch of rage. She is in full control of herself but its plain she has her opinions and will not back down from them.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Serafin=3+3
< Zephyrine: Good Success (7 7 4 3 8 2) Serafin: Good Success (7 2 3 1 5 7)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Ailene rolls Composure: Good Success. (8 7 1 3 2)

Foulque's laughter is merry as again the two Kushelines crash to loud sounds of lances meeting shields, but it seems that again both riders weather the storm with skill, avoiding their opponents' blows …will they be able to do more in the final tilt? Foulque needs another long drink of wine, raising his visor just enough to do so, before with a new lance, he gharges again, this time his couched lance changing direction just before the moment of impact…aiming at Thibault's shoulder.

As the signal to ride again is given, he charges against his opponent, eager to make a good showing against his fellow Kusheline. Perhaps a bit too eager, as this time his own lance misses the mark completely, brushing of the shield of Lord Foulque with little impact, while his opponents lance manages to hit, althouhg barely. Both lances do shatter, but it seems like neither makes a good enough hit to earn any points or rattle their opponents. Again he rides to the far end, turning his horse and making ready for their, perhaps, final tilt.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Success (2 1 6 2 7) Thibault: Good Success (7 4 5 2 5 1 7)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Thibault: Failure (6 1 4 4) Foulque: Good Success (4 1 6 8 6 7 4)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Solid Victory

Ashton is very excited by the joust on the field, and the one beginning in the stands. He applauds Thibault and Foulque equally even though he has verbally supported Thibault. He looks between Ailene and Des with a growing smile before focusing on Cyriel and Isla. Two allies that are enemies. "How about those Tsingani horses, though?" He offers to the conversation, his lips pursed to hide an evil grin that his eyes convey openly.

Serafin is thickset in his build, and that fact stands him in good stead as he tilts once more in Zephyrine's direction. Not generally known for his prowess in this event, he rides on heels of being one of the underdogs for the title, and though his lance merely glances off Zephyrine's shoulder, it elicits a cheer from the crowd. It seems that he's gaining favour not only amongst those of his own, but also within others of the crowd. "And again!" he yells, spinning around on the spot before lifting the tip of his lance in order to close in once more on his opponent.

Ailene smirks at Ashton. "Let us see then, My Lord!" she says to him. However, before she can say anymore, Lady Isla has spoken and has insulted the name of Charlot. Blue-gray eyes slide to the blond woman. "Funny." she says, head tilting. "I have not heard of any ill words concerning Charlot horses." She looks to Cyriel. "As a matter of fact," she says, "My cousin, Lord Thaddeus has been in the market to purchase a new horse." She smiles sweetly. "Three to be exact, mayhap even four." Again, she looks to Isla. "I do believe that he has already decided to purchase from the Charlots, given that he has heard so many good things about the quality of their stock." She flutters her lashes at her. "I am thinking of purchasing another, myself." she coos. "Of course, no other family would do when it comes to the best of the best." Ashton's question is met with a smile. "It just so happens that the horse I have now was bought from a Tsingani." she says. "A most excellent animal, I can assure you."

Again Zephyrine is met with another hit from Seraphin. However, this time, she gives as good as she got in return. The tall Valliers is not one that gives up easily. It shows in how she adjusts the lance once her pass is over and how she shifts herself to settle more securely. Her eyes briefly flicker to her Duc then back to Serafin.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Seraphin=3+3 Vs Zephyrine=riding
< Seraphin: Good Success (6 5 4 1 8 7) Zephyrine: Success (5 2 4 4 6 4 8 4 2)
< Net Result: Seraphin wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Serafin=3+3
< Zephyrine: Good Success (8 5 7 4 3 7) Serafin: Success (4 1 2 5 1 7)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

Cyriel meets Isla's introduction with an incline of his head, his pale blue eyes narrowing. "Hearing your words, I can only assume you are speaking without experience to back up your claim, my lady of Cherevin. Certainly, you have never ridden a Charlot." The double-entendre gets swallowed by the darkness of his gaze. Ashton receives a glance and a wry grin. "My lord Ashton, forgive me, but you make me doubt your taste in picking your company."

Ashton allows his grin to show and he raises his brows and his bare right hand idly to Cyriel, "My lord and friend Cyriel… I choose you as my company as well. To me, arguing the value of a Cherevin steed to a Charlot steed is the same as arguing sapphires against rubies. The rest of the world is comprised of rocks, my friends. We can debate which utterly fine line of horse husbandry prevails but I hold that in such a thing as the two best there is better things to be had in alliances than enemies. Though, I do enjoy the… friction… a bit." His smile stays as he considers both horse masters. "Truly."

And again! It seems the Kushelines are well matched indeed as they go by each other without managing to unhorse their foes. Foulque raises his visor, accepting a small towel to wipe his forehead and he takes another sip of wine. "Quite good, milord Charlot.." he shakes his head, then raises his new lance in salute…and charges again.

Zephyrine spends 1 luck points on Joust Roll.

The signal for the third outing is called and again the two riders prove to be more able with their riding skills than their skills with a lance, as both men remains in their saddles without much trouble. Seems like it will take at least one more go for them to settle this. So, he rides again to the end of the field, being handed a new lance, turning his horse to raise the lance in a salute to Foulque before getting ready to charge once again.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Serafin=3+3
< Zephyrine: Success (2 5 4 8 3 3) Serafin: Good Success (7 6 1 4 8 5)
< Net Result: Serafin wins - Marginal Victory

Isla turns her gaze onto Ashton, those blue eyes peering sharply into his. "Surely you would not rely on a foreign horse my Lord? I thought you more sensible than that." Ailene's words have her blinking and smiling warmly. "Well then I'm sure the lies you have been fed have been quite convincing. But if you ever desire a horse that is worth its price, I recommend Cherevin stock. Much more capable and less likely to cause problems. Still your choice is your own my Lady." She smiles and looks to Cyriel with an arched eyebrow. "Now why would I do that?" Comes the simple reply as she retakes her seat next to Ashton with a sharp look in his direction. "You just wanted to get me riled up did you not Lord Ashton?" She doesn't look angry with him however.

Ashton says, "Badly."

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Failure (6 4 2 5 5) Thibault: Good Success (8 2 5 4 6 8 7)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Thibault: Success (6 3 8 5) Foulque: Good Success (8 6 1 7 8 5 2)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Success (7 1 6 4 2) Thibault: Success (5 6 5 6 8 6 1)
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Thibault: Failure (4 2 5 1) Foulque: Good Success (7 8 1 5 4 5 3)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Success (1 8 6 3 6) Thibault: Success (5 7 6 4 4 2 3)
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Thibault: Failure (4 2 2 1) Foulque: Great Success (7 8 8 8 7 3 1)
< Net Result: Foulque wins - Crushing Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Failure (2 2 5 3 3) Thibault: Success (8 3 3 6 4 6 2)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Marginal Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Foulque=Riding
< Thibault: Good Success (8 3 8 7) Foulque: Good Success (2 1 8 1 8 3 5)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Marginal Victory

Foulque spends 1 luck points on Reroll of last pass.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Foulque=Polearms Vs Thibault=Riding
< Foulque: Failure (2 2 3 2 1) Thibault: Success (6 2 4 5 2 7 1)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Marginal Victory

"I need your help with something, Ailene. If you are Desarae's cousin from one side and I her cousin from the other, are we somehow related? Because, I enjoy your wit a good deal and it is a shame we have not run into each other more in our semi-connected lives." Ashton asks Ailene in a far more civil tone than has been going back and forth of late.

"LOVE AND HONOR! LOVE AND HONOR!" The crowd are cheering for the stout Ferraut as he waves his lance in the air and gallops from the field having held onto his lead by the narrowest of margins. Excitement is high. Perhaps too high. It happens in almost slow motion the manner in which he slides from his horse, his rotund figure slumping forwards and then sideways, his horse stepping sideways at the sudden shift of his weight until he hits the ground with an ominous thud. "HEALER! SOMEBODY GET A HEALER!"

<FS3> Ashton rolls Composure: Failure. (3 5 5 2 6 3 2 4 4 1 6 5 1 5)

Isla spends 1 luck points on Wear a face of perfect stone.
<FS3> Isla rolls Composure+20: Amazing Success. (1 4 4 2 6 5 4 8 7 6 5 8 8 7 7 5 7 4 1 4)

Elua and his Companions are not in Zephyrine's favor, as much, in her jousting against Seraphin. He /just/ barely betters her. When he falls from his horse she slides from hers to move and haul him up to bring him to a place to be healed. Where there is no risk of horse trampling. He has another round go go, after all. Unless Zephyrine wins by default of him crashing.

Ailene is known for having a temper to match her hair. Though she smiles now at Isla, her eyes have darkened to a color resembling the sea right before a storm. "As someone who has," she turns to Cyriel to him a nod of acknowledgement, "The experience of riding a Charlot, I can say with the utmost certainty that their reputation is golden." There is another smile, this one quite deadly as she regards the blond. "Then again, why is that surprising?" She gives a shrug. "It is common knowledge that those who insult others do so with an agenda. I see no Charlots putting down the quality of your family's horses, My Lady." She looks again to Cyriel, then back to Isla. "One would assume that you are not confident enough in your own stock, that you would seek to sully your competition's reputation." She looks utterly displeased. "It is most unbecoming, My Lady." She then turns away from her and folds her hands over her chest, having kept her cool, but she is seething. Ashton has her turning back around, though. The man gets a wide smile. "I do not think we are related, My Lord." she tells him. "I have been in Azzalle my entire life until just recently, which is why we probably have not met yet." She flashes Desarae a grin. "I hadn't Desarae for years and I did not immediately recognize her, actually." That makes her laugh and the tension she had been feeling on account of Isla's words eases.

And finally, it seems Foulque's luck runs out as his lance fails to touch his opponent while he's jostled in the saddle. He manages to stay ahorse but as he comes to the end of the lists, he inclines his lance, admitting defeat. "Well, that was fun.." he mutters, taking off his helmet as he dismounts, washing his face from a bucket of water, and takes another, longer sip of wine. "Now, how shall this end?"

"Why would you do that?", Cyriel echoes Isla. "I don't know. Perhaps to appear to be more than this little spoiled child that likes to assume, instead of to know." He nods to Ailene, and then he turns away, as to walk down to the sidelines. After all, Thibault has made it to the final pairing.

Ashton erupts into sudden laughter, clapping his hands loudly as he watches Ferraut slump off of his horse to the ground. He glances at a servant of the man for just a split second before looking back to his friends that are enemies. Still chuckling, otherwise seeming as if he hadn't really noticed the fallen noble behind him. He does offer a wink to Zephyrine, likely, surely, just because she has his favor on her wrist. He claps his hands once more, gripping the gloved left and bare right as he listens to Ailene. The thrill and amusement from the Morhban Vicomte seems to have no bounds today. "Then I must beg you to bring that passion you just showed and model for a painting. If you would be so kind." He watches Cyriel go and says to Isla, "It's final… I'm throwing a fete for the Kusheline houses after this tournament is ended."

As he gets ready to charge once more, a quick glance towards the stands is given after the salute to his opponent. He raises the wrist where the favor is bound to his helmet, placing a kiss of steel rather than lips upon it. Then the signal is called for them to ride again and he spurs his horse on, gaining tempo fast and lowering his lance, aiming squearly for the small piece of Foulques shoulder visible above his shield. As they come together, he manages to avoid the lance of his opponent while his own does hit the mark, although barely. Still, it seems enough to claim victory and move on to the final two. He gives his opponent a nod and a raise of his broken lance in salute before proceeding to the end of the field to make ready for the last opponent of this competition.

Commotion breaks out where Serafin has fallen. A healer arrives and he's lifted onto a canvas that's stretched between poles. It appears that for the Ferraut and those that follow him, the pursuit of the title is over. Word is sent forward to the Herald, and a grave nod of his head is given in response. With Foulque and Thibault's pairing now concluded, he gestures for the Ferraut colors to be removed from the boards, and for the Valliers' one to take it's place. "PEOPLE!" He loves the sound of his voice. "LORD SERAFIN FERRAUT RETIRES, AND THE LADY ZEPHYRINE VALLIERS ADVANCES!"

Ashton seems surprised by the Herald's announcement and he says drily, "Aww… what poor luck for the fellow."

Her being granted victory by default gets the slightest of frowns by Zephyrine and she tells her former opponent, "That is a pain in the ass. Well, I suppose I'll battle in your name this time." Under her armor she pulls her own handkerchief and drops it on him before moving to once again reclaim her horse and prepare for the next round. Before her helm is placed back on the mildly annoyed expression shows on her face by a victory the Camaeline undoubtedly doesn't feel she earned. She'll just have to see about earning this round with style.

Isla sits in her seat with regal grace, her posture perfect as she watches Cyriel go with an arched eyebrow. She glances briefly to those around her once more, drawing in a soft breath before turning her attention to Ailene as the woman speaks. She tilts her head, meeting that anger with an expression of pure calm. It's as though she has become stone, her beautiful features calm and serene now as she smiles softly. "You speak so highly of them. Perhaps I am wrong on some accounts. I am willing to find out. However I assure you, my confidence in Cherevin horses is unwavering. It was one of my own stock that won the races here after all. Perhaps they both have their merits, I will study the Charlot breed further to determine this. My apologies if I offended you." She offers diplomatically her tone soft yet firm. She turns away now watching with perfect composure as the Charlot does indeed win. And she keeps her composure perfectly. Its extremely hard to tell if the light clapping she gives is sincere or not. Glancing to Ashton she smiles ever so faintly at his outburst of laughter. "You seem to be enjoying yourself Lord Ashton."

Ailene 's face lights up at the invitation to model for a painting. "I would be honored, My Lord." she tells him, a blush staining her cheeks. "I had the pleasure of having Lady Irene d'Eresse sketch me not long ago." she tells him. "Have you met her?" she asks. "She is very lovely and such a talented artist!" Her lashes flutter at him, but then she is looking back to Isla. "I only wish you would not stoop to such low tactics, My Lady." she tells her quite honestly. "Your House is well known for the quality of their horses, there is no reason to besmirch the Charlot name to raise your own's reputation." She sighs. "One should always have grace in the face of one's competitors." she tells her. "Let your horses prove your point." She does offer her a smile, but it is rather hesitant now. Her attention then goes back to the field and her hands begin to clap enthusiastically. "Oh, he has made it to the next round!" she exclaims to no one in particular. She sends a beaming smile down to Thibault, and winks at him coquettishly before she blows him a kiss.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Zephyrine: Good Success (6 6 5 8 1 7) Thibault: Failure (4 5 3 4 1 5 2)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Thibault: Success (3 5 1 8) Zephyrine: Good Success (1 5 6 8 1 3 1 8 8)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

The favor from Ashton is secured tighter to her wrist to assure it stays in place. Into the ear of her less than pretty horse Zephyrine murmurs, probably soothing the beast a little. Once ready she charges full steam with her lance. The lance is cracked with the fierceness of her attack and her tossing it to the side while avoiding the attack from Thibault keeps her from being touched to hard.

"I do not believe I have enjoyed a public outing nearly as much as I am this one." Ashton agrees with Ailene, including Des and Isla in his conversation. He chuckles at the field, "I should really be more careful with my favors, they seem immutable."

Thibault dismounts his horse and removes his helmet before the final round of the joust commences, his squire moving over to him and handing him a wineskin which he accepts and takes a long sip from before handing it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his gauntleted fist instinctively. He looks up to the stands in time to see the smile and gesture from Ailene, giving her a smile and a bow of the neck in reply. He moves to correct his armor and places his helmet back over his head before mounting up again and being handed a lance. He moves to the designated area and gives the lance another look-over before looking across the field to his opponent, raising the lance in a respectful gesture towards her. Then the call to ride is heard and they charge at one another, his lance coming down and being aimed. It seems like she has the upper hand, however, as his own lance misses her completely while hers strike true against his shoulder, causing him to turn on his seat from the impact, but not enough to throw him from his seat. He settles back properly in his seat and continues to the end of the field for the next round.

"What are you going on about," Desarae says to Ashton, apparently having missed much of the discourse on horse flesh in the excitement stirred up. A twist is given the bracelet on her wrist as she notes upon whom her cousin's attention has landed. "You are favoring the Charlot, Ailene?" Elbows press to her knees as she leans forward, chin cupped in her hands. "What is his name? He seems quite enamoured of you…"

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Zephyrine: Good Success (2 2 3 1 7 8) Thibault: Failure (3 6 4 4 2 4 4)
< Net Result: Zephyrine wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Thibault: Failure (6 6 5 1) Zephyrine: Failure (6 1 4 1 6 6 2 5 4)
< Net Result: Both Fail.

Isla remains silent watching the match calmly now and without a word. Her expression is one of serenity, a perfect mask of composure and for a moment she seems to retreat into her thoughts even as she watches the final match.

"Oh… so much." Ashton says to Desarae and then comments, "There were discussions had on Cherevin versus Charlot, on my favor winning over /your/ favor… by the way, darling would you do me a favor? I badly want to buy Edmund's horse. Do you think you could have some headway there?"

Ashton says, "Which reminds me, my cousin, you lost a bet."

The tall Valliers is absolutely set on making her victory in this last round crushing since she defaulted in the moving on because her last opponent crashed. Thibault is eyed a moment then just as fiercely as before Zephyrine brings her lance in for a hard attack as she passes him, once again cracking it.

"I did," Desarae notes to Ashton. "And I paid, did I not." Her eyes cut to the now empty tray between them, before lifting back to his with an arch of one finely carved brow. "As to the horse, what makes you want for Lord Edmund's in particular? Regardless of the reason, I doubt I hold sway. I only met him the once, and our exchange was most brief. I do hold his jacket still, though I hold little hope that he'd exchange his horse for its return."

Ailene bites her lip, her attention now completely focused upon the field and the joust taking place. "Come on Lord Thibault!" she murmurs to herself, her hands clasped as though in prayer. Her guard, Cyrille, is beside her and scanning the crowd, ever watchful and ever vigilant.

Once more the Charlot lord and the Valliers blade charge each other and once more, Thibault's lance fails to find it's mark while the lance of Zephyrine manages to hit the spot above his shield. As the lances come out, she is just that bit quicker than him, causing his lance to partially deflect off of hers which causes him to miss, but the lances also seem to somehow get tangled as they're shattered, causing both riders to lose their balance slightly as the lances are pulled back and the horses pass each other, almost unseating the Charlot. He remains in his seat though ad makes his way to the end again for the final pass, giving his lance an evil glare from inside the helmet, as if it was to blame for his own lack of skill.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thibault=Polearms Vs Zephyrine=Riding
< Thibault: Success (8 2 3 5) Zephyrine: Success (3 6 2 4 8 2 3 4 3)
< Net Result: DRAW

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Zephyrine=polearms Vs Thibault=riding
< Zephyrine: Good Success (8 1 2 8 1 5) Thibault: Great Success (3 6 7 8 8 7 5)
< Net Result: Thibault wins - Solid Victory

"Oh, you always hold sway." Ashton assures Desarae with a faint smile and he makes sure to pass a winner's purse to Ailene, "Your man did win the last bout!"

Isla remains silent and calm, watching the proceedings with cool blue eyes. She still has yet to react to much or say anything more.

Idly, if allowed, Ashton would raise Isla's hand with his own to his lips, kissing each fingertip quietly as he watches the last runs of the event.

Once set with her new lance after cracking her second one Zephyrine charges forward once more. If she were not blocking the attack from Thibault she might have hit him hard once more. Since she is deflecting her lance grazes him, at best. This time her lance is intact. To the Valliers area she guides her horse. Her favor from Ashton still stays bound to her wrist. Towards the Valliers duc she slants a look, likely trying to gauge his thoughts.

As they make ready to charge each other one last time, he raises his lance again to his opponent. He knows that he will have to pull of something amazing this last round for him to claim victory, with her hitting and scoring in both the previous rounds and himself failing to gather any points at all so far. He also knows that it is highly unlikely, given her obvious skill as both a rider and wielder of the lance. But at least he can give the crowd a good showing and hopefully not be thrown on his arse, he already made it to the final which is further than he'd expected when entering. Another lift of the lance towards the crowd before the signal is called and they off once more, lances aimed and eyes focused. His own lance does hit, but not enough to score, perhaps because he seems intent on avoiding the lance of his opponent. The pass each other with lances still intact and so, the victory is claimed by the Valliers blade. He rides to the sidelines to dismount and doff his armor, but not before turning his horse for a congratulatory salute in Zephyrine’s direction.

Jervais Auguste Valliers rises to his feet, and brings his hands together as he joins in on the applause. There is pride in his posture and a grin as he says something to the Duchesse de Mereliot, words that drown in the cheer that rises from the stands and the benches. It has been a great spectacle and it shows.

And with another cheer of appreciation, the outcome of the joust is now settled. The flag of Valliers is hoisted upon the stand, and its red and white colours flutter brightly in breeze. "The Lady Zephyrine Valliers triumphs!" The Herald's voice projects well, carrying across the field to the most distant reaches of the crowd. The people love a good show, and today's tournament appears to have offered that, with the House Blade of Valliers proving her prowess. Another mop is made of his brow, and pleased that his duties for the day are now over, he clambers down from his perch and heads straight for the ale.

Ashton applauds steadily with a quiet smile before enjoying more wine.

Ailene sighs as Thibault loses, in the very end. "That he did, My Lord." she replies, turning to smile at Ashton. She doesn't look too disappointed, however. "I should go see him." she says and stands, giving him and her cousin Desarae a nod of farewell. Lady Isla also gets a nod. Her smile has warmed a little by now. Then, she on her way to go and see Thibault. Walking up to him with her face wreathed in smiles, she curtsies to him. "My Lord." she says to him. "You were absolutely remarkable today!" she tells him. It is true, and her chin raises proudly.

Cyriel applauds, but his gaze lingers on Thibault. Traversing the sidelines he walks over to Thibault and gives the cousin a sound hug. "Well done," he tells him, grinning, and in turning notices Ailene. "Ah. The redhead." Rolling his eyes a little, he steps away from the younger Charlot so that Thibault can enjoy her curtsy and other niceties of her company.

Thibault returns to the small area towards the side where his squire stands waiting, helping the lord dismount and taking his helmet to place on a bench before moving to help Thibault doff his armor and gauntlets. He takes a healthy swig of wine before his cousin arrives, turning to him with a smile that would make you think he had just won, returning the hug. "Thank you, almost enough but not quite. I was hoping to see the flag of House Charlot raised for a second time after making it this far, but it seems like today was not my day. I am glad your own skill meant that the colors of our house got to fly high at least once during the tournament." A small grin to his cousin as Ailene joins them and causes Cyriel to step back a bit. He turns to her, the grin turning into a smile. "Thank you, my lady, you are very kind, I am sorry that once again I fail to win carrying your favor. Had it not been for that, though, I doubt I would have made it out of the preliminary rounds. Some fine competitors here today, more than a few that I did not think I would be able to best." He bends down to place a short kiss on her lips, if she will allow it. "Now, I think I need a drink." He adds shortly after with a sigh of slight exhaustion. He isn't used to wearing the heavy armor of a knight, unlike many of the competitors here today. He looks between his cousin and Ailene to see what they have to say on that matter.

Ailene accepts Thibault's kiss happily, her cheeks turning pink in pleasure, even if the kiss to her lips was a short one. "You did not fail at all, My Lord." she tells him. "I am so very proud of you and proud that you were carrying my favors out upon the field this day." She smiles again then turns to Cyriel, giving him a respectful curts. "My Lord." she greets him properly. "I am Lady Ailene Trevalion." she says, introducing herself to him. "I have given my favors twice to Lord Thibault in the Tournament." She blushes deeper and tugs at a lock of bright red hair, looking almost shy.

Desarae stands up quite suddenly. "I shall see you later, Ashton. I must go and speak with Lord Edmund now, offer my apologies to him for having requested that he wear the curse of my favor." She seems quite serious in her intention, a hand lifting to check that her hair remains neatly restrained before picking her way past Isla that she might exit the stands. Shoulders held squarely, though with her chin lifted high, she looks to neither the right nor the left, ignoring all that she passes as she heads for the tent bearing the three crossed keys of the Shahrizai crest.

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