Dunstan Tullison took to the tournament field with an open smile upon his face, clearly exhilarated to be in such honorable company. He wore the blue and red of his family colours, adorning a fine suit of fitted full plate mail, certainly the finest armour worn by any of the competitors in the Squire's Joust. His steed was a sure-footed courser, though the horse stood a hand or two lower than those ridden by some of the more experienced knights.

After taking a single lap of the tournament field, he returned to the Blackfin stands, pulling up his mount near where the Lady Gwendolyn sat, but calling instead to her attendant, the Lady Jenny Goodbrother. he seemed to take a moment or two to muster his courage before hailing her, a touch formally "Bright Jenny o' the golden locks, of that Noble House of Goodbrother. Will you grant me your token and favour in the Tournament to come?"

Dunstan Tullison rolled 21 using 5d6+4 with rolls of 2,4,3,5,3.  Gain Favour of Lady Jenny.

Ser Robar Ryger was one of the few accomplished tournament knights in attendance at the Lychester Wedding, and had this not already been apparent, it was made so by a smattering of applause from the commons as he rode his great destrier out onto the field. His caparison and tabard were a pure white, bearing the Willow Tree of House Ryger, and his half-plate was polished to a pale silver, giving him the appearance of a shining knight of some ancient tale. He rode three wide laps around the tournament ground, racing past the commons to great applause and cheers, before finally pausing briefly at the tournament stands. His own steed stood an easy three hands higher than the young Tullison heir, such that he loomed over the young Dunstan like a giant, speaking across him to the Lady Jenny.

"Fair locks you have indeed my lady, and wasted on this boy they'd be. Trust instead your favour to a man of proven valour in the lists, and talent with the lance, for I would gladly claim your favour as my own."

Ser Robar Ryger rolled 25 using 7d6+5, dropping the 3 lowest rolls with rolls of 5,1,1,5,1,4,6.  Gain Favour of Lady Jenny.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:10, Mon 24 Jan 2022.

After helping Ser Berion with the preparations for the Parade, Valen set off alongside him for the initial section, then knowing the knight should be focusing on the goals they discussed last night, broke off from his vicinity after a while. He wore his grey tabard over his armour, with the quartered Vance sigil on it.

As for himself he focused on keeping his horse steady and executing the motions carefully as he went. Eventually he passed by the stand where Lady Catelyn sat and after pondering what to say, spoke up.

"I have nothig but earnest admiration for you Lady Catelyn, if you'd bless me with your favour for the jousts to come I shall fight with strength and honor in your name." Valen wasn't one for flowery speeches, he preferred to speak honestly and directly to the person in question rather than aiming his words at one's House instead of the individual, unlike Ser Ronald's speech.

OOC: Rolled a 9 on 2d6+3 with rolls of 4,2. Status(Tournament)
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Thu 27 Jan 2022.

Sitting among Lady Gwendolyn's group at Jenny's invitation, Cat enjoys seeing all the knights and squires arrive.

Then she receives the two requests, one somewhat anticipated and one entirely a shock. "Ser Roland, thank you for the request. But I must tell you that Lady Gwendolyn's is no poor company. I am happy to be counted among them." While she doesn't say no outright nor explicitly rebuke Ser Roland, she moves her attention to the squire instead. "Valen Vance, I am honored by your words and happily grant you my favour. May the Warrior guide your hand and your heart as you ride." She gives him a genuine smile.

Lord Raylon was an odd looking man, with protruding nose, misshapen ears, and a wickedly cunning glint in his eye. He was well dressed, but lacked the arms and armour of a knight, preferring to take to the stands near his host, Lord Lyman. As Lord of Wendish Town he was a near neighbour of Fairmarket, and sworn to House Blackwood.

He greeted Bryn warmly enough - the feud between Bracken and Blackwood was muted in Fairmarket, where the two had briefly crossed paths before in Ser Jasper Wylde's court. Bryn knew Lord Raylon had dealt with his father, years past.
"Salutations young Blackfin. I will meet your wager on Ser Robar - two to one on making the finals, and four to one to win. It is a shrewd gamble on your part, for the man is a likely contender, but I think perhaps Ser Humphrey or the Reachman Ser Ronnel are as likely to win as he, or perhaps some unsung hero, new to his spurs," the man quipped.

"I've another wager for you as well," he fiddled with his fingers idly for a moment, before removing one of several rings. "I won this from your father some seven years ago, in a wager not so dissimilar to this, you'll see that it is beaten silver; the very best work of the Silvermark smiths of White Harbour." A quick glance reveals that it is a thing of great beauty, engraved with the marks of both House Mooton and Blackfin, with small precious gems set within the sigil. "You have a small ship within your many inherited assets, a small single-masted sloop; well made but with next to no capacity for cargo, and therefore not terribly valuable to you." Bryn knew the boat well, and knew that while expertly crafted by the shipbuilders of Blackfin Den, it was better suited to navigating treacherous waters than making his estate any profit.

"I will wager this ring against your ship, that the knights of House Blackwood - Ser Roland, Ser Beros, and Ser Malus, outshine the knights of House Bracken - Ser Naton, Ser Ramsbold, and Ser Berion, either in winning the tourney outright, or in progressing farther into the rounds of the finals.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:54, Thu 27 Jan 2022.

Darvil rode into the tourney ground, a nervous feeling filling him. Sure, he had been to tourneys to watch before, but competing in one was entirely different - even if it was simply the squire's tourney. He rode around the path that had been set up, approaching Lady Saerai and asking the lady for her favour - he doubted he would receive it, though, being a mere squire compared to the knights here.

The corners of Bryn's mouth turn down a little at the older man's proposed wager on which of the rival houses will perform better, Bracken or Blackwood.

He inspects the ring briefly as he considers his options.

"Consider the bet on Ser Robar made but as to the other..." he looks the man in the eye, "I have many questions, among them how you came to know my assets, however perhaps you might answer another; in your bet seven years ago, what stake did you put up that my father would match with this ring?"

Jenny gasped. It was amazing enough that Dunstan showed interest in her, the wild Ironborn girl. That an accomplished knight like Ser Robar did was beyond her wildest dreams. She knew he was a skilled jouster, too, and for a moment, she let her mind wander, imagining the crown of flowers as queen of love and beauty. She wanted it more than almost anything. But Dunstan had noticed her and written poetry about her, and she didn't have the heart to hurt him now in front of everyone. It was a difficult decision, and she squirmed a little. "I am most honored that you think of me, Ser Robar, and I hope for your victory in the joust. Your skills are a wonder to me" she said.
"But the noble lord Dunstan was the first to dare and so he shall carry my favor, little worthy though I am to be sought by two such valiant men" she said modestly. She handed over her bright red favor to the heir with a smile. "Ride to glory, Dunstan Tullison and know that golden-locked Jenny Goodbrother will smile on your victories."
Now, if Westerosi stories were accurate, the two would do deeds of valor to impress her. But that was more than could be hoped, wasn't it? It had already been so much more than she imagined.


She smiled at Caetlyn's words about the company she kept.

In reply to Bryn Blackfin (msg # 17):

Lord Raylon smiled genially in response. "Do not be too cautious young Blackfin, I intend no trap or swindle. My Wendish town relies upon Fairmarket a great deal for access to other ports within King Arrec's domain. We cart much in the way of timber, wheat, and wool when the roads are clear, and the mines of my liege, Lady Agnes and neighbour, Lord Harald Banemark to the west make the same journey. It is only natural that I have made myself acquainted with the interests in trade  of folk in Fairmarket such as Ser Jasper, Ruben Weaver, Ser Marq Durwell, and yourself, as they directly impact my own.

As for my bet with your father,' he frowned, as if recalling some trivial detail, "I believe it was the tourney in Ironhold, just after the westermen invasion; as Lord Harald was celebrating the birth of his young daughter and the relief of his sieged keep. Your father backed the fresh-minted knights loyal to House Bracken, riding high on their victory along the Red Fork and I the more experienced veterans of House Blackwood. Ser Beros Wallain was Champion that day, though some thought him lucky for it. My wager was a dull thing; five hundredweight of fine fleece, ready to ship."

"What say you?" Lord Raylon pressed him, and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Bryn could not tell if the Lord of Wendish  Town wished him to accept or decline.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:35, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

Bryn nods as he listens to Lord Raylon, raising an eyebrow briefly as he finishes.

"I see, please forgive my caution. I am not as experienced in trade as yourself. I am open to a wager, though I find myself attached to my ships. I will take a page from your book and offer a dull stake instead, twenty gold dragons against the ring should be fair."

The young man smiles enigmatically and extends his hand to shake on it, "Agreed?"

In reply to Bryn Blackfin (msg # 20):

"I could fault a Blackfin for valuing his ships no more than I could fault a raven for loving the open sky, or a lyrebird a melodic tune," Lord Raylon chuckled.

"We have a wager,"he agreed, clasping Bryn's hand with his own. "And I am sure we will speak more in the weeks and months to come."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:08, Mon 31 Jan 2022.

As the eldest son of Ser Otto, Ofren's blue eyes and brown hair gave him a slightly softer look than his father, though he had the strong build of a Kettleblack. His nose was recently broken and reset, with a small field bandage covering the bridge of his nose.

His chainmail was ill-fitting, clearly having once belonged to a knight of similar height, but far greater girth, than Ofren's own leaner build. Ofren's steed was well tended, but a small beast in comparison to those ridden by the great knights around him. He wore the Black Pot of a red field of his father's colours stitched poorly into a simple cloth tabard. His shield was fresh-painted for the tourney.

Ofren  rode over to where the Lady Saerai. Though he was the squire to a hedge knight, and lacked any real standing of his won, he spoke up, his voice deep for his relatively few years, but blocked by the cloth tending his recent injury. "Lady Saerai, my father Ser Otto served your family for a time, years past. In the name of that service I ask to be your champion, so I can serve House Paege as honourably as he."

Ofren Kettleblack rolled 11 using 2d6+4 with rolls of 5,2.  Gain Favour of Lady Saerai.

Ser Konrad rode confidently onto the tourney field dressed in fine brigandine, sable cloak, and jet black courser. He circled the tourney field twice, managing to seem both confident and condescending in equal measure. When he finally slowed in front of Lady Moiraine and Yve he might just as well have been perusing a list of wine vintages.

"Your budding beauty has drawn its share of crows Lady Yve," he drawled, ignoring Ser Berion "but beneath your noble lineage, allow me your favour and I shall gladly elevate both our names with the strength of my arm.


Ser Konrad Storm rolled 12 using 5d6+4, dropping the 2 lowest rolls of 1 & 1 ((1,3,1,2,3)).

Lady Yve was dressed even more finely than at the wedding feast, every strand of hair was impeccably placed, and the her silver ring and bracelet were studded with glittering finery, speaking to her father's wealth of mines. Despite this, it was conservatively coloured and cut in comparison to the finery of other ladies of the tourney.

She eyed the assembled competitors with admiration, commenting in hushed tones to her mother, who waited nearby and seemed more guarded. As Ser Konrad made his entreaties Yve smiled warmly at him, before making her choice,

"Though I take you at your word Ser Konrad, my favour is reserved for Ser Berion of House Knollwood," she informed him, offering nothing by way of explanation or excuse.

The Lady Saerai Paege was dressed in the colours of House Paege, but wore a cloak styled in the colours of her guardian, Ser Jasper. Unlike may of the ladies present, she wore little in the way of jewellery, barring a simple silver star of the seven. Beside her sat a Septa, a matronly looking woman; one of her constant companions.

As knights and squires rode past, offering compliments Saerai seemed to go stiff, withdrawing into herself. Her companion leaned forward, offering words of encouragement or support, and the girl seemed to soften.

"Darvil of House Blackfin, our families have long been great friends and neighbours, I wish you well in the tournament to come, and ask that you bear this token as sign of my favour.' She responded formally.

Lady Iris drew knights like moths to a flame. She was dressed in flowing silks and seated near her father and brother, and so highborn knights inevitably found their eyes drawn to her when they came to pay their respects. Many begged her favour, including Ser Naton Serbera, Horas Banemark, Ser Jon Wylde, and even the hedge knight Ser Otto Kettleblack. She charmed all, but beneath her manners was an edge of determination.

At last she found her champion in Ser Humphrey Haigh, an accomplished tourney knight, offering the man her token with a bright smile that turned to a glare when she spotted Selene Mistwood for but a moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:48, Mon 31 Jan 2022.

Ignoring the not so veiled insult lobbed his way, Berion inclined his head briefly to Ser Konrad in acknowledgment of the man's presence.  It was a better choice than the alternative at any rate.  Thankfully Lady Yve quickly spoke up and the knight's attention immediately returned to demure young woman.

"Thank you my lady, you do me a great honor.  I look forward to proving your faith in me well placed, and bringing glory to your name" he replied, doing his level best to keep the smirk off his face.

In reply to Saerai Paege (msg # 25):

Darvil chuckled softly, offering Lady Saerai a warm smile. "Although I am but a squire, I am honored that you would let me bear your favour. I will bear it gladly."

A sleek Rounsey bore the next Knight, her mist grey form clean, with the muscles of a light Courser.  Upon her grey draped for sat The figure iof a knight.  The figure astride it was an incongruous sight.  Clad in splint mail, His torso was thick, his columnar neck short and ending in a blockish head its' features visible from the raised visor.  His black hair, and emerald green eyes lending an attractive view to his plain face.  His beard and mustache cut neat, and sharp edged, were medium length. Large, heavy limbs sprouted from him, but where his arms might be just a touch too long, his legs were the opposite, seeming meant for someone slightly shorter.  On his left arm was slung a large shield, with arms enblazoned upon it; iron, a bordure embattled sable,  in fess point a gauntlet clenched sable, in nombril a bag bronze..  He made his way with a jaunty caper around the parade ground.  Passing slowly before the assembled ladies, his sharp eyes scanning their ranks.  Seeming, perhaps, those unchampioned.

A short but striking woman, dark of hair and pale of skin stood among the smallfolk and observed the Parade of Arms. Or at least, she stood on that side of the tournament field, for many amongst Lord Lyman's smallfolk gave her a wide berth, which she did not seem to mind at all. A large raven sat upon her shoulder, cawing rudely at knights and squires alike as they passed her by, but she gave them a wide berth.

Ser Mannfryd Mistwood rode by her, and she offered him a quiet greeting, only to be abruptly dismissed by the haughty knight, who rode past, hurrying to make another pass of the highborn stands.

As Ser Jarrak rode past her, she broke her quiet solitude again, "Tread carefully, faithful knight, for old blood that forgets old faiths soon turns fickle, and reaps fickleness in turn."

In reply to Mist (msg # 30):

As Ser Jarrak rode past her, she broke her quiet solitude again, "Tread carefully, faithful knight, for old blood that forgets old faiths soon turns fickle, and reaps fickleness in turn."

Her appearance here surprised him, wise women were few, and fewer still so bold.  That alone earned her greater respect from him.  Ser Mannfryds' response to her annoyed him, the disrespect to one who before the Andal gods would have had the ear of kings was a rude affront.  One he would not himself do.  Strange power have the Wise, and he would near never temp their wrath.  In his turn, he stops before her, saluting her as to one of higher station.  His eyes too acknowledge the raven with respect.  No fool he, to not see in the bird the gaze of the old Gods.
 "Wise words from a wise woman." Ser Jarrak responds, his tone respectful, if rough from common birth.  "I am no great tourney Knight, like the lords (the tone of the word bearing a dismissive inflection) to parade before me.  Should you wish though, I would be honored to bear your favor.  Few are the wise, and better should be their position, as once it was."


06:56, Today: Ser Jarrak rolled 11 using 2d6+5 with rolls of 3,3.  Status roll to gain favor, add Fighting.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:22, Wed 09 Feb 2022.

In reply to Ser Jarrak (msg # 31):

In response to Jarrak's words and deference, he raven-haired woman tilted her head slightly, as if listening to the raven on her shoulder, before reaching up and plucking a feather from its back.

"If caprice reaps caprice, then let faith beget faith," she replied mysteriously, before drawing the pointed feathertip across her palm, leaving a wide red scratch in its wake. A single drop of blood budded and coloured the tip of the feather, which was then offered to Jarrak.

"You have some wisdom to speak so humbly, for there is much you do not know. I am Mist, faithful knight."

"If caprice reaps caprice, then let faith beget faith," she replied mysteriously, before drawing the pointed feathertip across her palm, leaving a wide red scratch in its wake. A single drop of blood budded and coloured the tip of the feather, which was then offered to Jarrak.

He bows to her, as he gently takes the feather in his large hand.  Something old seems to echo in his mind.  Perhaps a memory, perhaps an echo of another time and an older faith.  "Faith begets faith.". He says, scoring his shield palm with the tip and drawing a droplet of his blood, his voice firm, and respectful.  He then fixes the feather securely to his helmet, where all can easily see it.

"You have some wisdom to speak so humbly, for there is much you do not know. I am Mist, faithful knight."  "I am not one of the Wise.". He replies, gently.  "What wisdom I have is from my life alone.  Little though it is compared to the Wise.  It is an honor to meet you Wise Mist."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:02, Fri 18 Feb 2022.

"You have my favour, faithful knight, but remember foremost my words of warning," Mist reproached him gently, before turning to walk deeper into the crowd. Even those smallfolk who ignored her, or pretended to, parted before her like a retreating tide.

Ser Jarrak canters once more around the stands, displaying the favor for all to see.  As much pride, as defiance should any dare seek to object.  Then trots his horse to his tent, and tends to her.