Robb Reyne: (Combat: 10/20) +0 vs Rickard
Tourneys, Robb had always felt, were a ruthlessly efficient means of clearing one’s head. In here, opponents and allies both were family, some hugged tight like lovers so you could make them shit their teeth with a mailed gauntlet come morning, others to celebrate a victory. It was a dance. An art. With iron slippers and a tutor named the Stranger.
And, really, it was just very, very entertaining.
Amber eyes flickered maliciously over the competition through the slits in his visor, giving them all a wicked grin. Oh, no. Oh no. Somehow, the Queen of Stags has managed to fit more fools than ever into one, single circle! What an invention! Such magic! The pauldrons on his armor, spikes on his mace, and the rim on his buckler glinted as they caught the sun, sending a roar of approval from the crowd.
It is a horrible thing when your culture happens to have breaking the bones of others as a favorite past-time, really, he thought, grinning up at the stands. Worse, when you yourself participate in it as your favorite past-time.
His eyes rolled up towards the Dondarrion, awaiting the signal with normal breath. The sentimental fuckers who wrote songs about this moment described it as a moment of glory, a moment where victories were decided and lovers locked gazes, when songs were sung and stories began their writing. But, in Robb’s honest opinion, based off his own experience in the bloody business, this was the moment in which you either pissed your pants or grew bored at waiting for the enemy.
A few more seconds, and a few more, and a few more, and Robb finally let out a sigh, almost tempted to throw his mace up at the Dondarrion to see if that’d get him to speak.
A few more seconds, and a few more, and a few more, and Robb held his buckler close to his chest, so as not to reveal what he’d do next.
A few more seconds, and a few more, and -
The signal went, and Robb jumped quickly to action, his metal fist blurring grey towards the wolf-emblazoned chest of the man beside him, the mace in his right hand following quickly behind.
Rickard Stark: (Combat: 11/20) +0 vs Robb
Rickard was ready, he wore his full armor and carries an Ironwood shield as well as a blunted Mace. he was unsure why he had joined the tourney, he thought it was not very Kingly of him. but after everything that had happened at the Feast. he needed to work out some aggression. as it began he spotted Edric Mormont to his left. he was nodding to the King. He knew they had their backs. to his right someone with a Lion on his armour. after a second look he realised that it was not from House Lannister, but House Rayne. he did not care. a Lion was a Lion. and after Last night he was done with them. He heard the bell ring that signaled the start of the competition and saw that the Rayne had the same Idea. he rushed towards the King. well c'mon then He made his way towards the Reyne. preparing himself to meet blades with him.
Alestar Dayne: (Combat: 10/20) +0 vs No one
Alester looked around, analysing his opponents. The larger men would not be a problem, as they were often slow, but a couple of smaller people he thought could be a problem. He looked over his son for a second, and silently vowed to protect him. He changed his grip on the blunted great sword, just before the signal rang out.
He stayed at the sidelines, keeping an eye on his son and his opponents. As his son moved over to the Stark, Alestar followed to cover him.
Edric Mormont: (Combat: 11/20) -2 vs Corrick (Distraction - Blackwood), +1 intercepted, -1 Alestar protection
Edric Mormont looked forward to this with relish. I finally get to hit some of these cunts. To smell their blood. He looked over to his King, Rickard Stark and nodded. We’ll team up against these fucks. He moved his shoulders, feeling his plate armor move along with him, feeling the weight. He was working himself into a frenzy, feeling more and more alive and more and more enraged by the second. This is what I was born for. To fight. He glanced at his Ironwood shield and blunt mace and smiled. I’m ready. He awaited the signal ready to go on the defensive and protect his Kings back until they were the last two standing. He smiled to himself. The signal was given. He went. Blackwood came at him. Their eyes met and after a subtle nod they went after the southrons.
Corrick Dayne: (Combat 9/20) +1vs Mormont (Length - Spear). -1 Intercepted
“Remember that favour.” The other Dayne of Starfall hopped from foot to foot, trying too clear his mind of the initial anxiety that he’d felt since the night before. The words had been running in his mind since the night before. Stabbing pain and the cry of mercy still rang in his ears, the wound under his arm throbbing beneath the steel plate he wore.
”Focus.” He growled, his hands clutching the spear as he waited for the signal. This was the worst moment, waiting for the word to go, for that single moment where the crowd became a drum beat in his chest and him a performer of the dance of death. He glanced at his neighbours, especially the Stark to his right.
The volume rose in his ears, his heart beating at a million miles an hour as he coiled like a spring until- Boom.
The Dayne didn’t hesitate as he swung the spear low at the Rickard with deadly speed.
Willam Blackwood: (Combat: 11/20) +0 vs No one
Lord Blackwood clutched his sword in his right hand and his shield in his left. The slit in his visor his only way of seeing who was attacking him. He looked up in awe at the crowd around him, cheering with ear splitting screams. He focused and bashed his sword on his shield three times, as was his custom before any battle. He steadied his feet and watched the Durrandon Lord give the signal. With a puff of air he wildly swung his sword to his left as his sword glanced off of a shield. The bear sigil told him it was Edric Mormont, he stepped back quickly and with crushing strength and power he began to reign down on the other lords shield. Their eyes met and they shared a nod as both of the larger men of the melee both disengaged from fighting and turned towards the Southern Knights and bull rushed them.
Rolls:
[[roll 4d20]] +/u/rollme
