Yard Melee

A knightly venture in the training yards of Dol Amroth. Horses, boulders, and ringing helmets abound.
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Location: Dol Amroth



"Calembel?" The reply unexpected, she smiles, nodding. "My father, too. Do you visit, from time to time?"

"Your ship, yes, I can see why it would become your home. Lovely, indeed, both the view and the vessel. But I seem to find you ashore more than I would anticipate. Your duties, I assume?"

Elusul nods. "You traveled with him, I believe, the Lord Arathis. He is knight-herald of our order and has called all of the fief to Dol Amroth." He folds his hands on the pommel of his sword. "There will be much to discuss, I'm sure."

"Briefly, he joined our journey," she remembers. "But little interaction I shared with him."

"Much to discuss," Calenloth repeats, slowly. "I hear this, often, in fact." Her tone wavering, slightly, "Yet I hear nothing discussed, despite our return weeks ago. Is there trouble, Sir Elusul?"

From the gates emerges a knight, the gilding sun wed to his helm he is armored, grand shield at his arm, & flanked by a twain of bannermen. The azure and silver of House Isilrim catch the morning breeze and here, atop this black warhorse, is their lord.$

Reins aloft, Arathis makes first for his kinsman and companion.

Elusul nods solemnly. "Much indeed, Calenloth." The arrival of such a mighty sight as Arathis himself with his bannermen catches the sea-knight's attention and he turns to survey the power and the glory that is the Lord of the Isilrim. Saluting smartly, he waits for his kinsman to arrive, why saying as an aside to Calenloth, "The order is in fine hands."

"Trouble of what sort?" Calenloth asks, insistently, raising her eyes to those of Elusul. "Or do these matters not concern my interest, will you say?"

But she, too, hears the smatter of hooves and footsteps across the ground, while the motion of salute draws the expectation of an entrance of dignity. She spins upon her toes, to witness the entrance of Arathis, and too, offers the curtsey honor demands.

With less fanfare and little notice--indeed, no bannermen, despite being Telpekhor--does Menelglir slip into the yards, entering after Arathis by a few moments. He, too, is armed and armored, helm tucked under one arm, shield over the other. A smile plays across his face, broadening at the sight of this little group, for which he makes.

"Elusul," fields the bass of the Herald, "you return from your voyage so quickly?"

The destrier's trot halts aside, the iron head of its rider bowed. "And Lady Calenloth, what brings you to the Swan's Yard? Have you heard word then of the festival, and spy here for the jousters?"

There is a smile beneath his helm, echoed by the bannermen aside.

Elusul glances at Calenloth. "It is not my place to reveal the Lord Arathis' intentions even if I knew them." Then with he calls, "Hail the Lord Isilrim! I have not yet been abroad lest I miss the council. If it is your order though, I will set out immediately for southern waters."

Prepared for Elusul's reply before the words are even spoken, Calenloth nods politely, but her attention is caught by a new figure approaching. A wide smile crosses her face, as she returns to stand, and she offers a wave to Menelglir as his distance grows shorter.

"A festival, you say?" she asks Arathis, turning her smile instead to the Herald. "Perhaps I should choose a favorite, then."

"Sirs," Menelglir greets with a quick salute, then turns a smile on Calenloth. "At the practice yards, Lady? And as for a favorite...why not your kinsmen?"

"Nay, kinsman," answers Arathis from atop his steed, "but let us not tarry our opponent does not.

"Perhaps. It is rumor, for now," he shifts in his saddle towards Calenloth.

A gaze alone acknowledges the coming of Menelglir. "Now, I practice my sword, whether for one or the other."

With this, the Herald proceeds to a section of the yards, engaging in exercise with his pair of companion bannermen.

Elusul smiles at the thought of choosing a favorite. "I will have to send word to my wife for some sign from her of her favor." He nods in greeting to Menelglir and then asks, "You both are kin?"

Laughter pours from the mouth of the girl at the though. "No, certainly not," she answers, shaking her head. "At least," she glances to Menelglir, "I hope not?" And she too, smiles to Elusul, replying softly, "I hope she can make it. I would like to meet her, as you have said I should."

"Is that your wish, Menelglir?" she again looks to the younger Knight. "Should Lominzil carry my favors?"

From the South and West approaches a barefoot man, white tunic opened at his chest and brown breeches rolled to his thighs. He is unaccompanied and damp with the sea's favor. Brushing wet hair aside from his face as he nears, the man is revealed to be Calardan Hlorithain, Heir to the lands of Tarnost.

"Hir..." Menelglir has started to say to Arathis, but the man is already walking away to practice his swordwork. He turns back to the other two.

"Kinsmen?" A laugh. "Nay, we are not, Hir Elusul. I, a Telpekhor, the Lady, a Nimothan. But I did not know you were married, Hir Elusul. Children, too?"

Calenloth's query of him brings a change in his countenance--darkening, he looks to the woman--but then grins, shaking his head.

"Married... with children." Elusul nods. "Two girls ." He turns to Calenloth and says, "You did not say you were a Nimothan. I see."

Sitting where the green shelf of land meets rolling shore, Lominzil sits patiently by a pair of boots and a folded tabard.

Calenloth laughs at the sight of Menelglir's chagrin. "I suppose Lominzil will carry Farielle's favor, besides." She smiles, mischeviously, before adding, "Have you too come to spar? I see you do not travel lightly."

A sopping Knight joining them, she glances over Menelglir's shoulder curiously.

While these two chatter on their own affairs, Elusul hefts his sword and swishes it around in a pre-defined move, exercising and stretching, before snapping the sword up and then down and to his side. He then repeats. On his brow is a sheen of sweat and the muscles of his chest can be seen working in the parting of his shirt.

"Oh...oh..." Menelglir looks something between relieved and even more chagrined at Calenloth's laughter. "But...oh, well, yes.." He stumbles over his words, looking suddenly to shield and helm he is carrying. "Yes, I have come to spar and.."

Then that too gets swept aside--he twists to see what Calenloth is looking at--Elusul's movements get a puzzled glance in passing--then rests gaze on Calardan. "Oh...." Then in greeting, "Hir."

"Well," Calenloth suggests, with almost a lamentful ring, "There seem to be many the sparring partner, now that the morning grows later." She looks first to the stretching Elusul, before her gaze travels to the distant Arathis, thrusting away to his bannermen. And finally, to Lominzil, settled upon the ground, to whom she smiles if he can see her.

Calardan comes to sit aside Lominzil, turning a gaze and a salute to Menelglir who so acknowledges him. "Next time, you will join," says the Hlorithain to his Squire. "There is a peacefulness to Ulmo's waters."

Lominzil raises a hand in greeting to Calenloth, and smiles.

"Yes, sir," he answers to his Knight, "I hear its call."

Elusul finishes his exercises and then turns to nod to Calardan. "Hir Calardan. All this talk of favor and exercise has left me a bit warm. Perhaps others will join me for a swim? Out of your sight, of course, Calenloth."

The Hlorithain Knight runs his hands through his hair once, and then once again, before shaking his head and the water into his immediate vicinity.

He looks up to Elusul, "The sea is warm today, Hir Elusul. I fear Ulmo has chosen to refuse a cooling of your passions within his domain."

"Yes, Calenloth, but it seems as if some of your potential sparring partners will take a dip in the sea instead," Menelglir laughs, shifting his helm under his arm. "Though I suppose you could ask Hir Arathis...." He grins even broader, then replies to Elusul: "Nay, not until I have worked a little this morning."

"These waters? There is no current to fear?" Calenloth asks of Calardan. "I should enjoy them," she comments, before quickly looking to Elusul. "Out of view, that is."

"Should I?" she giggles to Menelglir. "I could arm myself with a long stalk of straw and challenge him to a duel?"
Lominzil leans away from his Knight as droplets fly everywhere. He glances down the slope, rubbing his arm absently.

"If you wish it, I will spar," he calls across the field, "and not swim."

"At least I will be cool upon leaving the water. The breeze will be enough." Elusul loses interest in swimming as he looks around for more to do and spots a few large rocks that have been left lying around for those who wish to lift them which the knight proceeds to do, his biceps flexing as he heaves the rock up and to his chest.

"Fear not the Prince's Bay, Lady Calenloth. As a boy in my Lord father's care, I swam here alone and against his wishes," says Calardan, only then looking up to the Nimothan. "And there is strength in your arm, I see."

If there is a smile at that, it is hardly noticeable. The Hlorithain Knight turns back to Arathis, "I wish it. The Lord Isilrim has quite a thrust."

"Let us see if you can match him."

[<#17324>] 'If you wish, then yes,' Menelglir says, laughing a little as he answers Calenloth. 'And then perhaps after, we can swim. Or, that is, I can swim and you can stay out of sight.' Another laugh, then he glances to Arathis.

"Though ... do not ... ... ... ... has ... ... ... humor. ... ... .... And it seems that ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...."

"Well, then," Calenloth decides, "It seems that later, we will swim. But for now, the challenges seem to fly. Lominzil, against the Knight-Herald. And yourself, Menelglir? Will you spar, too? Or view this match?"

Her eyes widen at Calardan's comment, but she fights to strike a change of expression from her face.
Lominzil raises his chin, a smile and two words lifted to the wind:

"Yes, sir."

"If you insist..and since you have gone to the trouble to come to the yards, I will spar. Wooden swords, and wear my helm, though it be too big for you." Menelglir hands his helm toward the woman. "Unless you object? I can fetch practice swords."

"Or...we can watch. Though Hir Calardan seems to think you should swim." He glances to that knight and the squire.

Slinging his emblazoned tabard over his tunic, Calardan reaches not far for his sword beside his boots. "Bear my sword. Let us see how the blades of the Hlorithain fare these days," he says to Lominzil, offering the weapon.

[Calenloth(#27998)] "Really?" Calenloth exclaims, surprised, the helm in her hands. "But," she considers, glancing quickly to the company of the Yards, "Here?" she returns, her voice hushed.

Elusul has his rock in his arms. He slowly lifts it up and up and up over his head and then starts slowly lifting it and lowering it in a controlled fashion. Within moments, his face is red, but he keeps up his movements, slow and controlled. Eventually, the strain looks as though it is getting to him and he lifts the rock over his head a final time, his arms shaking under the strain. With a grunt and a great heave, he flings the rock towards an empty part of the Yards and grins as it hits the ground and rolls a short way.

A thud.

Lominzil takes the Hlorithain's blade with a bow, crosses the short-cropped grass, and salutes the Lord of the Isilrim.

"Hir," he says reverently, "I am Lominzil Girithlin, Squire of the Blue, and would ask you for the honor of a spar."

"No, likely not--you are right," Menelglir relents. "Besides, I want to watch Lominzil spar with Lord Arathis. Do you not? Or are you enraptured by Sir Elusul's exercises?" he grins.

Calenloth giggles as the arc of the stone crashes to the ground below. "After the wrath he has cast upon that dummy, and the force of the projectiles he heaves," she speaks, seriously, but an amused flash to her eyes. "I should fear nothing should I be graced with his company."

No reply to the first comment, she nods, for now, but still carries the helm close to her body. "Shall we cross the field, then? As view this grand challenge?"

"Yes, Lady, of course. And if you would do me the favor of carrying my helm, I would be honored. Though of course, if you wish to have Sir Elusul tie a ribbon around it, that will be your prerogative," Menelglir says, suppressing a laugh. "And perhaps the Knight would like to join us, as well, in viewing, though Sir Calardan seems to be stayign up here. "

Retrieving his sword, Elusul follows the others, nodding to them with a smile. "I will be very ready for my swim." The knight breathes easily, though he is obviously winded from his burst of exertions. "Endurance is important."

"I will join," says Calardan, stepping up and aside the enduring Knight.

"Let us see how my Squire accounts himself, Hir Elusul."

Perhaps Menelglir might notice the foot that instead falls heavily upon his own instead of the ground as Calenloth crosses the grasses. "Sir Elusul," she asks, in complete seriousness. "Might you teach me to cast stones as such? Should the enemy ever approach the White City, I should like to offer my assistance of protection from behind the Great Gate."

Menelglir walks with the others--that is..he suddenly hops more than a few steps, as if his foot has a cramp in it. He grins at Calenloth.

Elusul shrugs at Calenloth. "It is merely a test of one's upper arm strength. If you can lift that rock, you should be able to throw it. Not much learning, just discipline."

At the approach of Lominzil, the Herald and his company pause their sport. His sword arm relaxes at his horse's flank, and he approaches the squire by bid of his horse. When he speaks, it is kindly: "Young Girithlin, if you would ask me to train you for a single match, as more youthful knights sometimes fight for a fair's vanity, then I would do so only to honor your Lord Thorondur, who taught me once the plays and split dashes of a champion.

"But if you would ask me to spar by my office, then I shall refuse you, for I would do you no honor. Though your last knight was solitary in his ways, you belong first to an Order, and are foremost a brother in the Prince's name you shall be charged mostly to combat in company and defense of those sworn at your side."

Lowering from his horse, he forwards the reins to the squire. "Be the horseman find yourself an ally Man-at-Arms, mayhap your knight. Together you two may face me, an Enemy if he would teach you so to draw a blow and take advantage in pair, then I accept."

Peering towards the gathered, he adds, "You may bring Elusul too to throw rocks."

Heeding the new coming, Arathis adds to Lominzil: "Should you band too with a second infantryman, mayhap Menelglir, I would have you bring the young Conalmir on horse to ally me."

Surprised, perhaps, Lominzil takes the Herald's response, and the reins, in stride.

"Very well, sir," he responds in turn. "I would ask that Hir Calardan accompany me, if he wishes and that Blue Squire Conalmir, too, take a role."

"Would you, Conalmir?" the Girithlin asks.

[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir looks slightly startled as well. But pleased also, and he slides his arm out of the sling and says promptly, "Yes. What is it that we do?"

Arathis monitors the collection from his saddle. Seeing that the squire has misunderstood, he calls out after him, "Nay, two infantryman and you, Girithlin, atop the mount!"

"It seems you may not observe after all," Calenloth comments softly, to Menelglir. "But quite a match this will be, indeed. Be it like the battles you have faced, as he described?"

Elusul calls out, "I have fought on horseback and from the deck of the ship. I prefer the latter myself."

"Come Menelglir, the Lord Isilrim fancies us infantrymen," says Calardan, gesturing to a Squire for a blade. He yet leaves his own with Lominzil.

[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir looks back over his shoulder at Elusul's shout and grins. "Aye, sir," he calls back. "You have the right of it!" Looking back to the others gathering around, he stretches his arm a little, and moves towards them. "I am here, sir."
"I am sorry," Lominzil says hurriedly, regarding the correction.

He speaks very briefly into the black horse's ear, and then steps into the stirrup, and thence to the saddle. The Hlorithain's blade is held, wielded.

"Nay, Hir Calardan. Not on this challenge, worthy though it is. I have only a few moments left to linger here before I am called away to attend to some duties--so I will watch instead and keep Hir Elusul and the Lady company. One of the Squires in the yards, surely, can join you." He withdraws to watch.

And with that, Calenloth too, steps backwards to give the sparring men some room, watching eagerly as horses step afoot and blades are passed.

Calardan is offered a sword and he takes it.

"Perhaps my Squire and I shall see to the challenge alone, Lord Isilrim? The last blade I bore upon a foe was axe to a tree! My blood is up. Let us spar."

[Conalmir(#31396)] Someone brings him a horse, and Conalmir mounts. Once astride, he checks his sword - he rides as someone who has grimly drummed the mechanics of the action into his muscles, not as someone who loves horses. Competently enough.

The Isilrim horse, though its rider sits with practiced grace in its saddle, whickers a question to its master on the opponent's side of the field. Lominzil, expressionless, bends to speak to his Knight.

"Who shall we take first, sir? The rider or the foot-knight?"

"Your blood alone shall hold two infantryman, Hir. So be it."

From under his helm, the Lord Isilrim seems to note the ride of Conalmir. "Tighten your legs, squire," he instructs, lifting and raising his neck in flex, "and loop the reins about your shield hand. Your blade --," he scans then between the gathered, and too lastly himself.

A glance to one of his accompanying kinsman brings a satchel of weighted wooden swords, placed amidst the gathering Swansmen. "We mean not to slay each other," smiles the Herald.

He hands away the Isilrim blade and picks up its replacement, doing the same for Conalmir.

[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir tightens his legs, as ordered, and begins to loop the reins. His mount objects somewhat to this, skittering a little forwards, but one thing the squire has going for him is good balance. His horse quiet again, he exchanges his sword for the wooden practice blade, swinging it a little to test its weight - and his arm's strength - and lifting his eyes in a brief grin at Lominzil.

Calardan smiles and says, "Why, of course," before handing off his steel.

And too, the Hlorithain's blade is laid to a brief rest.

Steady-handed, Lominzil then begins to guide the destrier, circling towards Sir Arathis's flank.

"Now, young Conalmir, you need not stay at my side," directs the Isilrim knight. He follows his swordhand, stepping to narrow the distance before his Girithlin opponent, his shield still held towards Calardan.

"Let the footman serve the anvil, and the horseman the hammer: if I am to hold them, and catch their mount (though, alas, my steed is veteran), his infantry may follow. Strike then passing blow upon the twain!"


Menelglir makes to leave, but is stopped by a Page. A short consultation, and the Knight turns back. "I am able to join, after all. If you would still like my sword and shield."

"We must concen..." Calardan begins to say to Lominzil before he is interrupted by the Telpekhor's wish to rejoin the fray. The Hlorithain looks back to Menelglir with a nod. "Hir Telpekhor and I shall see to Hir Arathis."

He points his wooden prop at Conalmir, "You, Lominzil, see to the Tarikhor."

"Yes, sir." Lominzil raises a brow towards Conalmir, tugs gently on the reins in one hand, and trots towards the other mounted Squire, head-to-head.

Conalmir nods, and moves away from Arathis, lifting into a trot. When he sees Lominzil coming towards him, he spares a single glance back towards the knight, before urging his mount on.

Arathis, meanwhile, has hastened to the Girithlin squire. A spirited arm launches from a quick balance, and the first attack is dealt: a wooden lunge to the squire's front, meant to strike the thigh and sharply pin. His shield is still held in guard of the other two knights.

He shouts with the new din to his ally, "Pass the horseman first to force the defense, and then ring for the foot if I have held him!"

Arathis attacks Lominzil with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

Distinct claps of polished boots strike the ground, the steps sweeping forward, as yet another figure approaches the field. Helm in hand, shining silver in the sunlight, the other hand lifted from clasp upon hilt to brush back black hair from his forhead.

Tinneden Girithlin, pauses at sight of the melee.

Arathis's attack -- seen, but unguarded. At the last moment, Lominzil stretches out his shield arm, warding off an unseating blow to his leg.
But the shield proves to be of ill use, as the Herald's blade falls upon his forearm instead, landing with the solid crack normally attributed to block and parry.

Tight-lipped and paling, Lominzil withdraws his hand, guiding the destrier with his knees. He rides straight for Conalmir, sword raised to prod at the other's chest.

You attack Conalmir with your Longsword...
Conalmir dodges your attack.

[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir shouts back, "Aye, sir!" and knees his mount to the side aiming to pass Lominzil just out of reach of the other squire's sword. He hears the crack of Arathis' sword, but his horse is cantering past. He turns to look over his shoulder after Lominzil. The Girithlin is yet mounted, and Conalmir turns back to ride towards the two footmen.

[Menelglir(#17324)] Helmed and armed with wooden sword, Menelglir looks up sharply at the cracking sound that splits the air. Neath his helm, his lips press together tightly--he ventures a glance sideways at Calardan, but raises his shield and rushes toward Arathis.

Guarding with shield to ward off a blow from the mounted horseman, he positions himself so as to try to come at horse and rider from the side, blade slapping out toward the rump of the Herald's horse.

Menelglir attacks Arathis with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

The Hlorithain pauses too at the cracking. He does not recover to strike as does the Telpekhor, instead using the prop blade as a cane to support his frame. He watches Lominzil wordlessly, the sea still dripping from his body.

The Herald's extending strike for Lominzil betrays the horseman goes unpinned, and Arathis's bum is left exposed. A sportive laugh rises by Menelglir's landing: "Calardan, but you do not tire already!"

The same alights the Isilrim knight in retort upon the Telpekhor. He draws himself some steps to his far side at the blow, working thus to circle about his opponent's sword arm. At the suspicion of advantage, he swings an arc for that side.

Even so, he catches sight of the approaching Girithlin. "Squire, come to my side!"

Arathis attacks Menelglir with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

A surprised gasp of pain herals the Isilrim lord's blow landing upon Menelglir's sword arm, for though the younger knight twists out of the way, it is not quite fast enough. "Hir!" he shouts, tinge of anger in the tone, and perhaps anger in the answering blow, which comes toward Arathis' knee.

Menelglir attacks Arathis with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

Reins looped about the saddlebow, his left arm tucked nonchalantly into his belt, Lominzil wheels about, chasing after Conalmir with the intent of tapping him on his shoulder, and thus distracting him from the Knights. The great horse's hoofbeats precede him.

You attack Conalmir with your Longsword...
Your attack against Conalmir mildly wounds him!

A fire to his grey eyes as Lominzil reels back, quelled only as the Squire traverses forward, unfazed. Wordlessly, the helm pulled over his seamless locks, Tinneden marches forward to the call of duty.

"Shall I disarm the Telpekhor, Hir?" the cold, unwavering voice rings from below steel, the sword drawn from hilt and spun artfully in hand.

Calenloth attacks Menelglir with her Longsword, but she misses by a long shot.

"I am winded," says Hir Calardan, his eyes steady on his Squire. The Knight is an oak though winded, the wind sways him not as he watches.

"You may try if you like," Menelglir says, deftly managing to at least twist out of the way of the Squire's hit. "Or perhaps today the outcome will be the other way around," he continues, bringing sword in an arc down to try to dislodge the Squire's blade from his grip.

Menelglir attacks Calenloth with his Longsword and mildly wounds her!

[Conalmir(#31396)] Lominzil's horsemanship is far superior to Conalmir's. The squire hears the pounding hoofbeats behind, and glances back - just in time to see Lominzil's sword descending to strike him on the shoulder. He wheels his mount - distracted indeed! - but doesn't strike back. Yet. "Your arm?" he asks, holding the reins tightly, sword ready.

But Arathis has continued his step, his legs shuffling aside of Menelglir's strike. At the the Telpekhor knight's shout, he is quiet, and for some moments does not strike. "Do not aim with passion, Hir. If I mean to gain angle, simply advance to close it."

He watches then the newly arrived Girithlin be struck. A hard thrust flies for the sword-shoulder of Menelglir, meaning to stunt the attacking arm.

Arathis attacks Menelglir with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Lominzil sits expertly in the Isilrim's saddle, commanding by use of his legs alone. "Don't you remember?" he says to Conalmir, his tone dreamy, nearly numb. "It was precisely ten years ago. Won't you recite me some poetry?"

He wheels about, ambling towards the foot-melee and Hir Arathis -- a strike swung toward the Herald's shoulder.

You attack Arathis with your Longsword...
Arathis parries your attack with his shield!

Menelglir's blade clangs against the fuller of his own, and Tinneden retorts dryly, "Has the Lady has taught you how to dance, Hir?" as he twists his shoulder back to indicate the woman standing audience. The length of his weapon vibrates from the hit but he grasps confidently, the corners of his mouth crooking to the side as Arathis's hit lands square. "Perhaps another lesson should follow."

Again, he thrusts a slicked boot forward, swinging from the side, his own sword sparkling under the sun.

Calenloth attacks Menelglir with her Longsword, but Menelglir parries the attack with his shield!

[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir is silent a moment, then he laughs, reckless and wild, and shouts after Lominzil, kicking his mount into pursuit, "The long love that in my thoughts I harbour..."

He races up behind the other squire, aiming his sword towards Lominzil's saddle - to try and wedge it beneath a leg and pop him off the horse.

Conalmir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!

With two opponents against him now, and Hir Calardan weary--that gains that Knight a quick, puzzled glance--Menelglir is hard pressed. The attack to his shoulder he takes, and seeing Lominzil's approach behind, he times his own efforts toward Tinneden. An easy lift of his shield blocks the other's blow, and he slips his own blade under his shield at the same time, striking out at the Squire's legs.

"I dance well enough--and watch your tongue, Squire--sparring match or not."

Menelglir attacks Calenloth with his Longsword and mildly wounds her!

"Girithlin," asides Arathis to the squire by him, "be silent lest ye earn a blow."

He relaxes his sword arm then, appearing content to leave the lad to his own. The pair each of horse and foot are given a nod of heed, and he unguards, retiring himself towards Calardan.

There, he removes his helm.

"You hath laid heavy blow upon my Squire," says Calardan, as Arathis nears, "I fear his arm is broke." He stands flat, still watching Lominzil.

Lominzil turns, avoiding the Herald as he retires, and instead meets Conalmir's blow with blow. "Elementary," he laughs, "a verse from the primary reader. But timeless. Have you more?"

He lunges with the tip, never too far from the saddle, for the chest of the mounted Squire.

You attack Conalmir with your Longsword...
Conalmir parries your attack with his Longsword!

Briskly, his breath sucked inward, the blade crashing against his thigh, Tinneden grits his teeth to retract any cry of pain or surprise. Steady he remains, irritation hidden by the shadow of helm upon his youthful face.

Another lunge towards the Knight, this time across his chest, curving upward with a swift stroke.

Calenloth attacks Menelglir with her Longsword, but she misses by a handspan.

[Conalmir(#31396)] "I thought it appropriate," Conalmir answers. Their swords clang together again, and Conalmir guides his mount around in a tight circle to come at the other squire again. A careful blow towards Lominzil's sword arm as he shakes his head, face suddenly grim. "I have no more."

Conalmir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

One more blow does Menelglir send against the Squire Tinneden even as he moves swiftly out of the way of the strike toward his chest. His blade curves a sweeping arc, coming down toward the Squire's helm. Force there is upon the blow, enough--if it hits--to set the metal ringing and ears, as well.

Menelglir attacks Calenloth with his Longsword and mildly wounds her!

"But he still swings?" Arathis puzzles Calardan shortly. Discarding his wood, he takes to stride for Lominzil, and reenters the fray.

"Be down if you are hurt, squire." A hand rises to pause Conalmir, perhaps too to aid.

Sonorous, the sound of the waves bouncing off steel to ear to steel again, and quickly they crescendo to pounding. "Ai!" Tinneden can hold back no longer, pitching left... no, right, or is it up? He stumbles one way, pressed trousers blending into crisp white tunic, into green silk, as a bystander cannot clear the wake of his fall fast enough.

Calenloth yelps as the Squire tumbles into her, falling to the ground in a heap of elbows and skirts.
"A pity," Lominzil answers Conalmir, too grim and perilous as steel. "I haven't any more, either."

He dismounts stiffly but on his own, handing off the reins to the destrier's rightful owner.

"Are you hurt?" Arathis asks Lominzil directly.

[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir holds his blow mid-swing, looking down at the other squire, but saying nothing.
"Yes, sir," Lominzil answers the Herald. One arm supports the other.

Menelglir has already lowered sword and shield as Arathis strides into the fray--then as Tinneden falls atop Calenloth, he tosses wooden sword aside and rushes toward the tangled pair, first instinct to heave the Squire off the woman, if that is possible.

"I mean not to harm you squire my blow was too heavy.

"Come, let us away to the healers and learn the splint."

Arathis guides towards the city gates.

"Too captive of an audience, I am, perhaps," Calenloth laughs, though she winces, as the young man is rolled off of her. "I should return home." She moves to stand, brushing away the sand kicked upon the material of her dress.

Meanwhile, Tinneden, cast onto the ground, rises slowly, helmet tugged swiftly from his aching head, staggers back to his feet, first leaning forward, clumsy, but purposefully, to sweep the dust from his boots. A short apology, and a sharp nod to Menelglir, "Hir," he salutes, before stepping quickly towards Arathis.

"Conalmir," says Calardan, viewing the scene with a hawkish eye.

"You have subdued Lominzil. Dismount."

[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir swings down from his horse, but he shakes his head. "No, sir had his arm not been injured by Hir Arathis, I am certain he would have prevailed. He is much the better horseman."

"You are unhurt? And you, Squire?" Menelglir asks first of Calenloth, then Tinneden. "The others are going to the healers--if you are hurt you should, as well. Come, I will lead you back."
Wordlessly, Lominzil bows his head, stumbling a moment ere his step falls once more into iron command. Ignoring all else, even his kinsman, he follows Arathis.

"I praise your victory," says the Hlorithain, "Yet your honor the sacrifices of your brethren." He looks at last to Conalmir and nods.

"There is your triumph."

With those words, so does Calardan pass from the Yards.

"Just a surprise," Calenloth laughs, "Yet I fear my arm may be tender from the impact. Likely, only a bruise, not serious. A reminder! If only to step back." She smiles, moving to follow Menelglir.

"A good exercise," Tinneden speaks, flatly, though his head held higher than usual. "I shall accompany Hir Arathis, Hir, and thank you for your blows, as they will raise my guard."

[Conalmir(#31396)] "Thank you, sir," Conalmir is beginning to say, when Calardan turns and walks away. For a minute, bemused, the squire watches after him, then he hurries to replace his practice sword, reclaim his own, and follow Lominzil and Arathis to the healers.

Players: Calenloth, Elusul, Menelglir, Arathis, Calardan, Lominzil, Conalmir, Tinneden
Located in: Gondorian