(121-04-07) Trout vs Kraken
Trout vs Kraken
Summary: Sylas and Thadeus have a spar of sorts that takes a serious turn.
Date: 07/04/2014 (OOC)
Related: None

Tourney Grounds

The Tourney Grounds stand just outside of the walls of Oldtown. There is a raised platform of several levels for noble viewers, with space for comfortable chairs and little tables to be set in place, and tall posts for canopies to be hung to keep the sun off. Not far stands the great board where the lists are kept. On the far side of the grounds rough tiered benches are available for the smallfolk, and past them there's a flat field for the knights to erect their pavilions in the grass.

The long log rail for the jousts stands right before the Lords' and Ladies' platform, with the space for the melee just beyond it. The archery butts are mounded at the Southwest edge of the grounds, where a great meadow of purple-red fireweed spreads off into the distance. The rough little narrow road to Blackcrown cuts through it.

It's mid-morning, and the Reach-summer's day is approaching its peak, but that hasn't stopped half a dozen crazy ironmen training on the tourney-grounds in half-mail. One warrior, older and slightly bent in the shoulders, seems to be acting largely as 'master-at-arms', though sometimes the excitement of the fray gets too much for him and he leaps in too, hap-hazardly hurling about a tourney axe. Well, it's presumably a blunted axe, though with this lot you rarely know for sure till it's hit you in the forehead. In the midst of these fighters, the pick of the Mourning Maw's crew, Lord Sylas, the Volmark of Volmark, is training with an edgeless arming sword in each hand, and all manner of exotic oaths, picked up with the plunder on a dozen reavings, to arm him, quite literally, to the teeth.

There is a bit of a ruckus when a small crowd arrives, a closer inspection will reveal four knights in Tully colours, and one particular sporting the sigil of the Leaping Trout, among some nosy common folk who have followed in their wake. Ser Thadeus Tully lets his gaze drift lazily over the already ongoing practice, and there is a *thomp* when he lets that wooden tourney sword slip off his shoulder and hit the ground with the tip of its dull blade. Leaning over to his comrades he will say something, too low to be overheard by any busy on the practice field, the reaction however is a loud roaring laughter coming from both the ones in his company and the Tully heir himself.

Few things can distract the Ironborn from a good tussle, but one of them has just veered into view. Their detractors call the ironmen a race of thieves and fishermen, and the leaping trout of Tully is certainly one fish they have long been wont to pursue. In their own time, but with surprising discipline, the five lesser islanders leave off their dueling and file behind their lord and captain, dark smirks on their faces and mock-languor in their just-about-warmed-up limbs. As for Sylas, he moves with a certain ease and grace marking him out from the stony caution of the other men, strolling towards the river-knights. "Good morn, greenlanders. Care to share your fine jest?"

A pair of pants made of soft leather, a quilted shirt of linnen and a sword, blunt, yet still made of steel. Lady Ulyka Mormont is by far neither clothed in, nor surrounded by her most favourite things. Driplets of sweat glisten on her forehead as well as on those of the man accompanying her, yet her embroidered handkerchief is most definitively out of reach. She enters the tourney ground in utter discomfort, obviously having spent at least an hour of practices before, somewhere close.

Spotting the gathering at the tourney field the young girls mien slips into pur surliness. "Why did you tell me, there is nobody here at this hour?" she huffs "Now, give me your cloak. They shouldn't see me like this." With that she plucks the woolen cloak, a peice of clothing way to heavy, way to warm for the merciless sun at this hour, and wraps herself thoroughly with the fabric.

Nevertheless a stubborn scepticism makes her approach instead of turning around.

With laughter still rippling about him, Ser Thadeus Tully turns just in time to notice the reaction of the Ironmen. A smirk appears on those handsome and proud features, as his grey-blue eyes study the dismayed looks on the faces with hardly concealed amusement. "Why should I share it, Ironborn. When you most likely lack the wits to understand it anyway." He chuckles, sharing a glance with his Riverland knights before he turns his gaze back towards Sylas. "But if you insist… I was remarking on the unique grace of your men - which reminded me of peasants plowing a field." Enjoying his impertinent moment there obviously, Thadeus shifts a little in his stance, his gaze curious and attentive, one hand resting on the pommel of the wooden practice sword, as he leans on it, with the lazy nonchalance of an heir of a Great House.

"Why, that's a complicated flower of wit, indeed," Sylas remarks, evenly, swinging the long arms at his spare flanks, the two tourney swords still pointing firmly down, but emitting a fresh, breezy whistle even in the thick, muggy summer's air. "Ironborn peasants, mayhaps. Most of them indeed won their places at my side by skill, not birth. But freeborn ironmen need not till and plow. Unlike the peasants you trouts were, before you betrayed your rightful king for fear of dragons." He has approached nearer and nearer. At first his men haltingly began to follow him, but an airy swing of his left weapon kept them on guard in their places.

"Then my observations had some truth to them?" Thadeus retorts, brows rising as he watches the impressive demonstration of swings. "Peasants they are? But I see your style has been tainted by their company, or do you hail from the same lowly scum you like to surround yourself with." A snort when Sylas speaks of Rivermen betraying their King. "I believe you are in no position to put any judgment on us, Krakenspawn." His grey-blue gaze hardening as that smile slowly fades. Rolling his shoulders the Tully will step forward now, a mere glance over his shoulder signalling his men to stand back. The wooden sword is gripped firmly, the tip finally raised from the ground, as the Bull Fish shoots Sylas a challenging glare.

"Whence do I hail? Where stands my position?" Sylas smirks back, laughing through his beard. "Fine questions, softlander, in keeping with the wisdom you have been pleased to display to me so far. I'd've gladly let my peasants teach your knightlings the answer, but you have piqued my interest enough to keep our discourse personal. Know then, whether you be Lord Trout himself or his underfishwife's whelp, that Black Harren's heir stands ready to answer your enquiry." He bows extremely curtly, and immediately adopts a battle-ready stance. It seems he intends to spar, as he trained, with an arming sword in each hand.

"Ah," Thadeus replies, that stern expression fading a touch when he realizes who it is he is bantering with. "Aren't you the lord without lands, a sidekick of the Krakens?" A slightly amused chuckle there. "You seem to be the heir of naught, Lord Sylas. But Lord Thadeus Tully, heir of Riverrun will gladly take you up on that offer of 'information'." Reading that stance correctly he will ready himself as well, one or two swings to get a feel for the training sword, before he casually inclines his head, the sign he is ready to go.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Sylas=alertness Vs Thadeus=alertness
< Sylas: Good Success Thadeus: Success
< Net Result: Sylas wins - Marginal Victory

"You err, as I would expect of a Tully who boasted in his byname of his bovine mind!" the Volmark sneers, dancing forward, probing, taunting, then skidding back out of reach. His limited hauberk and dual style keeps him light and swift, though nonetheless impetuous. "The leviathan feasts on all fish from the kraken to the trout, and recks naught of their degree!" While still half way through his boast, he has lunged in earnest with his left, more unexpected tourney blade, aiming for the wrist of Ser Thadeus's swordarm. Perchance he thinks to end this with contemptuous rapidity.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Sylas=blades Vs Thadeus=blades
< Sylas: Success Thadeus: Good Success
< Net Result: Thadeus wins - Solid Victory

"Ah. That byname. You mean Bull Fish?" Thadeus chuckles as he shifts, his grey-blue eyes never leaving his opponent. "I happen to have broken a lance on many battlefields. Does that make me less of a Tully? I think not?" He is not used to the fighting style with two blades, and so he watches Sylas warily, being perhaps in the disadvantage for just using one single blade. The sudden movement is noticed, however, and the practice sword comes up just in time to parry the blow. "You seem to be a meek imitation of a kraken, if you don't master the two arms of yours!" Whirling his greater sword as he turns and tries to place a hit with force, aiming for the Ironman's ribcage.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thadeus=blades Vs Sylas=blades
< Thadeus: Great Success Sylas: Good Success
< Net Result: Thadeus wins - Solid Victory

The River-heir's tactic may not have been particularly subtle, but by the old, new and Drowned gods, it proves damnably effective. Unwisely exposed in his bold but risky first manoeuvre, Sylas has put too much trust in his own speed and drastically underestimated his adversary's ability to combine it with vast, concentrated might. A head shorter and a stone lighter than his attacker, he is quite simply barrelled over, and something definitely cracks. Besides this half his mouth strikes the sandy but hard tourney ground - and he spits out a tooth - a process which looks to involve gold and blood, but little enamel. A more serious loss, for the time being, is his left hand blade, which he has dropped and has spun a couple of paces clear of the fray. It seems, for an instant, as if his torso is giving the Ironman unmanageable agony. He is slow to limp up, and his remaining blade is lowered, as if he is on the point of yielding.

Then he kicks up a fine, large dirt and sand firmly in the direction of his enemy's eyes.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Sylas=brawl Vs Thadeus=brawl
< Sylas: Failure Thadeus: Success
< Net Result: Thadeus wins - Marginal Victory

A triumphant grin appears on the Tully heir's features when he sees Sylas go down. "Yield already?" The question likewise a taunt as an incredulous inquiry, as he leans on his wooden sword, tip resting on the ground again. But the easy manner of the Tully may be deceiving. As soon as Sylas' boot kicks dirt into his face - attempts to, rather - his head moves instinctively to the side, eyes closing for brief moment. "Hah, that's all you are about? Plowing fields and playing dirty tricks, Kraken sidekick?" Finally some indignation has replaced that slightly bored tone of Thadeus' voice, as he swings his sword at Sylas, a simple attack aiming for the Volmark's legs.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Thadeus=blades Vs Sylas=blades
< Thadeus: Good Success Sylas: Success
< Net Result: Thadeus wins - Marginal Victory

Another is soon to come upon the scene, though unilike the other men who mill about-this one is neither a saltman of the Iron Isles, nor is he a fish by any other colour from the Riverlands. Still a collection of such people is enough to give the dark clad rider pause. Enough that as his young squire seeks to ride on past, he raises a hand to catch the lad's attention. A curious glance between the two historic enemies, and with a nudge, the armored man is bringing himself, and horse through the small throng of reachfolk who seem bent on watching this particular display-than say going about their own business. There may be a few protests to his sudden and sof nudging in, but most when they spy the colours and caltrops on surcoat tend to turn aside and allow this Lord his due.

Squire is down first and earnest with a hand moving to grip at the knight's reigns, as Ser marten Footly drops down soon enough and then gently makes his way to the fencing that leads into the yard proper. Taking an country lean, the heir of Tumbleton watches the exchange and flash of blades. A low whistle given before he is turning to one of the nearby men. Hard to tell from this angle, whom is Tully and whom is Kraken. "A duel?" Or something more friendly, seems to be the unasked question.

"That was a quite a good joke," Sylas concedes after suppressing the groan of his only partially armoured shins getting predictably battered as he staggers back up with his guard barely intact. "Best be careful with that newly whetted tongue of yours. You might injure one of your heifers." Then all of a sudden he takes a leap back, snatches a dirk from his belt - and make no mistake, this unpleasant little number, unlike the other arms employed so far, is live steel - and hurls it in what looks more or less intentionally the direction of good Ser Thadeus's cod-piece…

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Sylas=throwing Vs Thadeus=alertness
< Sylas: Success Thadeus: Failure
< Net Result: Sylas wins - Marginal Victory

The new arrival is hardly noticed by Ser Thadeus, as his attention seems to focus on Sylas at the moment. But one of the Riverlands knights will turn his head towards the Footly lord and mutter: "Bah, only kraken scum receiving a lesson, my lord. A well deserved one."

"Ah come one, Kraken shit, this is starting to get boring," Thadeus remarks with a chuckle as he sees another of his attacks hit home. An amused glance is shot towards his Riverlands knights. A moment of distraction that he will have to pay for sooner than he thinks.


He certainly did not see that dagger coming. Staring at Sylas before waves of agony make him lower his gaze to where the dagger has penetrated his light armor and flesh. And he grabs the its handle to slowly draw it out of his left thigh, only inches away from that cod piece Sylas had aimed for. The weapon is thrown onto the ground between the Ironmen and the Riverlanders. "So this is your idea of an honourable spar?" Thadeus spits out, while the other knights seem even more agitated, hands moving to pommels of steel swords, to pull them out of their scabbards.

<FS3> Sylas rolls Command: Good Success.

For his part, Sylas stands at his full, but not very imposing, height, still at a distance from his Tully adversary, weighing the blunt blade of his remaining tourney sword in the hollow of his off-hand. He is begrimed, and bruised, but he is definitely grinning widely through that surprisingl neatly combed and cut beard of his. "I fear in our warlike ardour we forgot to specify the rules, Ser Thadeus. But no. I call it victory, in a duel to first blood." He shrugs lightly, and the men from the Maw form up beside him, heaving weapons in earnest which even in the midst of training with edgeless arms had not, it seems, strayed far. "If there be further…effusions, let it not be said it was any doing of the Lord of Volmark's, rather that the rash act of a headstrong knight unable to overcome his most insidious foe…shame."

The sudden blade so close to balls-is what has murmurs and then shouts as realization comes from both Rivermen and Iron Islanders alike. As the Tully knights look to draw their own steel and Islanders arm themselves, there's a quick and rather loud cry of: "ENOUGH!" The Footly Lord is now standing and not leaning. hand to post and he vaults over with relative easy, now coming from the crowd-before his hand is to the pommel of his own blade. "Enough! Knights-Stay your hands. By the Seven's teeth you will obey the law here!" This more or less shouted in the direction of the Tully men, before he is looking to the Ironborn. "And you rabble, back and given peace's breadth." All rolled in his lyrical accent of this particular kingdom. "Or I will charge you all, and cut through you like warm butter, if it means keeping the peace."

Whether or not Marten's threat serves, after all he is but one knight and Lord-though he seems to be taking on authority, whether he has it or not.

"It is known that the Lord Hightower does not abide violence here in his town." And with that he is looking to his Squire "Fetch the Watch." Which will likely take some time and hopefully the situation will be diffused by then.

Thadeus spits out, anger now clearly boiling within him. "You… what? Bested me?" His gaze dropping to the training sword in his hand. "No… you cheated, as all Ironmen do. A duel to first blood must be announced as such. And you are perfectly aware of that, kraken shit." One hand rising to keep those Riverlanders behind him at bay, before Thadeus lets go of the wooden weapon, and it falls to the ground with a loud *THUMP* and his hand reaches for his real sword next. "Insolence - and treason - that you will pay for, Lord Sylas.", the Bull Fish adds coldly.

Shifting his attention briefly to the Footly lord Aas he tries to intervene, Thadeus will hesitate however, his sword already halfway drawn out of his scabbard. His grey-blue eyes still lingering on the Ironmen, attentively.

Throwing his own practice sword aside in mocking emulation of Ser Thadeus - much good either of the iron-weighted cedar lumps have done him this morn! - Sylas maintains that infuriating grin of his as he spreads his arms out wide, his body quite exposed. "What! Would you murder a lord of Westeros, and an officer of Lord Hightower's Sea Watch, too, quite unarmed, false knight?" he jeers merrily. "Why, I would even seem to have mislaid mine eating knife. I can't think how." The oldest among the reavers behind him, the 'master at arms', chuckles openly, and most of the rest are smiling too. "Ah, at last a man of honour to regulate this sadly disordered scene," Sylas continues as he turns his grimace of a smile on Marten.

"The Watch, what a fine thought. A spell in a cell would serve this hothead admirably, unless byy some miracle he controls himself, for the first time in his life. As for me and my men, we are bound aship. We have enemies of the realm to confront, after all…"

"Snap it down!" This is hissed back over his shoulder in the direction of the Bull Fish, as if he was scolding a pup. Placing himself between the Ironmen and the Riverlanders, this knight of the Reach does something rather gutsy, even as now he is without squire or watchmen to add to his own back up. Lone Lord Footly's hand grips the pommel of his blade tightly, and the soft ring of steel is heard as a rather finely made blade is loosed from scabbard and left naked in the late morning air. A step is taken in the direction of the Volmark and the crew of the Maw, and there his stance changes, ever so slightly. But men trained in warfare and killing could easily take it as a readying stance.

"I suggest that the Lord here and his men are confused as to what a duel is. Just as I am sure the Tully behind me is certain that it was an accident." his voice rippling in the calm, yet determined nature of his speech.

"Therefore before the Watch arrives, I suggest both men apologize, and take their leave-or you will have to try me." And there Marten levels his look at Sylas, and then back over towards Ser Thadeus. "And if you do not know who I am. My suggestion then is for you both to tread lightly."

"Take your eating knife, and leave.." And there is head raises slightly. "And go about your business, if you please."

<FS3> Sylas rolls Heraldry: Good Success.

Thadeus really tries to appear calm. There may be a tiny twitch of the brow here and a sharp exhale there that give away he is most seriously displeased. "Murder?", he spits out. "It wasn't me who chose to draw steel in the first place!" His gaze shifting to the Footly lord now, as if to seek some support. "He threw a dagger at me, my lord. After I gave him a sound thrashing." A low grumble as he glances towards Sylas again, although the words he speaks are directed at Marten. "Yes. Call the guards. Dishonourable conduct needs to be brought before Lord Hightower. The evidence is clear." He pats the thigh that is still bleeding, wincing at the touch. "I see no wounds on you, ser Krakenshit."

His gaze darts to the Footly at his suggestion. "Apologize? You must be jesting. This… piece of filth that calls himself lord…" His voice trails off, before the Tully glances towards Sylas, grey-blue eyes locking on the Ironborn's visage and he nods slowly. "Very well. I apologize!" His gaze speaking a different language though.

The leviathan sounds positively cat-like now. "Courtesy seems a sour thing to swallow when you're new to it, my lord of Tully, but you'll find it serves you well in the long run. If you last that long, that is. As for me, of course I apologise for my grievous…heraldic…mishap. My lord of Footly here," and he pronounces this with all the pride of an Ironborn lord recalling a very patchy education, "may stand as my witness. Good day, my lords." And indeed he and his are not dainty of their leavetaking, smirking all as they make themselves scarce in the direction of their ship, and their element.

"Do it." Marten commands, before he is looking back towards Sylas. And there he keeps his sword where it may be seen. "And you, Squid." the word used with a bit of derision there, though the lone knight remains ever so calm. A lick of his lips as he waits for Sylas' own response. And when Sylas does as so and slides off with his crew in tow-there is but a shift of weight from his shoulders. A turn back towards the Tully, and the Footly goes to sheathe his sword.

"I am sorry about that, Ser." he offers. "But, I was not about to allow blow to come-even if the man was a blackguard to you. You're of too good of a family to mingle with them." And then he nods his head. "If you wish to press your case, I will vouch for your side before the Hightowers."

Thadeus lowers his gaze, gritting his teeth, when Sylas continues to taunt him and he really has to bite down a heated retort. It takes a moment or two before he gives his reply in a forced calm. "Courtesy? You really mean to give me lecture in courtesy, ser?" His grey-blue eyes following the Volmark as he heads off with his men, he will turn his gaze once again towards Marten. "You heard him! He didn't even apologize! How could you let him… get through with this?" The words are hissed rather than spoken. Before Thadeus nods, at the Footly's proposition. "My lord of Footly? I may take you up on your offer. And you are right of course. I am Thadeus, of House Tully." The introduction offered quietly before the Tully heir turns to his Riverland knights. "I've had enough sparring today. And this wound needs to be seen to. Let's head back to the manse." Offering a bow to Marten before he leaves, "My lord of Footly." Then limping away, but declining any assitance or help that is offered to him by his knights.

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