RP:Frostmaw's Victory Tournament
Snowless Training Yard, Frostmaw
Hildegarde had arrived early to ensure that the Snowless Training Yard had been set up appropriately and she wasn’t disappointed. The yard had been cleared and set up as she had instructed: one area devoted to a melee combat situation, the other sorted into two lanes for a joust and the final – and most furthest away from every other section – was set up for an archery contest, circles of hay with coloured rings to mark points awaiting to be tried and tested. The Steward of Frostmaw had even had a little platform and set of stands erected for the mini-tournament, which is where she sat now with a Frost Giant on either side of her. The Eyrie’s wyverns were dutifully transporting people from the tavern to the yard, depositing combatants and audience members alike. The Silver smiled and offered a nod to each arrival, occasionally a little wave of her hand as if to wave them towards the stands where they might be able to sit and rest for a little while. Once enough people had gathered, the knight rose from her seat and announced loudly: “Greetings and welcome to Frostmaw’s fine Academy of Aramoth! We gather here today to celebrate Frostmaw’s undoubted victory over the traitorous exiles of the west. In praise of Aramoth and Frostmaw itself, what better way to celebrate than to fight. And for a fight, we need volunteers! If you would like to participate in our fine melee, our joust or even our archery contest, speak up now; and speak of what you’d wish to join.”
Vakko had grown bored with the dreary underdark and thought to come up for a bit fun, seeing this little gathering posted in the taverns he did not see the harm in making the trip to see such an event. He has after all never attended any tournaments on the surface, it will be a nice learning experience. As the interdiction was made by the frostmaw steward he could only smile a little more from under his low pulled hood. He had keep away from the others gathered, the dark figure on the fringes of the group but he slowly steps forward and raises a hand. “I’ll play, looks like fun.” He looks about the events and gave a slight shrug. “I guess I’ll play at the melee and maybe the archery.” All that could be seen from under the shadow of his hood would be his ever growing dark smile.
Obunaki makes his way through the crowd and approaches the platform.The armored priest bows to the Silver before turning to all sides and offering unto the crowd the same gesture. The battle priest then once again faces the Steward of Frostmaw and declares himself loud enough for her and the rest to hear both his name an intentions. "Waylon Obunaki-San. You may address me as Obunaki. I have come here today to participate in mini tournament and include my skills in the games taking place within it. I have trained my entire life for melee combat and have also had much practice with the art of archery. Therefore, I shall enter my name into the joust!" Obunaki again bows to the Silver as he concludes his formalities.
Hildegarde said to Vakko, "Very well, sir. What is your weapon of choice?"
Hildegarde said to Obunaki, "Greetings, Obunaki. You wish only to participate in the joust? If that is the case, you may go and select your steed and lance, if you do not have one of your own."
Faolan had read about some tournament in the Kelay tavern. The event was in celebration of Frostmaw's recent victory in some war he didn't know much about. Having visited the province to the north before, the Wolf Born figured it would be a good opportunity to meet others and observe some extraordinary feats of combat. As he had done before, the druid traveled to Frostmaw with a winter wolf by his side, a loyal member of his pack, who had originally been born in the frozen kingdom. Upon reaching the training yard, he offered a polite nod to the Stewart, who he had met at the local tavern during his last visit to Frostmaw. He wasn’t much of a fighter himself, not so much due to a lack of skill, but mostly by choice. After all, he preferred to spend much of his time dedicated to other pursuits and exploring the different realms in the continent. Thus, he opted for being a passive observant for the time being, more interested in seeing how the participants would fare.
Vakko brakes fully away from the crowd to stand at the base of the platform that the silver stood atop, a brief glance given to Obunaki before looking back to Hildegrade. “Why blades of course, or spears. I am not picky.” He inclined his head slightly, “And I forgot to introduce myself. I am called Vakko.”
Obunaki nods to the Silver. "I wish to test myself in things I am far unfamiliar with." With that said, the battle priest heads over to the area the horses are kept to inspect which one he shall mount. On the way there he stops to place a lance into his hands. The High elf finds one with ornate fish decorations around it and decides that it is the one for him.
Hildegarde offered a little nod as Vakko states his preference of weapon, “I see. This melee is fought with blunted weapons, m’lord, so I am sure you shall find a weapon,” she gestures to the weapon rack by the fighting ring, “that suits your tastes.” There were no spears or polearms. More swords, maces, flails. Weapons that did not have exceptionally long reach. To Obunaki, she speaks, “We shall find you a jousting partner, m’lord, hopefully you will not have to wait terribly long for that.” The knight glanced around, as if in search of any other participants, lest she must volunteer herself into either event which the knight would rather avoid! Nothing worse than possibly winning your own tournament.
Tsuola arrived, not with the assistance of a wyvern, but on foot. She came within earshot just in time to hear the word ‘archery’ leave somebody’s lips, and a frail hand extended out from beneath her cloak to draw attention her way. “Archery,” the hooded figure said, then drifted off to the side.
Hildegarde said, "Or, perhaps, our two potential archers might like to face one another first?"
Vakko puts an expression of mock hurt on his face at the mention of blunted weapons, but after all this was the surface, not at interesting in some aspects. His smile quickly returns as he dips into a bow to the silver and moves off to the weapons wracks to pick his weapon. Running hands over the hilts of the swords he pulled a pair from the wrack and gave them each a test swing. Apparently satisfied he rested the swords across his shoulders and waited for an opponent. His attention was then taken by the apparent small cloaked figure that put in for archery. With a shrug he put the tourney swords back and headed over to the archery range. So long as he found some fun he did not really care where it came from.
Obunaki contemplates also entering the melee combat event as he inspects a rack of blunted swords. The man runs his fingers along them as if feeling out which one might suit him as he eyes the competition. The battle priest decides to wait and see if anymore members of the crowd might step up and enter the games before making his final decision.
Hildegarde might set Obunaki up with a giant or perhaps an elven scout from the Eyrie, should no one else step up to the plate. The knight looked to him and spoke, “Have patience, m’lord, we shall find you someone shortly.” In the meantime, however, she could at least set up Vakko and Tsuola. “Next to the quivers set here, you shall see bows. Take them up and prepare yourself. You have three shots upon the targets here, should you draw or tie, a fourth and more difficult target will be set up. As you can see, each target outdistances the other and will test your skill. Pick up the bow provided and nock your arrows!” Obviously, by providing a bow, the chances of cheating or outside influences were diminished somewhat and Hildegarde was all about a fair fight.
Faolan observed as the interested parties spoke up about which contests they wished to participate in. He remained quiet amongst the spectators, leaning on his staff as he watched the contestants inspect the weapon wrack. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the smaller, pale creature that spoke a single word. His green eyes were full of curiosity as he turned his gaze upon her; something about the dryad piqued his curiosity, so he made it a point to approach her after the tourney was over. The druid turned his attention towards the stage, his eyes looking up at the Silver. “I have a question,” he said, speaking loud enough to be heard, but still managing to come off as the soft-spoken person that he was. “Are there any special rules for each of these contests?” He was in fact curious as to what the limitations of each event were, and how much leniency the Stewart would afford the contestants in regards to their other abilities that could see a practical application in combat; or in this case, the tourney.
Hildegarde turned to Faolan and offered him a knowing smile, “Don’t cheat.” That seemed to be her only rule in regards to the tournament. “Cheating will result in disqualification, but cunning will not. For archery, I would hope our contestants only rely upon their natural skills.”
Faolan returned the Stewart's smile, offering her a nod in response, satisfied with her answer. With that question answered, he turned his attention to the archery contestants, wondering if a certain Foxkin would show her face for the competition. She was after all, rather talented when it came to using a bow.
Obunaki feeds his selected horse a carrot. Apparently Obunaki had been carrying a carrot around with him. His selected horse eagerly accepts the offering and Obu strokes the side of the animal seeming quite pleased with his excellent equine choice.
Tsuola withdrew her hood as her footsteps carried her to the archery range. Her face appeared frozen in one fairly blank expression while examining the area around her. It didn’t appear that the woman carried appropriate weapons for archery, but it was clear it didn’t seem to bother her. Tsuola stood quietly and waited for further instruction. She turns to Hildegarde after casting a glance at the bows. “May we use our own?” Tsuola asks, after reaching down to pick the bow up. “I feel that mine would be a bit more fitting, given the setting,” she adds.
Vakko did not remove his hood like his opponent, the sun would already impede his vision enough even shadowed like his was by the cowl. Though he did take a moment to observe her as she flipped her hood back, she looked so much like a face that had been carved into a pale white tree. He looked to his fully black garb them back to the pale white figure next to him and gave a slight chuckle, he had a thing for contrasts. A hand slipped to the offered bow, holding it lightly he tested the string. At least they provided quality toys. Taking up an arrow he would notch it when Hilde announced. He looked down the range to the first target and sighed slightly. “Well how hard could this be.”
Tsuola shook her head. “It will not alter the path of the arrow. The wind determines its path. I am merely the shooter.”
Hildegarde looked upon Tsuola for a long moment, as if internally debating what to do or what answer she should offer. After a while, she smiles. She likes this woman and her answer. “Very well, you may use your own bow. Archers, you may nock and loose your first arrow, do not nock or loose another until indicated to do so, please,” she said with a little nod, as if to say they may proceed. Of course, the knight had plans. Better that the archers stuck to it! As Obunaki feeds his steed a carrot, a young elven scout canters from the west towards the jousting area, mumbling continuous apologies at being late. With a nod to Obunaki, he circles the lane and lifts up a lance before taking his place and awaiting for Obunaki to likewise prepare for the charge.
Obunaki takes notice of another mounted elf as his peripheral vision catches glimpse of him. Obu watches as the elf takes position at the opposite end of the jousting lane. The battle priest lets loose a smile and gently maneuvers his horse slowly to his end of the lane. Obunaki returns the nod to the seemingly young elf and grips his own lance tightly getting the feel for the tool of this game. While he had been upon a horse before and knew how to handle the creature, the High born elf had never before used or even held a jousting lance. "This should be interesting." Narrowing of the eyes occurs as an expression of seriousness washes over the priest's face. With lance help upright and ready to be lowered into striking position, the man turns his face from his opponent to the Steward. Obunaki awaits the signal to proceed as his knuckles turn white from the death grip used to steady his fishly decorated lance.
Vakko Eyes Tsuola for a moment, he had a bow of his own, though it would not enjoy being in the sunlight. He will work with what he was given. It will already be too easy to say a drow cheated, just because they are so good at it. When the order to draw and loose was given he slowly raised his bow, drawing back he sighted down the arrow his eye squinting a little more from the glare of the sun. Taking a moment to get a better sight for his shot he would loose his arrow. The shaft humming through the air to sink deeply into the set up hay bale, sinking into the target a few inches above and to the left of center. Still holding the bow before him he sees where he hit and gives a slight sigh of disappointment.
Tsuola grinned at the Silver, and dipped her head. “Thank you.” She steps to the appropriate distance on the range to fire the first arrow, and lifts one hand to reach behind her back whilst the other reaches outward, imitating the exact movement one might make when drawing a visible bow and arrow. Flakes of snow and ice on the ground flock to her, specifically to her hands, then skitter up and off of her fingertips to take the form of a bow and arrow made of ice. As she pulls back, the icy-formed bowstring meets her thumb and forefinger, and the conjured arrow that she releases is sent toward its target. Whether or not it hits or misses is left to be seen. She lowers the bow and waits.
Faolan watched from his spot in the audience, noticing the pair of elves getting ready for a joust. However, his attention is drawn towards the archery competion when both participants take their positions. He watched as the drow fired his first shot, but he was more intrigued by the dryad who wished to use her own bow. As his gaze turned towards the pale woman, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as she conjured up a bow and arrow from the elements around her. While she used magic to summon a weapon of her own, the dryad had reassured the Silver she wouldn't use magic to alter her shot. Faolan had no reason to doubt her at this point, so he watched the scene unfold before his eyes, clearly amused by the spectacle as he clapped after the woman fired her first arrow.
Galion often thought himself as a gallant warrior, a handsome man who could do whatever he wanted to do. He had watched Hildegarde joust in the previous tournament and he was pretty certain that, having seen it, he could do it too. So, as he waits at the end of his lane, he holds his lance upright; the tip pointing skyward. Once Hildegarde orders the charge, he knees the horse into action and charges forward: lance eventually coming down and trying his best to keep his arm tucked close to his body to support the weight. But the weight is startling. He’s never handled something quite so heavy and awkward before. He’s inexperienced but he’s determined. “Yah!” he urges the horse, tilting the lance just slightly in the hopes it would pummel against Obunaki’s chest and send him flying from the horse.
Hildegarde can feel herself lean forward slightly in her seat as the archers loose their arrows, audibly wincing as both arrows strike in relatively similar positions; meaning they were currently tied. The Silver gestured to a giant, who clambered off the stands and altered the position of the fluorite stones just slightly: starting up an icy wind just within the archer’s section. Indeed, the wind was strong enough to nudge an arrow off course, so the archers would need to have much more focus in this round and precision. “Archers! When you’re ready.”
Vakko watched Tsuola’s arrow strike roughly the same place as his, well at least he was not out of the running just yet. Slowly he picked up his second arrow and notched it looking into the wind he gave a slight sigh and had to give in. his free hand slipped his hood, his short silver-white hair catching the wind. He appeared young, and handsome, but honestly what elf does not. The moment the sun hit his bare head his right eye would close tightly. But his left would remain open, the orb colorless save for the pupil at its center, giving the appearance of not being a natural eye. He took a moment to look back at Hildegarde, then looks to the second target waiting for the order to loose.
Obunaki tenses up every muscle in his body as the shout of charge is unleashed by the loud voice of the Silver. As if by sheer reaction to the words Obunaki kicks his feet and sends his horse into a gallop. The speed of the animal quickens into a full on charge and the battle priest is happy to allow his lance to drop to a more horizontaly aimed position. The weapon was weighted in an odd way and the High elf was not at all used to the balance of such a device. It took everything he had in him to steady the lance as he approached his elvin opponent at such a high rate of speed. Quick calculations of where the others lance might land had him shifting upon his saddle. Obunaki attempted to position himself so the oncoming lance might slip over his shoulder armor. The move was dangerous as if the calculations were incorrect, and if only by a fraction, the blow might strike the priest in his head causing severe damage or possibly even death. Obu aimed his own lance the best he could hoping to strike the other elf anywhere upon his armored form while sitting awkwardly leaned back in his own saddle to try to avoid the oncoming lance.
Galion was no expert and he lacked the physical strength that most jousting warriors had. He had speed, he had stamina and he was a great shot with a bow, but a lance? This was entirely new territory. The elf’s arm was already aching with the effort of holding up the lance, its point swayed from side to side as he desperately attempted to hold it on point and keep it aimed at Obunaki’s chest. Yet he’s already feeling tired. His lance is swaying wildly with each bump of the horse, to the point where it’s likely that it’s only going to scuff Obunaki’s shoulder. Whereas the high elf’s lance pummels against his own shoulder and knocks him clean off the horse. He falls and tumbles, a loud crack resounding from the lanes: he’s broken something.
Tsuola didn’t let her inaccurate shot phase her. She drew back the bowstring in time with the materialization of another frigid arrow, but didn’t draw and fire in one swift motion like before. She waits for a moment to line up her shot, then releases the arrow. Unfortunately, it doesn’t hit the center of the target, but it’s remarkably close. Just a little too high and a tad too far to the right. The dryad pays no mind to her opponent or the other movement around her, and instead lowers her bow again to prepare for the next target.
Vexar peers over the archery contestants as the action unfolds with a dissatisfied scowl. Their presentations were neither majestic nor stimulating. To compare the display at hand to that of watching grass grow, the vampire thought, would be an undeserved slight towards grass. A heavy scoff signifies that the man has had enough of this half-hearted escapade, and swift steps toward the archery range finalize the notion. “This event needs a real contestant”, he declares to no one in particular, though loudly enough to alert all spectators. Neither time nor effort was put into selecting a bow from the rack nearby; a true marksman need not rely on the quality of the tool, but the hands that work it. A stealth hand lifts one pointed arrow from the quiver of his opponent, the quiver that he could see, as the Harbinger approaches the shooting line. One powerful hand wraps taught about the bow while the other flourishes the arrow through the air before nocking it. In one majestic display of strength, Vexar loads the bow with such force that the wood groans in protest, threatening to snap in twine. He pauses at this point, giving the crowd time to marvel at his demonstration; he was truly a sight to behold. Just before release, a glimmering reflection bounces off both the tip of the projectile and his emerald iris in unison. This is the type of contest he knew the audience yearned for. A ringing ‘twang’ indicates that the missile had been let loose, and the most trained of eyes might see it ripping through the air at an unimaginable speed, the wind howling as the arrow cuts mightily through the frigid atmosphere. Higher and higher the arrow soars, farther and farther, deep into the afternoon sky. Indeed, if an onlooker did not lose sight, they might see the arrow as a speck still rising over the massive training academy to the West. After abandoning watching the truly impressive path of the shot and returning their sight to the range, spectators would see Vexar stomping away from the two halves of a snapped and mangled bow left on the ground, mumbling something about archery being a silly craft anyhow.
Vakko steadies his bow and cranes his head in a slight odd angle as he sights down the shaft with his left eye. The wind was gusting he took a moment to angle his bow appropriately, or what he though was appropriate, he didn’t have to worry of wind in his normal stomping grounds. The bow is drawn slowly then released, the arrow loosed to again hum through the chilled air. The arrow buries itself into the target level with the center marker but again a few inches to the left. He gives a slight smirk as he does not dwell and like his opponent gathers his third arrow and readies for the final target.
Hildegarde offers the archers another nod, “This is the final round. Should you draw, we will have a fourth and far more complex round,” she informed them. “In the event we have a clear winner, you may claim your prize,” she smiled. With another gesture to her giant companion, the knight watches as the fluorite stone is twisted again just slightly. The wind remained but it was now accompanied with hailstones which might skitter off arrows and only serve to send them further off course. “When you are ready, you may fire at will,” she instructed the archers, giving them the time they needed to prepare themselves.
Faolan watched as the Stewart made things more interesting for the archery contestants, a smirk forming on the corner of his lips. He observed as the two readied themselves to fire their second round, when suddenly someone else stepped up and put on a show of his own. The druid is uncertain as to what the man was trying to accomplish, but he had no doubts that he was an incredible marksman nonetheless. He shrugged to himself, confused by the whole display. His attention then drifted towards the jousting contestants, watching attentively as they charged against each other. The lycan’s grip tightened around his staff as both elves collided against each other, one falling to the ground with an audible snap, which his heightened sense of hearing had no trouble picking up. The druid winced slightly, knowing that the poor young elf must have been in a lot of pain. He would offer his services as a healer to the Stewart, once she was not busy with handling the archery contest.
Hildegarde, in regards to Vexar’s sudden performance, is more concerned about her giant companions who are eager to leap in and assume this was a trouble maker. The knight raised her hand just slightly and shook her head, “It’s fine,” she murmured.
Tsuola ‘s preparation for the next target is halted by Vexar’s arrival on the range. Despite finding it entirely unnecessary, she’s impressed by how far he’s capable of making the arrow fly. As he stomps off, she says glances over her shoulder and calls, “The goal is to hit the target, far-shooter~ You have missed by a few feet, no?” As the wind whips around her and she’s briefly confused by the hailstones that accompany it, the dryad draws her bow again. She takes her time yet again to aim, but this time her position shifts to a slight angle as her eye follows the fall pattern of the hailstones. The arrow is released so it veers just to the left of its target, only to be knocked onto its proper course thanks to the hail. Just as it appears to hit dead center of the target, however, the arrow’s path is interrupted just enough to knock the arrow down just slightly from exact center. She wonders if it’s noticeable, but says nothing.
Obunaki grits his teeth and winces as the lances collide with the living targets. His own had struck the other elf and landed a rather lucky yet impressive enough blow sending the young man to the ground below. The strike from his oppenents lance, while only grazing his own shoulder, had broken a chunk of the lance off and sent a sizable splintered piece into the crease of the priests armor just below the helm. The splintered particle had missed his jugular vein, but was sunk nearly two full inches into the side of his neck and sent pains throughout his entire body while simultaneously birthing the most traumatic headache that the devout battle priest had ever felt. Obunaki cringed as he attempted to pull the shard from his neck. The gauntlet from his free hand was thrown to the ground as to grip upon the shard better. "Grahhhh!" Obu let loose a pain induced growl as he ripped the chunk of lance material from his neck allowing a spewing stream of blood to shoot out from the open wound like a tiny fountain. Had the jugular been struck, the bleeding would have been even more severe than it currently was. Obu made his way back to the starting line and watched with narrowed eyes to see if his opponent would be getting back upon his animal for a second round. "What the hell have I gotten myself into here?" Obu says aloud in obvious pain as he applies a section of material around his neck to subdue the bleeding. "I shall add my name to the .....joust?!" The words were spoken aloud as the High elf relives the moment that he decided to enter the jousting tournament. The lance arm tired and barely able to hold the weapon properly anymore does not stop him from preparing to make a second charge if needed. After eyeing his elvin opponent, Obunaki again turns his attentions to the Steward of Frostmaw as he awaits what will come next for the pair of elves and their armored horses.
Hildegarde upon witnessing just how injured both the jousting participants are, raises her hand in their direction. “I believe you are our winner, Obunaki,” she smiled. With a gesture to the other giant, she motions towards the two jousting elves, intending for some medical assistance to go their way. With a glance towards Faolan, the knight spoke, “You wouldn’t happen to have any healing knowledge, would you? Our shamans can do it just fine, but if you wish to help out, then I imagine those two will sorely need it.”
Vakko ’s concentration for his final shot was broken by the appearance of the vampire. The over the top pomp of his draw and shot over showed by its inevitable utter failure to hit anything but maybe a poor imp some ways away. As Vexar walks away Vakko could not help himself from bursting out in laughter. For a few moments that is all he could do until he get himself under control, after his opponents comment however as that brought forth another fit of enjoyment. Calming himself again his gives a final snicker before sighting in again, time to concentrate once more. A slight sigh escapes his lips as the hail starts, could she really have made it much harder, “She could have tossed a dragon in the mix, that would be fun.” Shifting his position right slightly he angles his shot upwards slightly. drawing back he would let fly with a hum to the bow string. A soft chipping sound would be herd as the arrow skips off a hail stone and then is clipped by a second to sink into the target. It was in the center as well, for the most part. It stuck the upper most section of the center marker. With a soft sigh he wondered just how much difference that would make to the scoring. Leaning on his bow he looked to the steward to the ruling.
Faolan stepped forward as the Silver spoke, giving a firm nod in response to her question. "I will do what I can," he said to her, a gentle smile offered her way before he turned his attention to the two elves. The druid walked over to them with staff in hand, his wolf companion at his side. He reached into his cloak, pulling out a small pouch that contained some herbs and dried leaves within it. “Chew on this,” he said to both participants, handing a small portion of his herbal remedy to each of them. “It will dull the pain,” he added, explaining his reasoning in case they were a little reluctant to follow his instructions. The herbs were slightly bitter after all, and he had encountered many in the past who were not quite trusting when it came to such methods. Having offered them the remedy, Faolan closed his eyes and began to mutter a few words as he tapped into the magical energy of the world around him. Working with what he had, he invoked the healing powers of the snow around them, urging for their help in curing the wounds of both elves.
Hildegarde glances between the two archers, as if deliberating on who had won the contest of skill between the two. The knight frowned and gestured for them both to approach the stands. “You are both archers of skill, that much is evident to me,” she said gently, “and I feel like my next challenge would only produce the same results, your skill is so similar. Indeed, it is a difficult position to be in, but today is a celebration and so, you will both be rewarded for your efforts and your talents,” she said with a genuine smile. The Silver gestured to Vakko, “You desired to fight in the melee, yet none would fight you. So, I present to you this weapon. Treat it kindly and it shall not fail you in battle,” she promised, as a giant companion presented Vakko with the katar. To Tsuola, the Silver spoke carefully, “And you, m’lady. You had a bow of your own and leave me with little else to give you. I give you this bow, not as a weapon to use, but as a symbol of your skill. The Bone Chiller has been rumoured to freeze an enemy solid via one single arrow,” the giant presents the bow to Tsuola. “I hope you both accept and appreciate the gifts of Frostmaw.”
Obunaki chanted a prayer unto his chosen God of the eternal waters after taking the herbal mixture from the man offering some healing assistance. Almost instantly he could feel the headache begin to diminish and the bleeding stop. The wound was still there, but the worst was over and Obunaki was impressed at the healing arts of the man. The taste of the herbal mixture however reminded him of day old bovine urine and it did not at all please his delicate taste buds. Quickly Obunaki removed a small vial of holy waters from the temple of Zaytor and consumed it. The liguid would also help aide the healing process, but it was taken to help wash the nasty taste out of his mouth. The priest looks at Faolan and nods, "Thanks for the help sir. Jousting can be a real pain in the neck." Obunaki bows to the healer man and then catches glimpse of the Silvers eye. The now non amateur jouster bows to the Steward with respect.
Hildegarde said to Obunaki, "When you are ready, you will find sufficient gold and one of Frostmaw's finest steeds awaiting you, m'lord. We thank you kindly for your participation and brave effort!"
Vakko took one final look to the targets as he is called back to the podium, replacing his bow on the rack he slips his hood back down he didn’t want to over use his left eye, it would be troublesome if he did. Vakko truly doubted her words, He was sure he only get the ragged edge of the center due to the final hail stone but he would take the praise in silence. The offered weapon only made him smile all the more, Taking the sword from her slowly he would incline his head in a slight bow. “Thank you, I promise not to go on a stabbing spree in your fine presence.” He flashes that dark smile as he take a step back as the silver presents Tsuola with her own prize. He would have much rather competed in the melee, but this works for him.
Faolan let out a soft chuckle at the high elf's pun, offering a kind smile to the priest. "You are very welcome," he said to the man as he finished working his magic. A mystical blue light caressing the wounds of both elves lightly, lending their healing properties to ease the pain. “It is my pleasure to be able to lend a hand,” he added after a short pause. Once he had finished assisting the local healers in dealing with the wounded, the druid turned his attention back to the Stewart as she presented the contestants with their respective prizes. He clapped vigorously, a genuine smile forming across his lips as the winners were announced.
Tsuola :: “Bone Chiller,” she repeated the bow’s name with an air of reverence and very, very vague familiarity as its given to her. It’s clear that she’s never actually seen the bow, however. “I have heard stories of one like you.” The ice-formed bow in her hands fell to pieces at her feet as her hands reached out to grasp Bone Chiller. The dryad’s head dipped with a nod. “I am honored, and I thank you for allowing for me to participate.” While she examines the newly acquired bow, Tsuola adds, “I will make sure that it lives up to its name.”
Hildegarde offers both archers a fond smile and dip of her head, “Frostmaw is honoured by your participation. Please, enjoy your day and your new found weapons. May the serve you well and bring pride to Aramoth, God of War,” she said in a semi-serious way. That said, it seemed as though the Steward had concluded the tournament as she rose out of her seat and prepared to leave.
Vakko slipped his newly gifted Katar from one hand to the other, Looking over the weapon that seemed to be more ice than actual weapon. “You seem like you will be fun.” He smiled and Looked to Tsuola offering a slight bow. “It was fun, we should do it again sometime.”
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