Lord Shield's Bar.... I've no idea what number.

[Legolas]

OOC: Okay, I'll take the job

A young man stepped out of the rather long line of knights waiting to sign up, and moved forward. His black hair was short and curly, and despite an ugly looking scar to his left temple he could certainly be considered quite handsome. He wore brown padded armour, and no doubt he had the breastplate to go over it somewhere nearby.
The man bowed deeply to the knight in need.

"Sir Tancred the Foesmyte, knight of Helm, forgive me for being late. As your squire, I should know better than to linger at the market."

He looked at the herald.

"I'm his squire. Can we go on now so milord has time to prepare for the joust? I'll need a couple of minutes to get the rust off his armour, milord swam for miles chasing that last drake 'ere he slew her."

[Tancred]

Tancred stands, slack-jawed, at the young man. At length, he plants Karnas the Lance in the ground ("OW!") and marches up to his self-declared squire. His face slowly creeps up into a grin, and he extends his hand to be shaken.
"By my mother's grave," he whispers. "Of all the faces I would have wished to see again, yours comes top of my list."
He cocks his head, thinking.
"Top of all the male faces, anyway."

[Legolas]

A shiver went down his spine as he felt the eyes of the rat-faced man upon his back. Despite his seemingly confident posture, he suddenly felt ill at ease here. But by now, most of the chivalrous knights wanting to sign in were admiring the shine of their swords, and as the herald turned to attend them, the moment passed.
He wiped the sweat from his hand before grabbing Tancreds.

"Time dances past so swiftly no man may catch her, and still has it been too long. It is good to see you, holy boy."
Still grinning, he turned his head and took in Skye.

"And who is this? Do not tell me you are wed now, and I have missed the joining."
He performed another deep bow.

"Milady, Joram of Snowdale, your most humble servant."

[Skydracgrrl]

Skye, cheeks a bit pink, attempted a small curtsy. "Nice you meet you. I'm Skye, a bladeba- er.." she gave the herald a quick glance, who raised a knowing eyebrow. "Let's talk elsewhere, shall we?" she announced merrily, and beckoned them to follow her. "Told you he wouldn't believe you.." Lyulfe muttered sardonically.

[ 12-04-2002, 07:32 PM: Message edited by: Skydracgrrl ]

[Tancred]

Tancred opens his mouth to agree; but his words are lost in a strange sound coming from the golden swo - er- lance. Karnas is laughing.
"Oh ho ho my my!" the evil mage splutters once he has mastered his mirth. "THIS loser? WED? To THAT loss? Oh, man, I always thought you were a sucker when I first saw you, man, but -"
Tancred seems to try to make an effort to drive the mocking weapon into the ground, but even packed earth can't stop Karnas' voice.
The young knight grimaces. "Karnas - KARNAS! Snap out of it!"
"Tancred and Skye, sitting in a tree! K - I - S - AGH!"
There is a colossal WONG sound as Karnas the lance is smashed into an otherwise unremarkable metal pole that, for some presumably festive reason, has been driven into the ground.
"Phew," he goes on. "Haha, sometimes he has these... funny... turns... um, hello..."
Tancred looks around at the gathering of knights tht is watching, wide-eyed, at this strange spectacle. He mutters the lance's stunned moans.
"Yes, er... good idea. Let's... go... over... here..."
He gives Skye an apologetic, embarrassed look, and motions all three of them to behind a nearby pavilion.

[Skydracgrrl]

Skye and Lyulfe followed the others, the tips of the half-elf's ears red and the dragon making an obvious attempt to not roll on the ground with laughter as he chuckled dryly under his breath. Once out of hearing and view range of the herald and bystanders, Skye finished her sentence.
"Er, well, as I was saying, I'm Skye, half-elf bladebard. And as Karnas had so nicely put it," she scowled at the bemoaning lance, "I'm just someone Tancred knows, not his, uh, wife, or anything like that." Lyulfe started making a choking sound, which he quickly disguised as a cough when Skye turned and glared sorrowfully at him.
"Ahem, *cough* right. I'm Lyulfe, Skye's unfortunate companion whose stuck with keeping her out of trouble. Song dragon, if you're curious. All dragons are probably the same to you knights though," Lyulfe commented wryly. "And how exactly would you know of Tancred..?"

ooc- *hugs IW and doesnt let go* i had nothing to do on the internet when IW was down.. T.T *leads such a sad life...* ^^;

[Tancred]

Tanc looks at his hitherto chuckling lance. With exaggeraed slowness, he pans his gaze to take in the sniggering Song Dragon. Ignoring Lyulfe's amused grin, he looks back and forth between the dragon and his lance, thinking...
At the last, he shakes his head free of whatever was in his mind with a mutter of *sidekicks...* and picks up from Skye's introduction.
"I met her during... the troubles I had four years past. Skye is one of... The Bar Folk."
There is a dramatic peal of thunder, ringing out ove the tournament plain and across the city, at those words. Tancred looks up at the sky, and eventually nods his approval.
"Cool."

ooc: Ah, the troubles four years past! Karnas trapped in Tancred's body, and Tancred trapped in the sword, left behind by the Bar in the Plane of Murder... only to reappear years later, back to normal, having wandered four worlds looking for the Bar once more. I daresay - if Joram met Tancred during his wanderings then - that he'd know all about *that* problem.

[Tancred]

Realising that Skye and Joram are deep in chatting (ooc: you’d better be… [img]smile.gif[/img] ) Tancred wanders away from them, strolling amiably between the pavilions, soaking up the atmosphere. All around them knights are busying themselves, cleaning their armour, yelling at squires, calling for wine, petting their horses. The young knight’s normally strained expression fades a little, and he smiles. For the first time in a long time, he manages to look young.
“This,” he declares, “is the life.”
“It’s been a while…” mutters Karnas.
“Oh, my, how long a while… ever since we stepped in what seemed to be a regular alehouse for a drink… gods above, I’ve missed this. Proper knightly stuff. Fights with rules and honour. None of that anything-goes getteth-him-afore-he-getteth-thou scuffling you usually have to indulge in on adventures. I hope I’m not too rusty.”
“Nothing a few spots of WD40 won’t fix,” Karnas adds snidely. “Don’t look now, holy-boy, but someone you REALLY want to meet is coming.”
“Who?” Tancred glances around. “What – oh, no, no not HIM -”
“SIR TANCRED!!!” a voice tinged with incredible campness rings through the air and a sprightly figure in blue armour minces towards Tancred, hands held together in an extremely effete fashion. “Oh, Daaaarling, it has been AGES since we saw you at one of these!”
“Hello, Sir Rupert,” Tancred murmurs. “Oh, my, look at the sun, I’m in a hurry, don’t you know -”
“Oh, now, don’t go running off like that, my dear man! It’s been YEARS! Oh, we were all so worried! And - ” the camp knight’s eyes look Tancred up and down – “oh, no, you are a mess… how on earth did you manage to get your armour in such a state?”
“Seven years of walking everywhere,” Tancred replies, voice level.
“Tut tut… dear me, Tancred darling, I’m surprised you even managed to get into the city as dirty as you are…”
Tancred suddenly seems evasive. “Come to think of it, Rupert, how did you manage to get back onto the Roll of Honour after that… incident with the cocktail dress?”
“Oh, well, now you mention it, dearie, they’re letting in all kinds to the tournaments these days,” Sir Rupert continues. We had a few elvish knights turn up to the last one, fine fellows they were too. Except for the woman, but with all that long hair, how could I tell?”
“They’re letting women back into the tournaments?” Tancred blurts out.
“Oh, come now, dear, you can’t be so biased these days towards…”
But Tancred was not listening. Hand clawing almost instinctively for his sword, the young knight glanced around him, eyes searching the courtyard, desperate and yet afraid to see…
There is a sudden flash of silver from across the way; a figure, standing out of the crowd. Tall and clad in glittering sheer armour, with a mass of burnished red hair streaming in the wind, a young female knight strides from the crowd. Gleaming in her hand is a glowing silver sword, antique and beautiful.
Tancred and Karnas both spit out a profane curse that causes Rupert to look around in shock.
Almost as if she could hear, the lady knight looks over – and her eyes catch sight of the tarnished young knight and his golden sword. A distinctly malicious grin is evident on her face, even at this distance.
Tancred stares back at her, face darkening.
As suddenly as she appeared, the red-haired knight turns on one pointed heel and slips back into the crowd.
Tancred watches the space she had left for a few seconds. His scowl recedes, replaced by an expression of worry and foreboding.
“Oh no,” he mutters. “Ursula de Gossard.”

[Tancred]

"What can you possibly have against the Lady de Gossard? She's one of the favourites of the Tournament circuit these days, sirrah!"
"Of course she is, Rupert!" Tancred snaps. "She's a rotten, low-down cheat!"
"And a complete bitch," adds Karnas, in what he clearly believes is a helpful tone of voice.
"And worse, she's the kind of cheat that gets away with it, and that really goes against my grain," the young Paladin finishes. "You remember Tybault de Carentan?"
"Tybault... Tybault..." Rupert's mouth tries the name on for size. "Tybault... OH! Wait! Tall, strapping man, blonde hair, blue eyes... quite one for the ladies?"
Tancred nods. "Yeah, that was him. A good man, if you didn't count his weakness for a sprightly lass. An excelent jouster, a superb fighter, a master of horses. Well-versed in courtly etiquette and tourney courtesy. A perfect gentleman knight. No other knight dared challenge him; thoe he was drawn against quaked in fear."
"But... I thought he was defeated those four years past... he dropped out, took to drink, if my memory serves," simpers Rupert.
"A bad end for a fine knight. I remember it well..."
Tancred's eyes seem to mist over in a haze of recollection. "He was doing well in the Tourney of '43. He'd smashed de Rotto and y Mendoza in a straight one-run unhorsing. He was the clear favourite to take the prize that year. He would have been elected the Torney Champion for the next year, been able to play the role of Black Knight in the Tableaux de Battaile. It meant a lot to him."
"And then SHE took to the field. A newcomer to the joust, the first woman jouster allowed to compete in centuries. She defeated her first opponents well enough, butit was clear that the cedeing would have resulted in her coming against de Carentan."
"After she'd defeated her first foe, though, she trotted her horse to the stands where we were watching, and asked for Tybault's favour in the coming joust! Well... knowing Tybault as we all did, one thing led to the next, and I saw them leave the feast pavilion together. The next morning, Tybault is so exhausted - for some reason - he's barely able to stand up, let alone hold a lance. He's smashed into the dirt first tilt. It left her way clear."
"Now I remember!" Sir Rupert nods excitedly. "But... she didn't win that year, did she?"
"Well, er, no," Tancred mutters. "See, a bunch of us were really rooting for de Carentan... we liked him. He was ruined by that loss. We reckoned that... witch-knight nobbled him."
"Something like that," sneers Karnas.
"Anyway, me, de Guillam, d'Akwitayn and de Pott broke into the stables that knight and tipped four bottles of the strongest whisky we could find into her horse's water trough. Suffice to say..." and here Tancred grins, "her joust was an amusing sight."
Rupert nods, sadly. "Ah, de Guillam, d'Akwitayn and de Pott... such a shame."
Tancred's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you know... it's a shame."
"What is?"
"Their deaths, silly! Oh - wait - um, you don't know, do you?"
Tancred stares at the effete knight. "Know what? They're... DEAD?"
"Um... well, yes... rather tragic actually," Rupert goes on. "Old de Guillam was found in his pavilion impaled upon his lance three years ago. They all said it had been some kind of accident. There was d'Akwitayn - a goblet of wine he'd been handed during the inaugural feast two years ago exploded. We never found all of him... and de Pott, why, the poor man was found tied to his bed one morning a year ago, gagged and bled, with the word 'REVENGE' carved into his stomach."
Tancred's eyes bulge. "What the HELL did everyone say?"
Rupert squirms. "Um... some kind of brain-fever?"
Silence. Karnas makes a low whistling sound.
"I mean," quibbles Rupert, "I mean, I thought everyone knew about it...it's only because you haven't been around that you hadn't heard..."
Only because I hadn't been around, thinks Tancred. His eyes flick back to the spot where Ursula de Gossard had disappeared.
Oh dear gods...
His gaze moves back to Skye and Joram, still chatting away.
All of a sudden, the simple task of finding one rogueish bard did not seem so easy... and the enthusiasm of the joust vanished from his mind.

[Legolas]

OOC: I'm afraid I'll be gone a couple of weeks to brave the chilly, cold, freezing mountains of Norway. But, I'll be sure to post when I get back [img]graemlins/wavey.gif[/img]