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Talen vs. Victus (Decathlon)

Master Talen Artiglio will compete against Lord Victus Thrax in a joust to decide the victor of the Decathlon semi-finals.


July 26, 2016, 1:30 p.m.

Hosted By

Talen Victus


Fatima Arianwen Viviana Freja(RIP) Luca(RIP)



Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Talen before departing.
(OOC) Talen says: I've set the room desc as the rules from Vi's post.
(OOC) Talen says: Just for ease.
Victus scowls at his horse. Its not, technically, his horse, so much as a horse he has commandeered from the Thrax stables. The stablehand watches the large warlord interact with the beast with a certain nervousness. A grumbling sound in the back of Victus' throat suggests he can't believe he's in a joust. Sneering, he seizes the reigns and then tries to heave himself up onto the back of the big mount. The horse moves. Victus jumps after it, growling.

He tries again. The horse moves again.

Finally, the stablehand intervenes and keeps the animal in place so that, finally, he can swing himself up into the saddle. He ignores the crowd; doesn't even glance in the direction of them. Glum and brooding, he waits for things to start.

Fatima lifts her hands to her mouth and cups them to make her voice more audible as she says, "Be nice to the horse, cousin!" She then grins as she lowers her hands. She glances toward Feja and gives her a warm smile and a nod of the head, then turns to watch the two men with excitement.
Talen Artiglio, the Sword of Lenosia and ward to the Velenosa family-- he's announced somewhere amongst the din of the crowds, giving the audience an understanding of who exactly he is in comparison to Victus Thrax. While nothing but an upjumped commoner to some, the Lycene man is nevertheless stood with straight-backed posture and a keen sense of pride. As he strides from the sidelines to his horse, the aid that attends Talen hurries across to present the helmet he is to wear. At odds with the dark obsidian leathers and gunmetal buckles, his helmet is almost mirrored in appearance, shining.

"Lord Victus," is called across, "horses aren't very smart animals, are they?" Seemingly sympathetic to the cause, he waits with good patience before mounting up himself. Talen's grey-hued horse is an ill-tempered beast, its angsty motions corrected with harsh pinches of Talen's heels. Though he doesn't lean over to take his lance just yet, he seems ready to ride and makes the last minute adjustments of his helmet before accepting his heater shield.

"When you're ready, my lord." A curt nod is given to the referee, an indication that Talen is ready to begin.
Arianwen cheers from the stands, excited to watch her patron joust with the Sword of Lenosia. That is, until Victus has trouble climbing atop his steed. This causes her cheers to turn into laughter, giggling to observe the poor Lord's antics. She claps and cheers once more when both men have gotten on their horses, leaning over towards Fatima to comment, "this should be an exciting match."
Luca arrives.
Viviana arrives.
Luca enters on a ferocious yawn. He ambles to a booth and slouches onto a seat there, legs stretched out in front of him.
Viviana has joined the General Seating.
Luca has joined the Quiet Booth.
Victus sits on the horse somewhat awkwardly. Well. Perhaps more than just a little awkwardly. While he might have just enough formal riding training to know what to do atop of the beast, its obvious that this is not anywhere close to his comfort zone. They're ong dormant skills only half-remembered from a distant youthful past. Its a big horse, to match a big man. Dark of hue. There's a lot of distance to fall, which he notes by glancing down at the ground beneath the mount's hoofs. Again he makes a grimace, his grimly scarred features twisting.

Briefly he turns his head when he hears the familiar sound of his cousin's voice. Squinting, scowling, he glares at her. Then he's back to focusing on Talen.

He accepts his helm first, then a lance from the stablehand. Wordlessly he responds to Talen, bobbing his head once in a brusque nod.
Arianwen has joined the General Seating.
Viviana slips in the tournament grounds and heads into the stands, stiffling a yawn.
Fatima has joined the General Seating.
Talen has already mounted his horse and donned his mirrored steel helmet, the angled headguard providing enough space for him to see his opponent once the visor is shut. This is promptly done just before he reaches for his own lance and hefts it, the shield and polearm each balanced while the angry equine beneath him starts trampling the dirt.

With the referee happy that both participants are ready, the signal is given for them to start their charge as soon as they see fit. Talen waits no time before he's off, two brutal snaps of his boots to the sides of his steed and off they go-- a cloud of dust leaving a trail behind the Sword of Lenosia. "Hyah!"
Freja arrives without much in the way of pomp and cirumstance, making a beeline for unoccupied seating away from any crowd. She offers a polite nod to any she passes along the way
(OOC) Victus says: That was quick
Luca looks a little confused. A joust? He puts his hands together and hoots (with limited enthusiasm) as the Sword begins the tilt.
(OOC) Talen says: That's just the first tilt. I didn't best you by 20.
Victus bounces on the back of his great horse, lance angled towards Talen as they crash towards each other over the prepared tournament grounds. The result is, perhaps not too surprisingly, that Victus misses completely in the first pass. He grunts at the impact of being tagged in return. It might not have knocked him off his horse, but he certainly felt it against the jousting shield on his arm. The horse threatens to keep running, too, but with a lot of growling, and pulling on the reins, it finally comes to a stop at the other end of the field.

He doesn't need to change his lance, obviously, the tip having been untested as of yet. They wheel around for the next pass.
The first third of Talen's lance crumbled and snapped and so he discards it with the same easy toss one might expect a Redrain log thrower, lobbing it afar. When he wheels his horse into the outer curve of the sidelines, the darkly dressed man of the Lyceum pauses long enough to collect a second before whipping back in the direction of the the lanes, beating his horse to gather speed. Only the barest glances are given to peripheral matters, Victus being his sole target and subject of interest. The stormy beast beneath Talen flares its nostrils, the brutal smacks it is given on both rear and flanks causing its blood to boil. With violent control, however, Talen seems to keep hold of it for now.
The second time they ride towards each other, Victus looks more comfortable. Hoofs pound, and rather than bounce like a useless sack of grains ontop of the mount, he squeezes his knees into the saddle to sit secure, but loose enough to move with rather than against the horse. It pays some dividends: This time his lance crashes into Talen's shield, even as he feels an even better and more complete impact against his own.

At least he's not on his ass looking up. He tosses away the splintered mess of a lance he just destroyed, and accepts a new one from the waiting stablehand acting as his squire. He's no knight, after all, so he has none of his own.
The impact of Talen's lance is harder this time and when Victus' reply is equally solid, there's a resounding CRASH! and a shower of splinters that decorate the air and soon after, the field. Looping around to collect the third polearm, the Artiglio male inspects it closely for balance and quality. Apparently unsatisfied, he swaps it for another from the rack of neutral, referee-approved lances before finally returning to the start of the rail. An unhappy jolt from the beast below Talen has him swaying hypnotically in the saddle for a time but the Sword's own adjustments counter the throw of weight.

Then, in a final display of showmanship the southerner rushes the islander, back bowed, thighs locked in and legs lifting him to give an extra few inches of reach. In a daring move, his shield seems to be forgotten, a reckless effort to be all out aggressive with his tactic.
(OOC) Arianwen cheers! Victus managed to keep from getting unhorsed three times in a row :P
Viviana has left the General Seating.
Viviana has left the game.
Viviana has entered the game.
The only thing that could win Victus this joust would be to knock Talen off his horse. Anyone who put a bet on that to happen deserves whatever losses they no doubt incurred. The last and final time they crash together, Victus misjudges the main of his lance completely and it veers off past the target and hits nothing but empty air.

He reaches the end of the field and grunts, pulling off his borrowed jousting helmet and shaking his tangled dark hair free about his face. Sweat dots his forehead, which he wipes away with an annoyed gesture. The untouched lance he drops away. Slowly, he makes the horse turn around until he's facing Talen again. He stares at the common born man. Not that Victus, as a bastard, has all that grand a background himself. A grudging, but none the less proper bow of his head acknowledges the victor.

Then he's trying to get off the horse, a horse that keeps circling around and around all the while, making it a ridiculous sight until he finally, quite ungracefully, lands. At least not on his back.
Luca chuckles, and puts his hands together a few more times for the victor, joining the scattered applause from the crowd.
Vivana stands from her seat and applauds for pair of men.
Freja claps her hands slowly from the booth she occupies, her scarred brow arched in curiosity.
Talen tugs so sharply on the reins of his horse upon the conclusion of that final tilt that the beast has to yank its head all the way to one side and down, resulting in a panicked skid of legs as it seeks to cut its speed from full pelt to nil in the barest few seconds. When Talen throws his shield down and the remainder of his lance, it's so he can deftly leap from his horse and fall into a mild crouch, rising soon after. As he looks down the field to the way Victus acknowledges him, there's no immediate expression shown until the visor his helmet is lifted. A replied bow, simple but respectful, is returned. Pulling the helmet from his head then, Talen looks for his aid and thrusts it into his hands and moves to the sidelines to grab a towel. "My lord," is said by the Sword, "you are awfully hard to upend. That is a good quality when on a horse," he supposes aloud.

It's the referees who announce the winner as Talen, conclude the match overall and then thank the audience for attending.
Freja is leaving Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds, heading for Arx - Ward of the Compact - Honor Place.
Freja has left the Quiet Booth.
Arianwen goes silent to watch Talen and Victus race at each other with harrowing speed. She winces when not only does her patron miss, but the Sword of Lenosia manages a sound and ferocious hit. On the second try, she cheers to support the Thraxian Lord, and cheers all the louder when he achieves far better this time. She glories in the explosion of splinters, only to watch in surprise when Talen lifts himself high on his saddle. With the third reprisal, she gasps to the connection, and then rises from her seat to clap lightly for the victor.
"I fucking hate horses." Just as Victus hadn't looked at the crowd before the joust, he doesn't look at it now in his defeat either. He gives Talen a look, but it does't last. Leaving those words as his final interaction, he stalks off and away, leaving the stablehand to deal with the mount itself.
Luca yawns, stretching an arm up over his head. He doesn't move to stand up quickly - he doesn't move to do much of anything quickly. Instead, he lets people file out before bothering.

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