Page 332: Archery at Seagard
Archery at Seagard
Summary: The archery competition
Date: 17/06/289
Related Logs: Jousting at Seagard and other tourney logs to come.
Pariston Kain Kell Dmitry Nathaniel Martyn Nedra Lucienne Inigo Lark Katrin Rafferdy Jon Wesly Jarod Justin 
The Lists
The lists are prepared for a great number of both knights and spectators, the flat field already marked by the hooves of many practice-runs. It is surrounded by a rail, most of which borders only empty grass, where the commoners might stand and watch. On one side are stands built for the nobles, wooden bleachers topped with billowing silk awnings to help shade the ladies from the sun. At the centerpoint there is a raised platform, painted, shaded, and set with sumptuous-looking chairs for the most noble of noble guests. It is hung with the banners of House Mallister and House Redwyne, and many more are studded about the lists as well, to make sure everyone remembers who this grand affair is meant to honor and at whose pleasure they enjoy it.
Sun Jun 17, 289

Looking out at the archers to compete, Martyn pauses for a few moments as he sees both Kell and the partially hidden Kain, offering a nod in the direction of each of them. "It would have saved me lots of pain earlier in life, if I knew that back then," he remarks lightly to Nedra, before he's distracted by Katrin's greeting. "Lady Katrin. How are you today?" he asks, before he shrugs, "Only my pride and dignity were hurt badly." Offered a bit lightly. "May we join you?" Turning to look back in Nedra's direction again now. "If that's fine with you as well, of course, cousin." Looking between the two ladies for a few moments. "Have you two met already?"

Rafferdy wanders into the tourney area. He's dressed in rather noble-looking clothing. He wears deep red, pants and a matching red doublet. The entire outfit is trimmed in gold and black. A deep red cape drapes over his shoulders and down his back. His arms are, however, left uncovered. Looking around, he makes sure he is signed to compete, and then he takes a look into the stands, to see who is here.

Spotting Martyn's nod, Kell inclines his head respectfully to the Mallister in return as a greeting but doesn't go to intrude upon his conversation with Nedra and Katrin. For now the Terrick sworn seem to be content with looking over his hunting bow, as if a last second inspection would help.
Lark arrives from the Tourney Grounds.
Lark has arrived.

Nedra's nods first to Martyn's suggestion of a place to sit, "That would be fine with me if it's acceptable to Lady Katrin," she answers. A slow shake of her head then, "No we haven't, not yet that is," a glance at Martyn and back to Lady Katrin, quiet curiosity clear in her eyes but to polite to voice it while adding, "it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Katrin, I'm Kamron's sister Nedra," she offers by way of greeting.

Kain might notice Martyn's wave, but also might so far into his zen-like trance to prepare for the competition, he might not. The ranger is somber and still, awaiting for things to start. Even if there's people around him in the competitor's section, he doesn't really seem to notice them.

"You are of course welcome, Ser Martyn," Katrin replies with a smile. She looks at Nedra curiously, head tilting to the side. "No, I do not believe we have been introduced yet. It is a pleasure, Lady Nedra." She rises to look fully at the Mallisters. "Lady Katrin Haigh," she introduces of herself. Looking back out to the field, she looks cheerful. "This should be an excellent showing, would you not agree?" Seeing Rafferdy on the field and looking to compete, she bites on her lower lip. "Would you both excuse me for the briefest moment," she asks. "There is someone I must see." She dips down into a small curtsey and then is gone to go and hunt down the Nayland.

Dmitry is keeping himself entertained while he awaits the start of the contest by leaning up against something near the stands, richly clad in Terrick colors of lightweight and finely woven fabric that gives the lean strength of his body room to breathe. He bears his fine longbow and his grey-fletched arrows in his quiver, but if he has spent time today brooding over, studying or otherwise fondling his equipment, he does not do any of it now. Instead, he engages in a smiling-eyed and sotto voce colloquy with his squire, and watches the slowly assembling spectators through the dark veil of his lashes.

In the field just beside the lists, archery targets have been set up, and starting positions marked off. The stands used for watching the jousting still face the course so that nobles may watch from there, and commoner viewers have places set up to either side. Tourney wardens and heralds hurry about, signing up entrants, checking arrows, double-checking targets, and making sure everything is prepared for the competition to begin.

Lark and her cousin, Alona, return for the archery portion of the competition! The two common girls, one fair-haired and one dark, come running to the range hand in hand — this time, better-prepared with several bags of cookies. "Oh, good!" Lark beams, stopping to catch her breath. "I don't think we missed anything." Alona bumps her cousin with a side-swing of her hips. "It's not like there's much to miss — except the target. Maybe we'll get lucky and someone'll take a stray arrow in the leg, or something." She flounces to sit on the green. "Otherwise, it's going to be boring."

Wesly checks his equipment once more, making sure everything is ready, and then he moves to sit in the grass near the starting marks, waiting.

Looking a bit relieved as he looks between Katrin and Nedra for a few moments, Martyn smiles a little. He nods a bit as he hears Katrin excuse herself for a moment. "Of course, Lady Katrin. We will make sure that your seat is here for you when you return." Turning to look out onto the field again, he pauses as he sees Rafferdy, studying the man rather carefully with a bit of an unredable expression on his face for the moment.

Rafferdy checks his equipment once more, making sure everything is ready, and then he moves to sit in the grass near the starting marks, waiting.

Nedra watches Lady Katrin make her way toward the field, curiosity still evident in her eyes, but simply makes her way along the seats to take one that hasn't been claimed yet. She glances back to see the unreadable expression on Martyn's face and has to glance away in the vain effort to contain the gleam of amusement in her eyes.

Jarod is in the common crowds, though it's unclear if that's because he's unsure of his place in the stands, or if he just wants to wander and mingle and place bets with the lower-folk. He's presently regaling a pair of Seagard men with tales of his jousting exploits the other day. They've become quite exaggerated and involve a great deal of hand-gesturing.

"Good luck today," comes the low-humored baritone of Inigo, interrupting Dmitry's conversation with his squire without any sort of polite preamble. On his way to the stands where the nobles are gathering, he stops by where the Terrick is waiting to compete, movements a little slower and more careful than usual. "If you do miss, at least make sure it is so fantastic as to be remembered," he adds with a flash of a grin.

Kain is mumbling something, even as he finally stirs, rising up to this feet to have the quiver of arrows that're strapped to his thighs are checked over. In the middle of some kinda of prayer? "…grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, my feet swift…" he mutters lowly. The hunting bow is loosely clutched in his hand. "…and should victory not be mine, grant me forgivness." he finishes off. Now, he looks ready to compete.

"Careful," Dmitry says lightly, with a bright wink for Inigo as he touches his fingertips to the quiver behind him. "There's no more spectacular miss than the accidental maiming of one's family members."

"My Lord Rafferdy," Katrin says softly as she crosses over to the Nayland. She smiles brightly up at him but there is a hint of concern. "I wish you the best of luck today," she offers. "I will cheer for you from the stands," is her promise.

Nathaniel arrives from the Tourney Grounds.
Nathaniel has arrived.

Just as some of the others, it seems, Pariston is looking over his gear. Checking the bow and so on. Preparing as well as he can. Though he looks just as calm as he usually does. Once he feels prepared he moves around a bit. Feeling the weight of the bow, making sure the string is as it should. He doesn't seem to talk much for now, not that he has too many to talk with anyhow. He does glance towards Kain though.

Rafferdy turns, seeing Katrin, and he rises. He bows genially, and smiles. "Lady Haigh," he responds, "Thank you. I am, of course, most appreciative of your favor." He reaches out and takes both of her hands. "Would a humble Nayland be so blessed as to have a kiss on the cheek for luck from his Lady?" He smirks.

With a blink and a raise of brows at Dmitry's point, Inigo looks around searching through the crowd gathered before he points to Jarod. "Try to miss for him instead. He is family and with the Naylands. Twice as spectacular." It's a twofer. Sorry Jarod. At least he doesn't really mean it.

Martyn still watches the happenings on the field, that unreadable expression still on his face. He doesn't speak at the moment, just watching the field, and some people in particular, quite probably.

Grin flashing crooked across his face, Dmitry slants a look across toward Jarod, and tilts his head in a slight inclination of acknowledgment. "Indeed," he says. "If I must miss the target, that would be quite fantastical of me."

Katrin's hands curl around Rafferdy's for a moment before she pulls back, cheeks reddening. "/My Lord/," she says immediately. "If I were anything but a lady, I would slap you for that," she speaks loudly. And then her voice drops down again. "You know that is not possible. Just… do well." She looks around to see if anyone is listening in on them. "For me." And then she turns back toward the stands.

"Oh, look, there's Nathaniel!" Lark cries, lifting a hand high to wave enthusiastically. She sits beside her cousin, craning around to see who else she can see. "And — oh! There's the Half-Eagle! And Ser Iniiiiiiiiiigo," she croons, swooning against her cousin's shoulder.

Jon arrives from the Tourney Grounds.
Jon has arrived.

Rafferdy watches Katrin return to the stands, simply smiling widely as she goes. He then turns back to his equipment, and waits for the tourney to begin.

Into the archery lists strides a tall, lanky nobleman, wearing an elaborate cape done up with the fox-and-flowers symbol of House Florent. It's arranged jauntily over one shoulder, so he can flair it with style as he walks. He's slimmer than one would expect a knight to be, though his arms look better-muscled than the rest of him, and he carries a longbow of fine wood that's been painted in tiny detail to mirror the heraldry of his cape. His squire trots behind him carrying extra quivers, though that may also just be for show. He's brought more arrows than one could possibly need. "Never fear, never fear," he pipes, all cheer and bravado, to the master of lists. "Lord Robin Florent is here." All right, then. He probably did not need to announce it, but he does so with flair anyhow.

The heralds finally step up and the horns are blown, one shouting, "ALL COMPETITORS IN THE TOURNEY OF THE SILVER ARROW, PLEASE STEP FORWARD AND FIND YOUR PLACES!"

Nedra rests her hands in her lap, fingers entwined, as she watches the crowd and the gathering arches with equal curiosity. The stands are easily filling with spectators, the green even more so - at least to her point of view from what she can see. The shout of the herald draws her to her feet again, applauding with enthusiasm at news that the contest is to begin!

Kain does take enough time to return the nod to Pariston. "If I don't win," he starts, glancing over the fellow tracker. "I'd rather see you in the winner's circle than anyone else right now. So." he titls his hood back just slightly, stepping up to his own mark. "Good luck to you, Master Vis."

"You might not be well loved for it, but you would be remembered?" Inigo replies, stroking his chin. If you can't have fame, have infamy? "I am sure your arrows will be true, though. So do not prove me wrong." With one last smile for Dmitry, he removes himself from where the competitors are and moves for the stands, smiling and nodding hello at folks while he does.

Lord Robin is not the only man of the Reach to be shooting today, it seems they brought more than just jousters with them. Also signing up and finding his place before a target is a round, balding man of middle age, the apples of his cheeks flushed with ruddy good humor. "Ser Tucker Appleton!" he announces himself to the heralds, "Well met, my good man! Fine day for archery, the wind's just right, yes!"

Katrin is quick to return to her spot in the stands with the Mallisters, offering an embarrassed smile. "My apologies for departing so abruptly," she says softly. "I simply wished to offer a friend words of encouragement before he competed today."

"You have quite laid my fears to rest, Lord Robin," Dmitry says with game and easy cheer, canting his head once more to Inigo as he departs with this blessing, and then moving to step forward on long strides to claim his own place.

A tall and wiry man, remains standing by Dmitry, where as everyone has been checking their equipment and fletchings, he's just remained still. Well unless you count the few puffs of smoke coming from the brown briar bowl of his pipe, movement. Scratching the side of his nose, Jon's hand comes up to grab at the bowl and pull the stem from his mouth. Turning his head to spit, he nods. "Right." A means of greeting more or less, before the back of his hand gently tufts at his somker's instrament-knocking dried and burnt sourleaf to the ground. Licking his fingers, he runs to get the refuse out from the bowl, before it's tucked into a pouch at his belt. Whistling softly, the Terrick's Master of Hound starts to pull a coil of line out- to string the dark bow now fetched from it's easy lean. A nod is given Dmitry, before he is stepping up to take his place.

With the inspection of his own bow completed, Kell spends the rest of his time giving each competitor a look, his eyes focusing on one or another in particular for an extra few seconds for some unannounced reason. The minor exchange between Lady Katrin and Lord Rafferdy is noted with a slight twinge at the edge of his lips, most likely in the form of a smirk before the Terrick knight turns to the Herald's announcement. With bow in hand, he moves into position to the line where the others stand, waiting.

Finally looking away from the field for a little while, Martyn's expression changes a bit as he looks over to Nedra now, "Looks like an… interesting field of competitors," he remarks, before he looks over at those competitors from the Reach, shaking his head for a few moments. Offering a bit of a smile as Katrin returns. "Of course, Lady Katrin."

Another tall and wiry man stands on the other side of Dmitry, though he might be better described as gangly, all things considered. It seems quite fitting, then, that the emblem on his breast is a flight of cranes arranged in a V. "Wyll Crane," he introduces himself to those on either side with a wide, amiable grin, "Good luck today, yeah?"

Roslyn has arrived.

To Kain's words Pariston nods, "Same to you." He offers before moving to take his place. Letting his eyes move around and looking to all the other participants. Slowly taking in each person. A soft low whistle as he moves his eyes from the participants to the crowd and looks around the place for quite awhile before he returns his focus to where it should be. The competition.

Nathaniel approaches the area of competition, which some anonymous servants have reconfigured dutifully for its new role as an archer's range. In place of his customary courier's bag, he now carries a sturdy quiver that rattles against his back with each step. In his left hand, he carries a slender, lovingly crafted bow of yew. Over the den of other voices, Lark's call sails to him like a clear song. He looks in her direction, bows gracefully, and then waves. "I shoot for you, dear lady!" he calls to her. Then, seeing others heading for the mark, he hurries to join the lineup, testing the string of his bow while he walks.

"Indeed it does," Nedra agrees with a nod at Martyn, "though I know little of archery, I do imagine it will be interesting all the same," is said while she watches the archers sorting themselves out. At the return of Lady Katrin, Nedra offers another smile of greeting to the young Haigh lady, "No reason to apologize," she hastens to reassure Lady Katrin, "but welcome back all the same."

Jon glances towards the man named Crane, and he bobs his head. "Jon Pole." comes out in a scratch of voice, followed by another pause to turn away and spit, before teeth are flashed in a genuine enough smile. "Good Luck." he returns to the other, before he's turning his head, one finger coming up to plug a nostril, as he farmer blows a bogey away. After that he rubs at it and then reaches to adjust his armguard and place to leather wrings on his drawing hand. 'Where y' from Crane?" Might as well ask.

"Right, so. The way this is going to work is there are 10 competitors, 7 PCs and 3 NPCs. We'll have four rounds of shooting, each round consisting of 3 rolls. When I say, everyone will +roll Marksmanship 3 times. You'll then add up how many points you scored. Any type of Failure gets you 0. Success is 1, Good Success is 2, Great Success is 3, Amazing Success is 5 (not 4, this isn't a typo). The top 8 scores advance to round 2. The top 4 scores advance to round 3, and the top 2 scores advance to the final round."

Lark blinkety-blinks big saucer eyes, sitting up straight like she's just been goosed. She cranes around, looking to see if Nathaniel could have been speaking to someone else. Then, pointing at herself, she blushes furiously and mouths, Me? She looks at Alona. "Was he talking to me?" Alona rolls her eyes and snorts. "Of course, silly."

Katrin offers a warm smile to Martyn, but she asks of both Mallisters, "Do you have any favorites to win the archery tourney?" she asks curiously. "There are so many competitors here from all over. Did you see Lord Robin Florent? He seems quite the… flamboyant type. I wonder how well he shoots."

Kain looks down at the white strip of cloth that's tied around his wrist, in start contrast to the rest of the foresty colors that he wears. "Still don't know who gave this to me." he mutters over to Pariston, glancing at the favor. "I feel like someone is playing a joke on me." he adds, sliding out the first arrow from his quiver.

Wyll Crane grins at Jon, and plucks his bowstring, checking over it and picking out his first three arrows with a keen, careful eye that he manages to almost conceal with his easy manner and general gangling about. "Red Lake," he says, "House Crane o' Red Lake, down in the Reach. 'tween Goldengrove and Old Oak, if you know it?"

Dmitry twirls one arrow between his fingertips, a slanted humor showing in the sidelong sweep of his gaze up the line of competitors. He glances toward the targets next, thoughtful as he presses a single kiss to the grey fletch. He is such a romantic.

Nedra shakes her head as she answers, "I don't have a favorite," she admits, "but that's why it's so much fun, just seeing how it all turns out." She takes her seat again, though she does lean forward, mindful to adjust the leather satchel she carries so that it doesn't bite into her side, one hand resting on it to keep it safe. "Which one is Lord Robin FLorent?" she wonders, scanning the contestants curiously.

Ser Tucker Appleton steps up to the line as well, his tunic plain and brown, but for the badge of his house, quartered, towers and apple trees. Not the most gallant competitor, perhaps, but maybe the jolliest, smiling at those on either side of him, and even leaning around to those further down, saying, "Seven bring you luck!" to each.

Pariston grins at Kain's words. "I'm sure they aren't. Be glad to have gotten a favor." He offers up and then does the same, readying his own first arrow. "You give yourself too little credit."

Rafferdy steps to the line, still smiling, and draws an arrow from his quiver. Its shaft is golden in color, the featherwork a deep shade of red, matching his outfit. He readies to fire.

"No." Jon replies with an easy grin, as he draws three arrows from his quiver, and tufts them down into the soft earth. There's a toothy grin all the same to Wyll, before he draws the string back once, before slowly releasing so as not to snap. "I know o' the reach fine enough." Jon adds with a kiss of his teeth. "Fine flowers they have down there. I myself am up along this here cape. Hart's wood, an th' Tall Oaks." though now more recently of the Four Eagles. "Everythin' all pretty down there as they say?" the man asks.

"Pip pip pip!" the fox-garbed Florent pipes, which seems to be some kind of signal for his squire to fetch him an arrow. The lad hands him one, and he fits it smoothly onto his bowstring, readying to loose.

Justin arrives from the Tourney Grounds.
Justin has arrived.

Pausing a little at the mention of favorites to win, Martyn pauses for a few moments, "I'm not sure. I know that at least a few of the participants from this area knows how to handle their bows, at least." A brief pause as he looks between the others for a few moments. "But I remember seeing Master Vis there," a gesture to Pariston, "shooting down a Raven in flight on Harlaw." He looks between the ladies for a few moments now, before he looks back to the happenings out on the field.

<FS3> Jon rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.
<FS3> Jon rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.
<FS3> Jon rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.

<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.

<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.

<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.

<FS3> Kain rolls Marksmanship: Amazing Success.
<FS3> Kain rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.
<FS3> Kain rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.

<FS3> Rafferdy rolls Marksmanship: Failure.
<FS3> Rafferdy rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.
<FS3> Rafferdy rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.

<FS3> Nathaniel rolls Marksmanship: Great Success.
<FS3> Nathaniel rolls Marksmanship: Success.
<FS3> Nathaniel rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.

<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship: Great Success
<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship: Great Success
<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship: Good Success

<FS3> Wyll Crane rolls Marksmanship: Success
<FS3> Wyll Crane rolls Marksmanship: Good Success
<FS3> Wyll Crane rolls Marksmanship: Good Success

<FS3> Tucker Appleton rolls Marksmanship: Great Success
<FS3> Tucker Appleton rolls Marksmanship: Good Success
<FS3> Tucker Appleton rolls Marksmanship: Good Success

Round 1: Kain=11, Dmitry=9, Jon=8, Robin=8, Tucker=7, Kell=6, Nathaniel=6, Pariston=6, Wyll Crane=5, Rafferdy=4

Justin arrives, obviously not to compete for it's already begun but also because he has brought no bow nor quiver. He walks a bit stiffly, sore from yesterday's jousting. A few steps up into the stands set aside for the nobility and he has a pretty good view as the archers begin.

"I have not heard of many of these men before," Katrin admits. "But I am certain that they will all put out a wonderful showing." She gives another cheerful smile.

Nathaniel finds a spot, pulls three slender arrows from his quiver, and plants two of them in the ground like tall, straight trees. Then he searches the crowd until he sees Lark, now leaning against her cousin. He nods quickly, and smiles before turning to notch his first arrow to the string and pull it back. He holds the pose until the signal comes, and then the arrow flies. He snatches the second, and then the last, from the soft loam in rapid succession. Then he sighs and studies the row of targets, nodding when his eyes come to those that sport much better shots than his own.

Nedra nods at Katrin, "I'm sure they will too," she agrees, though she's agreeing as much to be agreeable as she is with the sheer volume of sound that the cheering crowd is creating as the archers make their marks and start loosing arrows.

There's a sniff from the Master Pole, as he fires his first shot, knocking a fine place on his target down the butts. His next shot is decent, but apparently he cares not for it. Turning to spit. Jon draws up his third arrow, and hits a fine line center, just as the first. A nod is given as he lowers his bow, glancing over to Wyll Crane. "Fine shots, Master Crane." Jon offers amicably, before he is digging his thumb into his teeth, and turning to spit again. "Always gets bits in here, from smokin.." Perhaps pipe repair is in order once this is done.

Well, there aren't many ladies in the stands that he knows so Justin moves on up to where there's at least one he does know, "Lady Katrin, a pleasure to see you enjoying the archery competetion. Might I join you ladies?" Justin hasn't been introduced to Nedra yet, though he bows his head politely to her as well. He did see her at the inn at Terrick's Roost a week or more back.

Brave brave Lord Robin (or so he'd probably claim) fires off three shots smoothly and rapidly, with the ease of one who considers a bow almost an extension of his arms. So he's not all flash. His aim is true and his shots on target, though he still frowns slight at his performance. "The gold quiver for this round, Will," he orders his squire. Who does, indeed, dip into a gold-embroidered quiver he carries.

Dmitry lets fly with three clean, swift shots in rapid succession, the steady rhythm of his shooting matched by the smoothness of his concentration. He does not permit himself much more than the slightest nod of satisfaction as he studies their placement. He is terribly serious, somber-eyed and quiet in the aftermath of his third release as his dark eyes flick up and over the other targets. His eyebrows twitch together just a little as his eye lights on one in particular, and his mouth tugs into a crooked smile.

Rafferdy fires his three shots. The first is quite fowl, striking the far outside of the target, nearly missing. His second two are better, but not enough to make up for the first shot. He stares at the target for a long moment, and then simply takes up his things and heads off the field.

Things start of decently enough for Pariston. Not as good as he would have wanted, but still. Having his first arrow ready and letting it loose to get a decent shot of. Waiting for signal before continuing to reach and ready the next one. Pulling back and getting about the same result. A low 'tsk' from his hit, not really fully satisfied with it. But he goes on with the last one and it get about the same result. Clearly not as well shot as when he shot down the raven on the Iron Isles.

Might as well get off to a good start. Letting go of the first arrow, Kain plants his first arrow dead center of the target. The ranger doesn't have much to really think about his initial success, only hopes to replicate it. The next arrow is drawn and loosed, then the third, both of which seem to cluster around the first, a little bit on the outside from the center one. When he finally has a chance to look over his handiwork, he only nods in approval.

Certainly not the best but Kell makes a decent showing in a weapon class that isn't his forte. Using a different mindset, the Terrick sworn pretends he isn't on some competitive field shooting at a standing target, but pretends he is on the hunt again like back when he was a knight of the hedges. All three shots are on target, though not neat bullseyes like some other competitors have accomplished. It also seems like Kell had managed to make the first cut, much to his own surprise.

Wyll Crane's first shot is…not so good. He laughs as it hits the outside ring, and shakes his head, swiping a hand through shaggy hair and saying, "Well, that's likely it for me, gents! Quick day, but all the more time for wine, women, and song, at least!" He chuckles some more, and fires off two more arrows in quick succession. They're good shots but, as he suspected, not good enough. As the heralds count up the points scored by the various competitors he, like Rafferdy, is tapped to exit. "Best of luck to you, my fine fellows!" he says to Jon and Kain as he departs, saluting with his bow, "Bet of luck!"

Martyn looks over in Justin's direction for a few moments, as the man speaks to the women, offering the Terrick a bit of a smile and a nod. "Ser Justin. A fine contest from you yesterday," he offers, with a bit of a smile. Looking from Justin to Nedra now as they don't seem to have be introduced yet. "Have you met Ser Justin yet, cousin?" he offers, before he looks back out to the shots fired for a few moments. Watching Rafferdy head off the field, his expression is once more a bit unreadable.

Dismay immediately crosses her face as Rafferdy's shots go awry. Katrin bites at her lip, watching him move off the field but she's already walked out on the Mallisters once already. Twice would just be rude. She gives a smile to Justin. "My Lord Justin, it has been far too long," she says warmly. "Please do join us." And she mostly sounds as though she is working really hard at staying focused on the people here, and not on a certain Nayland.

Settled up in the stands, Inigo sits a bit stiffly and watches all the archers take their shots with a keen gaze that darts from competitor to competitor as each loose arrows. Most of his attention, however, sticks to the Terrick archers. He nods and smiles at what he can see of the results. "Good showing so far." Most everyone has done well, really.

Nedra glances up and away from the field, seeing Lord Justin as he approaches and nods politely in return with another quick glimpse of a smile, though she did fail to introduce herself properly the first time they met in passing. She glances back to Martyn as he helps with the introductions and shakes her head, "Not formally no, I do confess," she says. "Which is my fault entirely, I do apologize my lord," she adds. "We had been so long on the road, my armsmen and and the rest, i didn't want to make the first introduction while looking like a dust covered hare," is added with a hint of laughter coloring her tone of voice.

Rafferdy leaves, heading towards the Tourney Grounds [Tourney Grounds].
Rafferdy has left.

Jon grins before he is waving off towards Wyll, and he is moving on up in the tournament it seems. A glance is given over towards. Dmitry, as three new arrows are drawn. "Yer a fine shot Ser." He's of course assuming Dmitry is a Ser. Jon nods briefly as he looks downfield and readies his bow. "You've got a good soft hand to it." A compliment, as Jon readies his next shots.

Lark watches the first volley of arrows barely blinking, only to blink quite rapidly as the last thuds into the target. She looks between the marks, fidgeting a little, not sure whether to applaud or cheer. "Who won?" she whispers to Alona. Alona shrugs elaborately.

Round one completed, the attendants scurry out onto the field, and move the targets back some yards. And then they sprint out of the way again. "Competitors!" shouts the gravelly-voiced herald, sounding almost like he's croaking though his voice carries easily, "Take your marks for round 2! And… begin!"

<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship-1: Great Success.
<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship-1: Great Success.
<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.

<FS3> Tucker Appleton rolls Marksmanship-1: Success.
<FS3> Tucker Appleton rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.
<FS3> Tucker Appleton rolls Marksmanship-1: Great Success.

<FS3> Jon rolls Marksmanship-1: Success.
<FS3> Jon rolls Marksmanship-1: Success.
<FS3> Jon rolls Marksmanship-1: Success.

<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-1: Amazing Success.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.

<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-1: Great Success.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-1: Success.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-1: Amazing Success.

<FS3> Kain rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.
<FS3> Kain rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.
<FS3> Kain rolls Marksmanship-1: Success.

<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-1: Good Success.

<FS3> Nathaniel rolls Marksmanship: Success.
<FS3> Nathaniel rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.
<FS3> Nathaniel rolls Marksmanship: Success.

Okay, so, moving on are: Pariston, Dmitry, Robin, and Kell.

"Ser Martyn, thank you. Though today… I feel like I have been kicked by a horse several times." A smile for Katrin, "It has been some while, hasn't it, Lady Katrin?" Oh, but he doesn't miss her looking dismayed at the field. Justin studies the archer's first round and is pleased, "Master Kain is certainly not dissapointing. That man is a great asset." And several others he knows do well too. Inigo gains a nod from Justin, "Indeed." Amusement flickers through his pale grey eyes as his attention turns to Nedra, "Well, it seems you have me yet at dissadvantage, Lady, for you have learned my name and I know only that you are Ser Martyn's cousin. You /do/ have a name, do you not?" Justin has not yet moved to take his seat.

Lark puts her hands over her face and watches through her fingers, chewing her bottom lip.

Inigo nods in return to Justin, smiling slightly, then leans over and suggests to Nedra, "You should keep him at the disadvantage," he advises with a cheeky grin. "It is less polite, yes, but it is far more fun."

"/Ser/ Justin," Katrin amends, this smile genuine and warm. "I had heard of your Knighting. Congratulations, Ser Justin." She shakes her head, "It is a silly thing. I have been staying in the Roost for some time and yet we somehow come across each other in Seagard instead. I hope you have enjoyed the tourney thus far. I heard you did quite well in the jousting last eve." Another smile is given to Martyn and she leans in closer to the Mallister. "I am certain Ser Martyn shall redeem himself in full during the melee competition. I would not wish to think that I had given my favor to the wrong knight." Her eyes track Rafferdy's departure and her expression dims for a moment but at least she's made her decision and she keeps her butt planted in the stands.

Nathaniel selects three more arrows from his quiver, and plants two in the same manner before notching the third to the string of his bow. He pulls three more times, and the next three arrows arc through the air, thudding solidly on his target, although none hits the bullseye. Still, he grins at the mere thought of competing against such worthy opponents. When all have fired, he shouts, "Bravo!"

Dmitry's next fired shot hits dead center. His next arrow that follows it wavers slightly from the true: his grouping is not as beautifully consistent as his first three shots, but someone would still be quite dead. Eyebrows bespeaking some satisfaction, he already starts drawing his next three arrows from his quiver, readying himself for the next round as he thumbs down the shaft and over the neat feathers.

Kain does alright, all three of his arrows hitting decent spaces at the target, but the other archers do a bit better than him. But the ranger is a humble enough man to know when this just isn't my day. Though he does smile Pariston's shots. "Good job, Master Pariston." he replies. "Kock'em dead." With that, he takes his things and backs away from the archers that have survived the round.

Lord Robin's arrows fly again, his bowstring twanging in what almost sounds like rhythm as he lets loose. Again they ring the innards of the target with precision, though they're still just short of the bulls-eye. He finally deigns to eye the arrows of his competitors, and Dmitry and Pariston's efforts earn a little tip of his chin. "Sporting, gents. Quite, quite a sporting field."

As Jon is shooting, A bird comes across the butts, and the archer pauses. His bow goes slack, for a moment, as the sparrow lands on his target, perched on the previous arrow. And the man lowers his bow for a moment. One hand coming up to wipe his eyes. But he doesn't say anything. The bow is brought back up, and he aims. Taking a weak shot off to the outer rim, and the other two follow, before the misty eyed man, wipes his crows feet. "They are good.." he murmurs before looking over towards Dmitry. "Best of luck to ye.." he chokes back a sob, before smiling, and making his way back to the crowd. Upon coming back he looks towards Wyll Crane. "What faith you follow?" Because he has seen a SIGN.

Nedra turns red, not just the tip of her ears this time but really does blush rather brightly as she realizes she still hasn't actually offered her name. "Lady Nedra Mallister," she says, taking care to not let her words tumble over each other, "Kamron's sister," she adds, helping to clarify which Mallister she is in relation to all the rest of the Mallisters. "Congratulations as well," she adds her's to Katrin's, glancing back at Martyn and then toward Katrin before up again, "on your Knighthood, I mean." OK, time to stop talking before she has to start chewing on her own foot.

Pulling three more normally fletched arrows from his quiver, Kell waits for the targets to be set up again and winces after seeing their distance. "Well, let's hope I can hit the target again." Grabbing the first arrow, he strings it and once it is time to shoot, he slowly looses the first projectile. The second and third are followed up at the same cautious pace, much to the Terrick Sworn's surprise, he does well enough to advance once more. Looking down at his bow in disbelief, Kell actually looks rather pleased with himself.

Something did catch his eye, "Lord Rafferdy gave up after only the first round? How many rounds will they shoot?" Justin studies the second round of shots before he takes his seat, "Seems to me he could have made it up if there are three rounds." And then the Terrick does very well! "Excellant shots from my cousin, Dmitry there." Ah, Justin smiles at Katrin, "I was not aware that you were still staying at the Roost. I yet owe you a ride up the coastline, do I not?"

This time around it seems Pariston will step it up some. The first shot soaring nicely through the air and hitting it's target. Though it seems he might have gotten eager with the next one that is just a decent shot. But with the last one he stands and focuses for awhile. Almost as when he hit the flying bird or the riding bandit's head. Hitting it's target dead center. Grinning as he stops of and looks to the others results. A silent nod to Kain before giving a quick glance to Dmitry.

Justin adds, "I did not know Ser Kell was an archer."

"Ah, Seagard brings people together," Martyn offers a bit lightly. Looking over at Nedra and then Justin again, he smiles a bit as the two of them get more properly introduced Nodding a little bit at Katrin's words, he offers her a bit of a smile. "That's the plan, redeeming myself at the melee," he replies, before he pauses a bit at her expression. "I'm surprised it didn't go better for him," he offers to her, worse very quiet now. "I'm sorry."

"If by 'gave up' you mean 'was eliminated'," Inigo comments of Lord Rafferdy. "Seems a lack of sleeves does not actually make one a better archer." He does clap for Dmitry as the man makes a bullseye. "Excellent shots indeed," he agrees with Justin.

As half of the field is tapped to go, the four that remain find themselves herded from their various spots to the more central lanes (the better to be watched by spectators), and the extra targets pulled out of the way. The other four targets are quickly picked up by tourney attendants and run back another number of paces to a pre-determined mark on the field. "ROUND THREE!" announces that booming, scratchy voice, "Competitors…begin!"

<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-2: Good Success.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-2: Failure.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-2: Good Success.

<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-2: Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-2: Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-2: Good Success.

<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship-2: Great Success.
<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship-2: Great Success.
<FS3> Robin Florent rolls Marksmanship-2: Great Success.

<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-2: Success.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-2: Good Success.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-2: Great Success.

Justin looks back to Inigo and nods, "Ah, I did not realize he was eliminated. I had only just arrived and taking my seat." and looking to the field he adds, "I'm not familiar with the rules of the archery, nor how many rounds they will shoot." Another good reason he didn't choose to enter. And there's Nedra finally giving him her name. Justin smiles, "A pleasure to learn it, Lady. And Ser Kamron's sister!" Her belated statements evoke a soft chuckle, followed by lifting his hand to his left side ribs as anything remotely kin to laughting is going to hurt for a while, "Thank you."

"Today was just not his day, Ser Justin," Katrin replies, shaking her head. "But he is still an excellent archer." Her words are just a little defensive. But she gives Martyn a smile, leaning closer to him so she might speak in a quiet voice and still be heard. Her fingers gently touch at his arm. "I fear Lord Rafferdy might have too much on his mind when he stepped on to the field today."

As more rounds are fired and more archers are eliminated, the structure of the event becomes more clear to Justin. He watches the next shots fired.

Nathaniel scans the row of targets and counts. The results are clear, and he tucks the bow against his chest with his arm so that both hands are free to loose the string. However, he remains on the field, but well behind the line, to watch the next round. He holds his breath when each volley of arrows flies. When the round ends, he applauds heartily. "Well done, Sers! Well done!" he calls.

Lucienne has arrived.

"Missed the target during the first round," Inigo explains to Justin with a slight shrug and without any positive or negative addendums regarding Rafferdy himself. "I think the rules vary from time to time, though I believe this is the last round. "

Dmitry takes a shot and it hits in decent position despite the increased distance. Perhaps overconfident in his clean marksmanship, he looses another arrow and it sails wide, feathers whiffing by the target's round to thunk ignominiously into the baseboard. Teeth set into his lower lip, Dmitry does not give himself time to recriminate the bad shot; he shoots the third arrow in the grouping and finds his mark cleanly. He frowns over the ugly grouping afterwards, and rubs his fingers together, blowing on them and frowning as he attempts to calculate the scores of the other competitors in his head — which he has not had to do for the other rounds at all, the arrogant squirt.

A slow start on this round for Pariston as he only get a decent first shot off. But it seems that it is just a difficulty with predicting the distance. Though his next shot comes closer. And the final one, again, is a really long focus and he let it go and it comes just a bit off of hitting dead center. He then smiles and is happy enough with his performance. Even if it was not the best. But it seems that he moves on, if he didn't see it wrong. Into the final in such case.

This round is certainly more difficult for Kell and it shows with the three arrows he sends flying to the target. However, he is able to perform well enough where each shot hits, none touching the ground. The only problem is that his shots aren't as well placed as the others he was competing against, though there is no frustration from the Terrick Sworn as he did a lot better than he had expected.

Nedra simply shakes her head in rueful amusement, entirely self directed, "You're quite welcome," she manages with a glimpse of a smile, before glancing back at the field of contest to see the third round begin.

Lark looks as though she's trying valiantly, and failing, to follow the action. She does note that Nathaniel isn't in the running any longer, however, and sticks her bottom lip out. "Oh, drat," she sighs. "I guess I wasn't very good luck." She glances at her cousin. "He does deserve his own bag of cookies, though, I think. It was very sweet of him to try."

Martyn looks about to say something to the rest when Katrin leans in closer. His other hand moving up to the fingers touching his arm, while he blinks a little at her words. "Oh, what would that be?" he asks, voice kept just as quiet as hers. Not paying too much attention to the ones out there still competing at the moment.

Twang, twang, twang goes Lord Robin, beaming roguishly as his arrows land a hair's breath from the target center. "Huzzah! Quite sporting indeed!" He flashes a white-toothed smile to the ladies in the crowd and winks. Laying some groundwork for post-competition fun.

Not so sporting is the fellow that suddenly, seeing his chance or perhaps just overcome with what appears (from the state of his near-purple face and the veins bulging in his neck) to be almost an apoplexy of anger. He charges out of nowhere from the common stands, sprinting at Lord Robin and punching him square in the face hard enough to knock him into the dirt, where he promptly attempts to punch him again, as shocked tourney attendants belatedly advance to try to drag him away.

Ser Jarod Rivers - sometimes called Ser Jarod Half-Eagle - is, for better or worse, Lord Jerold Terrick's bastard son. He most recently returned from the Westerosi campaign on the Iron Islands, where he led the Terrick forces and won some honors for himself on the battlefield for his capture of the Ironborn knight, Ser Harras Harlaw. His well-kept life with the Terricks and good reputation came undone, however, when it was revealed his former squire - the newly knighted Ser Rowan Nayland - was actually a girl. Lord Rickart's disowned daughter Rowenna, who'd been posing as a man for years. Not only had he knighted her knowing this full well…he'd married her.

Lord Jerold stripped him of his horse, armor, and all other knightly trappings for the disgrace - save his sword - and dismissed him from the Terrick service. He's moved out of Four Eagles and is presently bumming around the town of Terrick's Roost, looking for work as a hedge knight. What life he will build for himself now remains to be seen.

"Not… arsehole!… my wife!" shouts the punching man. He is not anyone familiar, just some random merchant-looking fellow.

Lark and Alona squeak simultaneously and clutch one another like frightened gibbons. VIOLENCE on the field! UNSPORTING violence. That's not exciting at all. At least, not in a good way.

Dmitry startles visibly in the midst of rubbing his fingers together, jerking back and away from the sudden onslaught with high-swept eyebrows. He is probably just very relieved that he didn't flirt so visibly with anybody. "What the—"

Ready to depart the field, only waiting for the official announcements, Kell stares in disbelief at the spectator that runs at Lord Robin. It takes him a couple of seconds to react and by that time, the man is already on the Lord. Better late than never though and the Terrick Sworn is on the move, dropping his bow as he tries to close the distance between himself and the unknown assailant as quick as possible, to help pull the man off of the Lord.

"Wife!" gasps Alona, overhearing that bit. Lark gasps, as well. "How sordid!"

Pariston sees the attack on Lord Robin and moves over to try and help, if at all possible. "Calm down!" He offers in a calm yet loud voice. Most likely towering over the men.

Inigo winces when Dmitry misses the target, even if he hits the mark the next two times. Oh, well. Brows rise swiftly as some random fellow shows up and punches Robin. "I was not aware there was an unarmed melee competition to follow archery," he remarks, biting his bottom lip.

Lord Robin screams, in a high-pitched and undignified fashion, as he's attacked out of nowhere. "I never touched her!" he proclaims. Though he has to amend, as he's scrambling to his feet, "I might have touched her a little, but it was entirely…sporting!" He desperately tries to get free of the man but instead of fighting back…he bravely runs away. As fast as his long legs can carry him.

Katrin looks up at Martyn for a moment with a faint smile. "Probably things best not discussed in such a public venue," she replies. "But I do thank you for your words nonetheless, Ser Martyn." And obviously the excuse to sit closer to the Mallister. The fight drags her attention and her eyes widen. "What sort of commotion is this?!" she asks. Apparently she should pay more attention.

Nedra rises to her feet in surprise, one hand lifting to cover her mouth as a genuine brawl - though clearly NOT part of the contest - unfolds without warning.

The heralds look…nonplussed, as one of the finalists is attacked and then promptly flees. They scramble for a moment, consulting each other, and then announce, "Ser Dmitry! Ser Kell! Please return to the field!"

Dmitry laughs in a soft puff of breath, and rubs at his eye with his thumb. Glancing down the high curve of his bow, he looks over toward Kell, and otherwise is quite blithe about strolling back up to take his place in line.

Nathaniel was turning to look toward the commoners' area when the crazed fan charges toward the group. When the stranger assaults Robin, Nathaniel lunges forward. "Leave him alone, man!" he commands. "Now is not the time!" He reaches to grapple with the assailant from behind.

Lark and her cousin STARE at the long-legged Robin fleeing from the aggro cuckold, then burst into giggles. Lark, at least, tries to smother hers. "Oh… dear… how awful…" she peeps betewen snerks.

The angry cuckolded stranger flails at Nathaniel and the others trying to hold him back, ranting incoherently, "Run!" he shouts at Lord Robin, "Run away! I'll get you! I'll get you, you…lord!"

Pariston just scratches his head at the event and then chuckles before looking to the others. Seems as if the other two men called out are to shoot again, or something like that. His own eyes scans the crowd to try a certain person, if he can manage to do so.

"Then perhaps we should find somewhere less public to discuss it later?" Martyn offers a bit quietly, before he looks over to the commotion on the field as well, blinking a little. "This was a bit more interesting than a regular archery competition…" he remarks, shaking his head a little. "Looks like this Lord Robin is like the bird, and flies off rather quickly," he adds, after a few moments of pause.

With the brief altercation more or less resolving itself, Kell steps back to let the attendants handle the assailant. His head turns towards the direction of the Herald as his name is called, afraid he actually did something wrong to be called out until it dawns on him that the brave Lord Robin has fled the fields, so there is still one spot open. Returning to his bow, he picks it up and steps up to the line again, nodding his head to Dmitry.

Lord Robin does not hear anyone shouting at him, as he's ran away. His squire tries to stay out of view of the angry cuckold, and hastily gets down on his knees to pick up the arrows that were dropped in the scuffle.
You paged Lucienne with 'Wasn't sure if you posed, or if you are even supposed to be there. But if so, it is Luci that Pariston is searching for.'

Jon says nothing as the altercation comes spilling out into the field. there is a brief smirk however on the master's face as he nudges the man next to him. Apparently his religious experience over, he like other sporting men have been glued to the Archery competition-and now the Jerold Springer play, that seems to be taking place.

Well. How entirely improper! Lucienne must be sitting somewhere near Inigo, for she comments to her cousin dryly, "Nor was I." Her hands are folded primly in her lap, and she sits straight-backed to watch Dmitry return to the field.

Having prepared the field for two, the tourney-workers now hurriedly adjust for three, an additional target brought out and run back to the even-still-further position decided upon for the final round. "Finalists! Take your marks!" shouts the herald.

"Yes, that does sound like a possibility," Katrin agrees somewhat distractedly. She's still watching the events in front of her. "How… strange," she muses with a shake of her head. "Are these events usual at an archery tourney, Ser Martyn?" she asks.

<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-3: Success.
Dmitry spends 1 luck points on Archery roll!.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-3: Success.
<FS3> Dmitry rolls Marksmanship-3: Failure.

<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-3: Great Success.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-3: Good Success.
Pariston spends 1 luck points on Marksmanship.
<FS3> Pariston rolls Marksmanship-3: Good Success.

Kell spends 1 luck points on Marksmanship.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-3: Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-3: Good Success.
<FS3> Kell rolls Marksmanship-3: Good Success.

Placement: Pariston in first with 8, Kell in second with 6, and Dmitry in third with 3."

"I suppose it is better than a brawl, say, in the Great Hall during a dance," Inigo comments with a touch of dry amusement in return to Lucienne. Then he too leans forward, a bit gingerly, to watch the final round.

Nedra takes her seat again, now that the impromptu fist fight is over, and glances to Katrin, "I think you're right," she says quietly. "That Lord Florent is the flamboyant type, I mean. He certainly shoots well, but I'm thinking he needs to learn to confine his skills to the proper field of contest," she suggests in a lower voice while attempting to refrain from laughing.

"I haven't seen it happen before," Martyn offers at Katrin's question, before he nods a bit at Nedra's words as well. "Perhaps a bit too flamboyant for his own good, it would seem." Spoken a bit lightly, as he keeps his attention on the rest of the archers now.

Luci untucks a hand to hide her smirk behind it. Inigo, you funny man! "Mmm," she agrees, eyes on the field. "I do hope there won't be a repeat of that this tourney."

Dmitry waits and counts internally for a beat or two before he lets fly his first arrow. It is off, though not off the mark entirely. The next loosed shot is better, striking cleanly into the target. The third and final shot does little to redeem him, though: he might blame the wind, he might blame some soreness of his arm, some stiffness in his fingers, the wear of a long tournament (not that it has been that long a tournament). His arrow head lodges hard and fast in the border of target and stand; as failures go, Inigo may be disappointed in him, because it is not even spectacular, although it might prove inconvenient for whomever has to reset the targets for the next time there's a contest. He eyes the target narrowly, and then shrugs, finger-flicking to his squire in a practiced and familiar gesture and then stepping back.

Kell thought the targets were far enough last round but when the attendants push the targets even further back for this round, he merely frowns and shakes his head before pulling out three more arrows. The Terrick Sworn actually takes the time to inspect the arrows, as if doing so now would change how he would perform this round and looking pleased, he sticks them into the ground. Grabbing one, Kell strings it and closes his eyes for a moment, perhaps saying a silent prayer to the Warrior or giving words to a particular someone in his thoughts. Then the arrow is loosed, a good showing, followed by the next two, having the same exact consistancy.

"Tourneys seem so much more /violent/ as an adult," Katrin muses. Yes, violence. At a tourney. and even worse than before. That's hard to believe. She shakes her head. "If you would excuse me, Ser Martyn, now that the archery is reaching the end, I had best return to the Haigh encampment. Perhaps I will see you later?" She gives him a warm smile.

Pariston doesn't seem to have a problem with the distance. Having calmed down after seeing someone, or perhaps more than one, in the crowd. Anyhow, his first arrow is shot nicely onto it's target. Then a deep breath as he takes up and fires away the second one that is just short of being dead center. With the third he does a bit of a cocky move by raising the arrow to the sky and then sitting it and firing another nice shot. Which seems to be nice for him as he get a good shot off. Another good shot at that.

"Good shooting there," Martyn offers after a few moments of pause now, before he nods to Katrin, "Of course. I'll be looking forward to it, Lady Katrin." He doesn't look like he's that happy to see her depart, though.

"That was almost as entertaining as watching Naylands." Justin comments quietly more to himself than to the others. And there they go for a final round of shooting. That is when he notices that his sister has joined them, "Lucienne, there you are. I trust you have been enjoying the tournament so far?"

"Try not to hit anyone in your family, my lady, and perhaps it won't," Inigo teases Lucienne with a grin. "It would have to be a Mallister vassal this time, after all, would it not?" He goes silent to watch the final shots, losing his smile at the results. "Ah, well," is all he says. He's so disappointed in you Dmitry. That was not a spectacular failure at all. Tsk.

Pariston let his eyes turn to Inigo and Lucienne after he is done and offers a small bow in their direction. Since, as far as he can see, he won. A smirk on his face and he tries searching for Kain, though it seems he can't find him.

Lark heaves a sigh and opens a bag of cookies. "I'm still not sure what happened," she laments. Munch, munch. "But I'm sure it was all very skillful." Some girls just aren't much for the subtler arts of battle.

The arrows and points are counted, and the trumpets sounded. The herald steps up to announce: "In third place, we have Ser Dmitry Terrick, of House Terrick! In second place, Ser Kell Drakmoor, also of House Terrick, and THE WINNER of the TOURNEY OF THE SILVER ARROW IS… MASTER PARISTON VIS, OF HOUSE FLINT OF FLINT'S FINGER!"

Lucienne frowns a little as Dmitry fails, disappointed for a different reason to Inigo. "Oh," she says, turning her head aside as the rest shoot to speak with her cousin. "I can't think of any reason at all that I might want to," she jests. "Justin! I have, indeed. And yourself? I was very proud of your showing yesterday, of course." She completely misses Pariston's bow, but straightens her back and claps politely as the winner is announced.

With the competition complete, Kell nods at the Herald's announcement before turning to approach Pariston instead of marching off the field after losing. "Congratulations Master Vis, you shot very well. Very well. House Flint is blessed to have one with your skills." The congratulations is accompanied with Kell inclining his head towards Pariston.

Nedra rises to her feet to cheer for the conclusion of the contest, glancing after Lady Katrin and her septa before they disappear into the crowd. She glances back to Martyn, "That was really quite fun to watch," she remarks, "and much faster than the jousting."

"Can you not? Well, then surely there will be no dramatics to worry about." Inigo's brow furrows in mild confusion as he's bowed at and he glances briefly at Lucienne, but he inclines his head in a slow nod at Pariston in return. He did win, after all, even if he was not who the Vance knight was rooting for.

Nathaniel peers down the field, frowning with concentration while the final archers unleash their arrows at the targets. When the heralds announce the official ruling, he grins and applauds merrily. "Cheers for Master Vis! Bravo!" he shouts. He approaches the man and offers hearty congratulations. "Well done, Master! Well done!"

Justin hears the winner announced and claps, "Very well done, Master Pariston. And excellant shooting Ser Kell, Lord Dmitry." A good showing for Terricks all the same. He smiles at his sister, "Thank you. I surprised myself to do so well. Quite unexpected." Justin's pretty sore and the bruises he has might make Lucienne's eyes half pop out of she could see them. Thankfully, she can't. He's still a bit short on breath and has to space his words out.

Pariston offers a bow to the Heralds as well when they announce him as vitorious. Then it is an incline of his head to Kell, "Thank you Ser Drakmoor. The same goes to you. I did think you had me beat for a moment." A small smirk on his face. A hand raised to the air for the cheers and then a deep bow to them all.

And that clapping wasn't a good idea either. Justin rubs his shoulder and then half turns in his seat to see if his sister wishes to converse, or they will disperse.

Having kept her eyes on the Haigh lady as she left, Martyn gets to his feet as he hears the mention of the winner. "Bravo!" he calls out, cheering a bit as well. Turning to offer a grin at Nedra, "Told you Master Vis was one of the best, didn't I?" He then shakes his head, "You're just glad that someone got to punch Lord Robin, aren't you, cousin?" Spoken a bit lightly.

"That you did," Nedra agrees with a grin at Martyn. "I should have taken your word on it and wagered as well," she adds, laughing, knowing full well that she wouldn't have done any such thing.

Lucienne leans forward again to speak with Justin. "There were many a strong knight in that joust," she agrees, giving credit where credit is due. "Will you be participating in the melee? And you, cous?" There's a brief pass of confusion on her features too, as she notices Inigo's nod toward the winner.

After allowing Pariston an appropriate amount of time in which to bask in the cheers of the crowd, he is summoned up to the dais - a much smaller one off to the side, not the main one, and Lord Calvan Mallister, one of the heroes of the day before's jousts, steps forward. "Master Vis!" he says, "On behalf of House Mallister, and House Redwyne, I congratulate you on your victory today. That was very fine shooting! You are a credit to your house, and it is my honor to present you with this prize." An attendant holds out a rich purple velvet cushion, on which sits a silvery arrow. Ser Calvan takes it up, and presents it to Pariston.

Pariston moves up and does as he is told and looks to the man before him, bowing his head to the man at the congratulations and looks to the presented prize. Kneeling and reaching out to take the silvery arrow. When it is presented that is. "I thank you, m'lord. It is an honor." Not fully knowing how to act, but he goes from what he can remember.

"I'm uncertain, dear sister, if I will." Justin replies, "There is more jousting tomorrow. I know not yet if they will limit the field to those who have not ridden or if we may all compete again. If the latter, I will try to ride again. And then I will decide upon the melee depending upon how badly injured I may be." Justin quiets so he may hear what Lord Ser Calvan has to say and present to the winner.

"I knew I had no chance of winning this competition, Master Vis. I am surprised I made it this far, seems like the Warrior was guiding my arrows today." Kell says with a grin to Pariston, speaking in all seriousness though in a good natured manner. As he hears his own name also being spoken in the crowd, Kell dips his head respectfully to those in the stands as well. He then grows quiet as Lord Calvan Mallister congratulates the winner, along with the prize, applauding at such a reward.

Lark, caught nibbling a cookie, crams the whole thing in her mouth to free her hands so she can applaud. Oh, look! The winner! She looks quite delighted for the man from House Flint — if a bit hamster-cheeked.

"Yes there were," Inigo agrees that there were many strong knights in that joust. Which is admittedly a little self-congratulating, but he doesn't look like he much cares, smiling rather smugly despite the soreness that's the cost of doing well. "I plan to, yes," he answers Lucienne. "Hopefully I will not get hit in the head this time."

Lord Calvan smiles at Pariston and nods. "Well done," he says again, and then nods once more, and, after giving a wave to the crowd, turns to depart, back to wife and wine.

Martyn grins, but doesn't say much now as he looks to where Lord Calvan presents the prize to Pariston now. "Like I said, I once saw the man shooting down a raven when we were fighting on Harlaw. One of the finer moments of archery I've ever seen."

Justin looks to Martyn, "I've shot a fair number of seagulls but … never tried a raven. Now I'll have to try my hand at it, Ser." He grins, not the bowman that Pariston is but he'll practice yet.

With people dispersing and the great expanse of the green opening up, Lark falls back to gaze up at the clouds drifting overhead. Alona eyes her cousin, considers whether this is beneath her dignity, then flops back as well. The two girls munch cookies and occasionally point out the things they think they see. "A two-headed turtle!" Larke points above. Alona squint, shaking her head. "You're looking at it backward. It's a one-headed turtle with enormous balls." Lark blinks, pushing up on her elbows to frown at her cousin. "Do turtles eve have those?"

Pariston smiles back and nods before moving away when Lord Calvan does. Though where to go he is not sure. So for now he stands and takes a look around and raising the prize to the air. Then he moves a bit out of sight, but still around there.