Dol Amroth: The Lists

Nestled between the walls of the citadel's inner bailey to the west and the castle itself to the east runs a fenced in area some two hundred paces long. A pair of gates are set in the fence on the southern end and northern end, broad enough for a pair of armored and mounted knights to ride throug, and a narrow divider splits the area down the middle of the longitudinal axis. The vegetation inside has been scoured away by the pounding of the war-shod hooves of the Knights' steeds, and a small circle to the south of the fence designed for mere foot-combat shows similar signs of wear. Running against the castle wall on both the eastern and western sides of the fenced in lists are plain wooden bleachers, little more than unpainted planks held in place by wrought-iron stands.

The grounds seem lifeless, here in the darkness of night. The citadel, like a sleeping lion, crouches over the area, filling the air with an austere silence.
Contents:
Illiana
Ceridwen
Imrahil
Falaroth
Faramir
Nials
Rananar
Emmengrim
Arnafel
Aramis
Romendil
Anwyr
Calarath
Wagon
Archery target
Obvious exits:
 Southeast leads to Dol Amroth: Ost-in-Ernil - Inner Bailey.
 South leads to Dol Amroth: Prince's Pasture.
 Northeast leads to Dol Amroth: Barad Ernil - Guards' Landing.
Doing set.

Nials returns his wifes smile with equal warmth, though his ears continue to listen to those who have been chosen captain.

Imrahil looks to both Rananar and Faramir and then says, "Though it is a hard choice to say which among you shall choose first, I must by courtesy allow the stranger to our land, first choice, if the Lord Faramir permits?" Imrahil bows and then looks to Faramir.

Lowering the conical helm with its aventail of burnished chain and brazen horse-figure surmounting it, the black plume of horsehair reaching down, Rananar is readied for combat -- all his gear has seen use, from the scratches upon the helm to the newer links of mail in his hauberk brighter than all the rest. At his name he comes forward, and bows to the Prince and the son of the Steward, all in silence as he already think of the choices to make.

Her turn now, to stand aside and watch her husband, Ceridwen has nevertheless refrained from changing into a garb for fitting for a lady of either Gondor or Rohan, the sword in its scabbard still resting lightly against her hip, even as she now takes her place among the other onlookers, twin children at her side.

Faramir looks to his fellows about him, cloaked in greens and browns and slips by them to stride toward the stands. Upon his shoulder rests his greatbow, the same in which he made his mark at the Archery contest earlier. As he halts before Imrahil he bows his head deeply, "Aye Prince..Captain Rananar has his choise as you wish"

Romendil stands ill at ease looking about the lists and the men and women gathered. Pullining his hood lower over his face he turns his gaze upon Lord Imrahil and then toward the two captains.

Illiana smiles brightly and draws a bright blue ribbon shot through with silver from the sleve of her gown and holds it in her hands, awaiting Nials's leisure so she might bestow her favor upon him.

Calarath leans near his fellows from Ithilien and the Company of the Anduin against the crude wooden fence surrounding the field of battle, squinting slightly as the sun beats down onto his head, and a gentle summer breeze makes the edges of his dark green cloak flutter out behind him. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he looks up to the royal balcony as the Prince speaks, raising a cheer tinged with an almost unnoticeable feel of being feigned as the captains are named. Patting the hilt of his slender longsword, he looks from Rananar to Faramir briefly, his gaze then settling to the man of Rohan as he makes his decision.

Anwyr watches with interest, two of whom he knows have been chosen as captains of the event. He looks around the many seated, then back up to the Prinec and two captains..

Each squire in his turn puffs his chest out, all hands rest upon the hilts of their weapons as they look eagerly to the Captain of Rohan, waiting his choice. One man at the beginning of the group pushes the hair from his face, muttering under his breath, "Woe to thee who is chosen lastly."

Another smile graces the lips of Illiana's husband as he makes his way to her. As his booted steps place him before her, Nials bends down upon one knee, "Might I enter this battle with the favor of a fair madien who holds my heart, mind and soul?"

Ingold approaches the lists with more than a little hurry in his long stride, and a fair amount of worry upon his face. However, glancing over the people standing about there, and none yet fighting, relief flickers through his misty eyes and he settles himself in silence to listen to those speaking.

"There is much valor upon the field," Rananar states, unslinging the round shield upon his back, though not sliding his arm within the straps. His verdant eyes scan the field, the warriors that stand there carefully noted: knights, squires, and men of Rohan. "But there is one, whose courage is steadfast -- he would do me honor by fighting with me. Nials of Dol Amroth, would you battle besides me?"

Among the famed Swan Knights gathered here, stands Arnafel, in full regalia of war, winged helm upon head, shield upon arm. Silently he watches, saying naught, and then a brief smile flits across his face as his gaze falls on the tall squire who stands foremost among his fellows.

The blonde-black haired squire nods to his brother Arnafel whose gaze falls upon him. His blue-grey eyes travel amongst the crowds, searching for the Knight whom has been chosen first.

Illiana smiles lovingly at Nials and rises, binding her favor to his arm, "Indeed thou hast my permission and my favor my Lord and love. Battle well and return safe and victorious to my side.

As his name is called, Nials rises to his feet before his wife. His form turns to face Lord Rananar of Rohan and his voice lifts in a yell that reaches easily across the field, "Aye my Lord, I will fight beside thee." His feet are on the ground again before the words finish, and within another moments span he is standing beside his Captain.

Faramir watches carefully as Rananar makes his first choise and he too looks long at the lines of gathered squires and knights..."Hail O' Arnafel! good sir knight, would you honor me by fighting alongside me on this day?"

Finery and fancy do indeed grace those of Dol Amroth, yet not without style are those of the North, proudly represented Heldred by her her youngest son, among his peers silently standing with arms crossed over chain-clad breast, behind him an armiger awaiting, shield and helm held quietly, burnished to gleam unblemished, staff-grasping fist there shown in cape and battle-board. Hard is the expression, a touch dissappointed, one prideful and cool that holds the bearded visage in a tight clasp, brown curls as severely spun back from high temples, foreheand noble.

Even as the Steward's son calls out his name, Arnafel steps forward, long strides covering swiftly the distance between them until he stands by the former's side. "Indeed, lord, I will fight alongside you, and much honour you do me thus", he smiles.

A hand upon that worthy knights shoulder for a moment, in gladness, before Rananr looks over the many men, and now there are many unfamiliar to him, save those men of the Mark he knows well as brothers in arms, sons of Eorl. "There surely, that squire -- what name has he?" he asks to a herald standing by, gesturing. "Aramais of Dol Amroth? I will choose him. I saw him take part in the contest of horses."

Maidens begin to give tokens to their loves, or to those they wish to love. A flower, a lock of hair.

A warm smile accompanies the calling of his brothers name, young aramis looking to the side of Lord Faramir as his brother steps forward. Hearing his name called out he looks about for the source of it, realizing and stammering, "Of course, Lord, tis an honour to fight with thee!" Moving past his brother he makes way towards the side of Lord Rananar.

Making her way onto the field, a small boy of perhaps four or five trailing a pace or so behind her, a tall and fair woman with an air of pride about her that near borders onto haughty, the cool blue of her gown setting off Lathwyn's pale eyes in a striking way. These eyes find Ceridwen for a moment, though brush past the other woman the next, purposefully making sure that it is noticed, then her frosty gaze falls upon the Captain of the East-mark instead, smooth strides bringin her towards him.

Illiana watches the placement of her Lord with happy anticipation, gone is the sense of forboding and fear that was present in her lovely eyes at the Single Combat.

Resting a green gauntlet upon the shoulder of Arnafel as he arrives Faramir smiles warmly, "Good " he offers then turning to the crowd he takes his time as he looks to the many awaiting faces. "I can naught go into this without my comrades by my side...Romendil! stand forth and come join me in this, if thee so wish "

Falaroth watches the noble man of Rohan and his Lord and captain Faramir choose who will fight amongst them. And now as Romendil steps forth, Falaroth smiles to see that fellow rangers will fight side by side.

Romendil smiles as his name is called. Looking toward Faramir Romendil bows his head slightly and makes his way through the crowd to stand by his side. Removing the longbow from his should he rests it at his side and removes his hood allowing raven black hair to flow freely above his shoulders. "Of course Captain, tis going to be a pleasure as always to fight beside thee."

A flash of sudden anger fill emeraldine eyes, narrow chin stubbornly and in defiance tilted up as Ceridwen averts her gaze from the other woman, placing one hand upon her oldest son's shoulder, holding the younger by the other hand. Leonides, the daughter, stares angrily over at Lathwyn, though some softly whispered words from her mother restrain the child from any foolish action here in such a public venue.

Inclining his head to the squire in acknowledgment, a bright smile upon his face, Rananar looks to see what sort of man the Steward's son has chosen -- but from the corner of his eye he sees a familiar sight, and looks more nearly. The smiles fades, turning to a sadness. He nods his head to Lathwyn as he says, "Lady, you do us honor." And the boy by her side ... a hard look. "And greetings to you, Aefenfyr. One shall hope you will enjoy this play."

With that, he looks to the men left there and gestures to a man. "And that one is . . . ? Calarath, I shall choose him, if he will not despise battling besides such men as are gathered here. He looks a fierce warrior."

From The Royal Balcony, The Prince now appears on the balcony overlooking the crowd.

Idly standing behind the Captain of his team, Nials welcomes each new member with a fierce handshake. His eyes everynow and again search out those of his wife only to look back to his team filled with strength by that which he finds within her emerald orbs.

Faramir greets Romendil with a familiar smile and a nod of his head, "This day looks good for us my friend...now who remains?" And looking back to the line of fellows he quickly notes one of the fine scouts of Cair Andros still there, "Falarath! Come O' scout and do not tarry, for today you shall partake in your first victory! " He looks sideways to his opponent Rananar and grins broadly, "Come scout! join us!"

Folding his arms smoothly over his chest, Ingold casts his eyes round about those gathered... For there are fewer left standing with him as the captains choose their men. A hint of unsurity touches his eyes, but is shoved away quickly enough, and he retains his confident stance.

Illiana smiles as she watches her Lord, her eyes alight with the love she feels for the man. One hand drifts to her belly, resting there quietly as she watches the gathering of warriors take shape.

Standing to the side and behind Lord Rananar, Aramis stands, his leather armour covered by a black tunic as he nods to each new combatant passing by for either team. Daelantidal, blunted, hangs at his side by a strap. A helm of leather rests upon his head to protect him, a shield strapped about his left arm. A laugh rumbles from his throat at the joke of Lord Faramir, his eyes scanning the crowd for the next combatant that may be chosen.

Calarathrising from his position at the fence, crosses the dusty field to stand before Rananar. "Very well m'Lord, it will be a pleasure to fight at your side." A rather threatening grin accompanies this as he turns his head back across the field to glance at many of his fellows on the opposing team. With that, he turns and joins the line of his team, unsheathing his longsword and rubbing his hand against its glittering blade.

Slender fingers rather firmly grasp the small boy's shoulder, holding him back as he seems for a moment to entertain the notion of moving over towards Ceridwen and her three children, Lathwyn apparently having no desire to see this happen, a flicker of displeasure momentarily disturbing those from marble carved and polished features. A smile, gracious as any, does however find her lips as Rananar speaks to her, her reply matchingly smooth. "And perhaps you would do me, and your son, honour in return?" A casual gesture produces a length of silvery silk, held up in plain view then.

A squire approaches the Lady Ceridwen, "M'lady, the Prince would like to speak with you in the balcony immediately."

As he hears his name called, Falaroth removes the hood of his grey cloak. Then stepping forth he smiles a broad smile such as never seen upon his face in his years on earth. Approaching his captain he sighs and says in a low voice of which few but the gallant men about him can hear, "It shall be the greatest honor ever bestowed upon me lord." Then as he comes upon the others of his team he bows a deep bow and smiles, " Aye, and it shall be nonetheless of an honor to fight with you, my lords."

Slender brows arch in some surprise as the squire addresses her, Ceridwen clearly expecting no messengers from the Prince. Troubled for a moment, she asks a youth two paces behind her to mind the children, for those who watched the horsemanship they might have seen him bring her steed to her, a relative perhaps. Then, a quick look Lathwyn's way, a flicker of anger in her eyes again, before she nods and follows the young squire.

The smile yet sad upon that fair-skinned face, Rananar looks to the lady of Rohan, and more closely at the boy besides her, who looks back at him with a strange quietness and intentness -- there is a similarity there. At last he reaches forth, and takes the silver scarf, tucking it prominently in his belt -- though less prominently, indeed, than the tattered green silk tied about his helm. "I will wear your favor. For the fire which lights the way home in the darkness." A hesitation, and then his free hand touches the boys head, ruffling his hair. "And now if you will give me leave . . ."

"Then I must choose the last of the captains for our side. That one, who wears so proudly the garb of Minas Tirith, of a height with me -- Ingold Commander? Ah! proud the men who stand watch over the place of fallen stars. I would have him besides us all, if he would." So speaks the captain from the Riddermark.

From The Royal Balcony, As the squire leads Ceridwen to the balcony the Prince looks at her and bows.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil says to the Lady, "My Lady, I am in need of your services. Apparently, there is no Lady here that can commence this fight. By your leave, when the two forces are arrayed, if you could drop your hand in signal, thus they melee may commence. Can it be so?"

"From the long grasses of Rohan, to the palacial Lists of Dol Amroth.." says Faramir, his grey eyes cast upon the field looking to the man of Rohan named Emmengrim, "It seems we are kept to our company once more. " then with a gauntlet beckoning, "Come O' Emmengrim, captain of Rohan! come and join my side and aid me to win this!"

As his name is finally called out, a smile upturns the vert corners of his mouth, but dances brightly in his grey eyes. Only a few long strides bring him to stand before Rananar, and he gives a slight bow, "'Twould be my honor indeed to fight at your side, and with those greeat and sturdy men with whom you fight." Thus saying, he clasps his hands behind his back and takes his place with the others.

Long distance to Erenian: Ingold wavers, "Hullo." :)

From The Royal Balcony, Lead in by the squire, Ceridwen stops before you and smoothly curtseys, despite that the garb she wears is not entirely suited to such gestures, the impression perhaps a little odd. Nevertheless, she smiles politely and inclines her head to you. "My lord, I would be honoured to do this service for you." Yet, for all that her voice is smooth, a hint of troubled emotions flicker in those green eyes.

Nimble hands of the youngling lift helmet shining, iron brimmed from the shield, settling it on the brown-crowned head of the Rohirrim captain, the triangular guard on arm left strapping soon after, arraying his officer for battle the lad lanky. On Yfeldom's hilt gloved fingers rest when the name is called, and Helming moves from his place, pacing sternly to cross the distance under the eyes of audience, links of glittering mail jingling with cared for ease, closed hammer of a fist bright about his breast, as alight as the eyes gray, fixing on the Steward's son, acknowledging and assuring, in the ranks of his companions in this fight Emmengrim stepping.

And as the men of which once surrounded the lists now gather in pursuit of fight, Falaroth slips his armor of studded leather over his body. And as the wind restles upon his grey hair, he raises his helm and lays it upon his head. Smiling with anticipation he draws his sword named Angrin-Aglar meaning Iron of Glory in the common tongue. And so he stands proudly besides men of Cair Andros and Rohan alike.

Once again the faintest touch of displeasure touches Lathwyn's lips, though the smile remains, and most everyone would see no more than that. One slender-fingered hand upon her son's shoulder, and she leads the boy away to a place among the crowd, some distance away from where Ceridwen left her children.

"Come and gather about me men!" Lifts the voice of Faramir.."Stand near and we shall discuss what is before us.." He lets his eyes dart past the fellows and looks to the enemy in this, once friends and allies but now opponents and his war practiced mind begins to ponder what the task at hand shall be.

"So many bold men," Rananar Drihten says, eyeing the mass of soldiers and knights and Riders, ready to join one side or the other to win glory this die and fight among such peers. "And that one, that squire? I have seen him upon -- yes, the squire Harlithor, doughty and stalwart. I would ask him to join this company." So he speaks, gesturing to the man, even as the choices of made for further teams, now the men to fill out the teams of both sides.

Aramis readies his weapon for the fight that is to surely come, drawing the blunted sword from it's sheathe in a quick, practiced movement, twirling it into position, laying the flat of the blade across his shield as he looks amongst his group and that of the mock-enemy to guage position, looking back to his captain he speaks, "What do you wish us to do, Lord Captain?"

The captains now choose the rest of their teams, many valorous thanes, some twenty in number, but none of such reknowned as those others chosen.

Harlithor seems to have been distracted watching the others ready, and almost jumps when Rananar adresses him and he looks at the Rohir for a long moment in suprise and then shrugs, donning helm and unthumbing the lock over the hilt of his greatsword, swooping the big blade around from his back and striding to join the company assigned him..

Romendil moves closer to Faramir and chuckles "Come now captain lead us to victory, praytell what your plan is and we shall gladly follow it." Smiling toward one of the green clad men still near the lists he adds to the others "Remember naught that though they be on another team they are still our friends and brethren." Resting his hand upon his bow he looks again to Faramir "Do ye wish me to use a bow or sword Milord for I care naught."

Harlithor reaches over his right shoulder, dipping the same and half draws, half swings his long blade around to grasp it in front of himself two-handed.

From The Royal Balcony, Braid of reddish gold draped over one shoulder, Ceridwen steps forward to the edge of the Royal Balcony, green eyes gazing down upon the gathered forces down there, trying to discern whether the dividing of the teams has been completed. "What say you, my lord, shall I prepare to give them the signal to start?" she asks, looking over her shoulder and back to the Prince.

With the final man chosen for his side, Rananar at last smiles to Aramis, his smile now broadening, the fire of his ancestors bright in his gaze. "Come then, and let us speak. Gather together." A suitable space upon the opposite side of the field of combat is chosen, and the men gather as Rananar speaks to them, donning his shield but leaving his ancient sword sheathed.

Calarath, with an almost eager smile marking his features, pats his armor of studded leather confidently, and runs his fingers along Isilnare's keen, vicious blade, turning towards his new fellows as he readies his gear of battle. Pulling back the hood on his dark green cloak and allowing the sun to beat down on his face in full force, beads of sweat quickly forming on his heavy brow, but an anticipating grin across his features.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil nods and says, "Indeed, m'lady, when the time comes, address both of the Captains: Faramir of Gondor and Rananar of Rohan. Ask them if they and their Men are ready, and then, upon their assent throw down what you may, and thence they shall begin. A rather interesting spectacle, but do not think it is a thing we do for sport alone, it is only in such events that we may see the valour of our armies and discern our best."

For a few moments, Arnafel stands silently, arms clasped across mailed chest, observing with keen glance those who he will soon meet in battle, with blunted blades though it may be, and then he turns to listens to the Captain's words.

Illiana watches the gathering with a smile and refuses a cup of wine when it is offered to her by a wandering servant.

Following the lead of his team's captain to one side of the 'battlefield,' Nials awaits his words quietly watching the other teams, while occasionally looking to the stands at the small form of his beloved wife.

Foedoom greets the day, drawn from the scabbard green-tinged, blunted its deadly grace now, yet the stallions still run in the etched armguard curved, runes old snake down the handle on which hold grasps, and down is pointed the slender rod, easily over lesser arm the shield jet and silver and brazen residing, catching the smile of sun readily, as does the ring with a silken strip tied unto the band, a token no doubt the beautious cloth. "Valiant men, all, Rohirrim and those of Mundburg, Dol Amroth by the sea..much honor will be won ere the dust settles.." intones coolly Emmengrim the Helming, and suggests as afterthought, "..and lost..", to no one in particular.

Rananar says as he at last lays out the plan of battle, glancing over heads to look at the opponents. "Five men shall be captains under me -- Ingold the commander, and Nials the Swan-knight, as well as Aramis of Dol Amroth and Calarath. There shall be four men each to you all. You, Harlithor, shall support Calarath's men, wielding you blade with vigor -- thoguh I need not tell you." Another glance and he says, "Let Ingold's men battle those of Emmengrim, and Calarath's those of Falaroth; Nials may your blade be true against Arnafel your brother-knight. You, Aramis, shall lead against Romendil. Be you wary, he seems a dangerous one."

The field of battle is a simple one. An open field with no obstructions at all.

Aramis looks eagerly to his captain, pointing to men in the other's force that may be trouble, whispering some unheard words...

Calarath pages Rananar, Aramis, Ingold, Nials, and Harlithor: so, whats the plan capt ;)

From The Royal Balcony, A flicker of a smile curve her lips, tinting her expression with mild amusement, mirrored by those emeraldine eyes of hers. "I never thought such, my lord. To demonstrate ones valour, I know well the need for this that most men have, and to be tested against equals is a matter of some importance." With that she retrieves from her belt a silken scarf of deepest red, the same which served her so well previously, during the contest of horsemanship, and leans out over the balcony once again, green eyes seeking the Captains of the field, her voice then ringing out clear and loud. "Faramir of Gondor, and Rananar of Rohan, when you have your teams prepared, give word to me so this test of skill and valour may begin."

The smile remains upon Ingold's face, but 'tis no smile of amusement.. For the light of upcoming battle, though it may be without death and against the men of Gondor and Rohan, has lighted in his eyes, pushing aside the mistiness in them and giving them a granite look. As he gathers with the others, he speaks not, but nods soldily as Rananar explains.

Faramir looks a last time to the opposing men then to those gathered and gesturing them near he says in a hushed voice.."Now, tis my best guess the captains in this will be most used and so if the good Emmengrim can hold back the likes of Ingold of the Rammas and his fellow Rananar of the Mark...I shall use my Bow to deal out darts as best I can...the rest of you would be better to stay in pars and watch one anothers back.." Motioning to a horn secured upon his belt he adds.." If I blow strongly upon my horn then you know I wish you all to gather at my flanks...ware, for the call upon the horn insues doom and our end is close, so come swift and with hard handstrokes!"...he pausing to look upon the faces gathered, "You all all most strong..and I have faith in you all..good luck!"

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil inclines his head to the Lady, "Well said, both teams look fell to me. It shall be an even match I deem."

From The Royal Balcony, "The men of the Mark, most of these I know well, and their bravery is great. I am sure that your men of Gondor are no less valiant, so indeed, this shall be an event of some splendour," Ceridwen agrees with the Prince, briefly taking her gaze away from the field and the combattants below.

Cold, proficient and noblish pertinence wrap this tall man under a cloak of silent efficiency. His wavy mane of thick and burnished, light copper tresses falls down to the line of armor covered shoulders, like golden and brick stalks of rye. Slim yet powerful brows, blades of ripe wheat lines border orbs, gravel hued eyes, which convey a glimpse on the grave warrior's character. Fair, straight scar runs upon the lightly bronzed forehead, a helm of polished metal protecting his head under its impenetrable layer. The domed height of the round cap hides the crown of hair, iron nasal guard and brim shimmering blankly against the metallic surface. Neatly groomed trail of moustache edges alongside pale curves of lips, to continue in a short, oak coloured mat of beard over breadth of chin and harsh jaw. The neck muscular is adorned by a steel-wrought, heavy chain bearing a priceless ring of mithril, a sign of commitment and loyalty that so readily emit from the steady build, some six feet in height, a hardy gent.

Eased manner of a rider and stern soldier paints itself on the lean yet firm figure, his gear confirming the image. Sinewy arms rest beneath the sleeves of a dimly glittering chain shirt, brazen fist crafted on the breast of meshed skin that cascades to end above knees and hardened palms with slim fingers; hauberk hiding muscled thighs and steady build. Rouge armband of woven cloth sporting a silver chevron ties itself upon his upper arm right. Trousers of comfortably thin ebon linen flow on length of legs, into mouths of riding boots, their mahogany hide glowing faintly with age and polish, whereas over those oblong greaves guard shins with adamant protection. Around the high waist is girt a stapled sword belt of obsidian, attached to which lies an occupied scabbard, decorated by a ribbon of sheerest silk, flowers the grace of plain sheath, upon the left hip and finally, from the bare throat a long cape of charcoal cloak flies, held by a harp depicted brooch golden. Triangular form of a jet and crimson shield hangs down the man's back, spear of smoothened yew with its sharpened tip so often nearby.

From The Royal Balcony, "Yet I wonder," replies the Prince, "how would your fair-haired kin fare without their horses?"

Romendil nods his head and draws his sword looking about th eopen field, lastly he pulls his hood low over his face.

Romendil pulls his ancient blade, Aldacarch from its sheath making no noise and the dark blade reflecting no light. Rommendil holds the blade out in front of him in a defensive stance.

As the plans is laid out before them, Nials nods in understanding, "A simple enough tactic."

Unshouldering his greatbow and lifting high above his head, Faramir looks to the lady upon the balcony and his voice goes upon high, "Captain Faramir and his soldiers are ready my lady!"

Faramir slips his bow from his shoulder and holds it firmly in his right hand.

Nials grasps the hilt of Gildinmegil and draws it forth. Only the steely ring of metal on metal and the silvery reflection of light off the blade announce it's emergance.

Aramis, glancing at his soon-to-be opponent, clangs his shield and sword ceremonially, almost chanting, "May the Valar, " he pauses, looking to Rananar with a curious grin, "And.... Bema, smile upon our side and victory shall be ours!"

Rananar pages Aramis, Nials, Harlithor, Ingold, and Calarath: And have fun, guys. :)

From The Royal Balcony, "It is true," the fiery-haired lady replies, again some wry amusement detectable in her softly pleasant voice, "that upon our steeds we are most at home. Yet we know it foolish to rely completely upon their swiftness and ferocity to save us. I am confident that my countrymen shall do well enough." Ceridwen again looks out over the field here, the sound of her husbands voice catching her attention for a moment.

Falaroth strokes the fine blade he bears in his hand, "May you do well uopn your first clash with comrades." he says in a soft voice.

From The Royal Balcony, "Which of these valiant warriors is your husband Lady?" asks the Prince.

Harlithor stands beside another of their group, the one named Calarath whose squad he was assigned to and looks across at those they must defeat. His blade point rests in the dirt, conserving the energy he knows he'll need later to swing..

From The Royal Balcony, "Captain Rananar, whom you so honoured by choosing him to lead one of the teams. A good choice, if I may be so bold." Whether she may or not is a moot question, the note of pride in Ceridwen's voice quite impossible for her to hide. "I am sure that his sons appreciate the moment as much as I do."

Shields donned, the companies step forward, readying themselves upon the field about each of the sub-commanders. Before all his side is Rananar, who draws forth his ancestral blade -- how it gleams in the light of torches and lamps! "In memory of the Oaths of Cirion and Eorl. That shall be battle-cry enough. We are the ready." He looks to the balcony, to say his lady wife there. Almost self-consciously he tucks the silver scarf further into his be-garneted belt, obscuring it a little -- and then touching the tattered, stained green silk, for good fortune.

Ingold nods finally, drawing his blade from its sheath at his side. His gaze sweeps over the other side, searching them, until it finally rests upon one man, though who it may be from so far is questionable. Posture quite relaxed and cool for a man going into battle, he waits for all to begin.

Rananar frees the bright blade Maegamarth from its scabbard. Fell this sword that some may know -- or may soon know -- as the Piercing Doom.

With a nod, Arnafel steps back, hand upon hilt as he strides forward, turning not even as Faramir's words ring out. Finally, he stops, and draws his blade, the ancient sword of the Isilrim's, fire seeming to run down its length as the sunlight falls upon it.

Arnafel sweeps Inalantadil from it's scabbard and a gleam of light plays coldly along the ancient blade's keen edge as it's silver hilt settles into his hand with the familiarity of long use.

Aramis turns, bowing, as is custom, to his soon opponents, before readying his weapons for charge...

Sword held in hand, Nials gathers those men who have been placed within his care. His men look to him for guidance and his lips impart the plan to them. Each nod in understanding, and stand like statues facing their opponents.

Curt is the nod, impassive the shrug of armor-garbed shoulders given, "This shall happen..ere have I not crossed blades with the lord of Wold, better late than never.." And naught more, for to the assembled host of the enemy turns Eirglind's son, raising sword plain yet fine to bear diagonally before him, much akin to the stave of his blazon, the signal from the lady awaited.

From The Royal Balcony, The words which reach her ears from down at the field once more drawn Ceridwen to the balcony, and she leans out to ensure a clear view as the piece of red silk is taken into her left hand and raised high in the air. Though, it is held there for now, as she first nods to Rananar, then to Faramir turns her attention. "And you, my lord Faramir, how fares your team?"

Unshouldering his greatbow and lifting high above his head, Faramir looks to the lady upon the balcony and his voice goes upon high, "Captain Faramir and his soldiers are ready my lady!"

Emmengrim pages Rananar and Ingold: Okiedokie..do I need to take on you both ?

Aramis pages Rananar, Calarath, Nials, Harlithor, and Ingold: We all have 5 npc's, correct?

Emmengrim grips the hilt of his sharp blade and wields the bright sword, foebane, Yfeldom.

From The Royal Balcony, A brief look over her shoulder, with a nod for Prince Imrahil as if to convey that all is now ready, then Ceridwen stretches her left arm out over the balcony, the wedding ring upon it catching light from the sun and gleaming bright. "Then, good men and lords of the Mark and Gondor, prepare to fight valiantly and honourably, doing honour to the Oath of Cirion and Eorl and both countries. Be stalwarth!" Once again her voice rings clear and bright out over the field, and then she lets go of the red silk, which softly floats down from the balcony as her arm is lowered, the signal for the fight to begun given.

Horns blare! The melee has begun!

The silk lands upon the balcony, and the yell of battle is taken up, roars of men echoing as Aramis and 4 squires charge towards the opposing team, longswords raised up in the air, catching the light and reflecting it off their shields, blunted tips held high over head as the rush forward to battle.

As the time of battle approaches, Falaroth sighs and stands steadfast his bust proud and erect ere the faces of his enemy. He watches them take rank, and looks upon one man, Calarath, of his own company and narrows his eyes. As if trying to seduce him among the flanks of his men, Falaroth drops back behind the pretection of archers.

Without further cry from himself, Rananar leads his company forward, first at a careful pace, the men choosing their opponents, seeking some weaknesses -- and then the charge, himself ever the captain leading from before all his men. The sound of clinking metal rubbing upon leather and wooden-shields banging against scabbards is loud in the air, as is the beat of the feet of men as they rush upon one another.

A loud horn blares signaling the start of the battle, Nials holds his company steady searching the field for signes of his target. Spotting the Lord of Isilrim, Nials raises his sword in a Knight's salute and begins to move his men forward, slowly at first trotting across the field. The distance closes .. slowly the empty space between 'enemies' is eaten up by the company of running men.

"There is the signal!","Take your men forth!" A frown creases Faramirs brow as his eyes dart quickly about, his bow instintively positioned before him now, "Stay abreast! and watch for flankers!" he calls and neatly he reaches for one of his green fletched arrows of Ithilien make and looks for a mark...

Illiana sits forward in her seat, her eyes locked upon the form of the Lord of Calanros as the battle is joined.

Harlithor watches Falarath shift behind the archers and turns to his unit leader, "Calarath, I can scarce go against archers with no shield, if the others could box for our advance? Once close, I can sweep archers aside for thee..."

Romendil moves in front of Faramir, sword is hand and shield held in front of him. Standing to his captain's right and a few yards in front of him, accompanied by a few other men. Nodding once to the west, keeping his attention on the men charging he grins under his hood and swings his blunted sword in a greeting to them.

Calarath looks to Harlithor with a solid nod, a few drops of sweat sliding down his face as he turns to his three fellows behind him and directing a few words to each of them as he runs two fingers along the keen, vicious blade of Isilnare, raising his slender blade in the stance of battle, and running forth onto the field, three men following him closely, blades gleaming silver in the sunlight as he makes a quick and sudden turn away from the front line, assailing the flank of the enemy and looking back one with a nod to Harlithor, shouting. "The archers must go, and then..." A bold grin. "...we shall crush them."

As the horns and falling silk harald the beginning of the melee, Ingold rallies his men about him and, with no shout or cry, leads them towards the opposing force. The four with him yell various cries, but the Commander's face is solid, unbreakable. Having already searched out that whom he is to battle, the Guardsman makes a line direct for Emmengrim. Few stand in his way, and those do not remain there long, not with the four men about him swinging their weapons with skill.

Silent and impassive Arnafel stands, watching with grey eyes in which the flame of battle now leap high, the charge of the other company, his men likewise in an arc behind him. And then he sees his fellow knight, and with an answering salute he steps forward slightly to meet him, his men keeping formation, never faltering, the open end of the arc facing the Lord Calanros and his men.

The Greatbow creaks as it vainly tries to resist its wielder, but Faramir is master of his weapon and his muscles tighten as he draws the bowstring back to his cheek. Trying to not waste any time he sights along the arrow point, searching out a quick mark while the line of sight is best..with held breath he pauses ...then the first arrow is let fly!

Faramir launches an arrow...
Faramir's bowshot hits Nials, moderately wounding him.

Forth comes the Heldreda, bold and fearless seeming, fluid the gait of the West-Mark's man even unmounted, behind him the liveried squires fanning, struggling to keep up with the proud Rohirrim, forward running. Only the name of Helm is spoken, from lips pale loosed as the glittering longsword flares to the right, to welcome the lieutenant of Rammas Echor, one to stand on his way.

From The Royal Balcony, "The son of Denethor is a mighty archer indeed," says Imrahil pushing back his cape and taking a seat, "Pray sit Ceridwen of the Mark of Rohan and take wine with me. Who of these stalwart thanes is your husband?"

The squire aramis makes way towards his acquired target, feigning a jab at romendil, before pressing his sheld up into the air, bringing it downward with amazing speed, the front aimed for the chest of the opponent he has chosen, sword held ready, but not attacking, the blunt leather shield coming down in an effort to knock the breath out of the opponent.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Upon the Royal Balcony, a single silent figure steps carefully out from the Citadel within. Robed in a simple garment of white linen, the dark-haired, blue-eyed young man looks to be no more than a simple monk. Hands folded, he slips unobtrusively to a spot along the rail.

Falaroth, ever keeping his eyes thither, espies the charge of Calarath. "Woe there breeches enemy!" he cries. Then turning to men about him he commands several lesser men to go forth. Then, taking to the flank, Falaroth runs with his sword held high to meet the assailing enemy.

Closer still the men under the charge of Calanros come to meet thier 'foe.' Each armed differently, one a sword while another with an axe, one a spear while the other a massive greatsword. Each follow their commander waiting for his signal for a full out charge. Arrows line the sky above the field, while one strikes solidly into the arm of Sir Nials. But falter he does not in his advance forward.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil furrows his brow for a moment. At length he addresses him, "Greetings sirrah. What are you doing in this place? I know you not, or else my memory fails me."

From The Royal Balcony, Brushing a stray lock of red-golden hair from her face, Ceridwen turns for a moment away from the fight below, so swiftly joined by both sides' valiant men, as she and the Prince are joined on the balcony by a newcommer, another smooth curtsey for this man, the sword at her side once more looking out of place, and then she moves to join Imrahil as asked -- though green eyes linger with the newcommer for a little longer, a slightly puzzled frown touching her brow for a moment. "Rananar, my lord. His helmet has a crest of horsehair, and a green ribbon tied about it."

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil nods and picking up a glass of wine, but he does not reply to Ceridwen, rather he looks upon the white clad man who has invaded his balcony.

Halting briefly, Rananar looks in surprise to see the bowmen take place -- and the captain of the opposing side firing as well. But his response ins but laughter, and a cry in the rolling, hard words of the Mark, made incoherent by the clashing of arms and the shouts of men. Left behind all his men with his pause, he wades in, giving aid as he might, joining one of his companies to strike at opponents.

Taken by surprise at the speed of Aramis, Romendil moves backward with the blow of the shield. Keeping his balance he nods to his opponet in respect and watches the four men about him engage those who followed Aramis. Recovering his stance Romendil spreads his feet out to center himself then swiftly lunges forward his blunted sword aimed at Aramis' sword arm.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

A smile creases the lips of the Commander of the Rammas Echor as his opponent comes to meet him as well, and he nods to his men, signaling to disperse nearby and fight with valour. "Well met, Emmengrim of the Mark! It seems there shall be quite a show today." Ingold's words are short, yet spoken openly. With them comes an attack with his sword, smooth and cleanly swung, not at the shoulder of his opponent's sword arm, but at the othe one.

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Emmengrim parries your attack with his Longsword!

Calarath and his men skirt across the flank of the opposing men, his blade singing through the air as it strikes against man after man in his way, jumping aside as several of Falaroth's men charge forth before him and facing down their leader, as the men run straight into the blades of Calarath's own trusted fellows, a fierce melee swiftly ensuing, as Calarath circles around his opponent, his cloudy grey eyes watching every move. After a few moments of consideration, he swings his sword towards the enemy boldly, his eyes glittering as the blade does.

From The Royal Balcony, The young ascetic bows his head to the Prince, and to both royal and Lady of Rohan does he bend in an inclusive bow--the exquisite example of the cortly art and grace. Subtle is the light in his eyes, and subtle his smile for Imrahil. "I am Nolondil, Highness... and if the sight of my face tells thee little, then let the truth of my name ope thy mind."

Calarath attacks Falaroth with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

The shield takes some of the blow aimed for young aramis, but the flat of his opponents blade lands squarely upon his arm, knocking his sword backwards from his hand. Shield held high to ward off blow, he struggles to regain it, finally reaching the hilt upon the ground and holding it up defensively.

Faster now the Lord Isilrim strides, yet not at a run, shield held low, yet at the ready, blade couched across his chest. For a brief moment, even as the Lord Calanros is struck by an arrow, Arnafel turns, and says to his men, his voice distant and stern, "Stay with me, and do as I do..above all, let not yonder foe separate you!" And thus saying, once again he resumes his advance.

From The Royal Balcony, Seating herself where invited to take her place, Ceridwen stretches her neck best she can for a clearer view, not wishing to miss out on the events on the field below, though the second man with her and the Prince upon the balcony -- apparently unknown to the lord as well -- once again commands some of her attention, a light of curiosity touching those emeraldine eyes.

From The Royal Balcony, Narrows his eyes and looks keenly upon the Man. Then suddenly he leaps up form his seat, much beyond proper mannerisms for a lord and cries, "Thorondur Girithlin? But you are dead!"

From The Royal Balcony, The Prince narrows his eyes and looks keenly upon the Man. Then suddenly he leaps up form his seat, much beyond proper mannerisms for a lord and cries, "Thorondur Girithlin? But you are dead!"

Romendil steps back letting Aramis recover fully. Moving around the other mans side he watches those about him fight. Wincing as one of the green clad men close to him takes the blunt of a sword swing in his helmet Romendil chuckles and turns his attention fully again to Aramis, pointing his sword at him he speaks softly "Ye are a fair opponet Aramis and a pleasure to face."

From The Royal Balcony, The young ascetic does not react in like manner to the Prince. Only does he take a single, gliding step forward, and his voice is low when he smiles to the Lord of Belfalas and the Lady Ceridwen. "Let us not speak of the dead, whom we hold in honour and reverence," he softly says.

Battle is met, and against one another now pair the squires and lesser warriors of Gondor and Mark, for the leaders now test mettle, fair lords in their prime. "Indeed.." shoots Emmengrim, only to stifle more words when the blade reaches down on him, to glance from the hard hide painted of wooden and leathery baord, sparks budding when steel touches iron. Almost scornful in its ease is the way how the blow is waved away, and an attack own unleashed, a curving cut from the Rider's right horizontally slashing like a very viper to seek side should it not be balked.

Emmengrim attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!

As the two men, Calarath and Falaroth charge forth, a great clash occurs and Falaroth is hit! Crying out in pain, he drops to the sweet grass of the lists, now slightly stained with blood as his shoulder is split. He looks frantically for men about him and finds none, "Alas, I am hit! I need aid men of Faramir!" he calls with a shrill tone. He clutches at his wound with tight grip.

Aramis, shocked his opponent allowed him to regain balance, yells above the melee as he attacks, his sword swinging high, "As are...." the sword comes downward, aimed for the shoulder of the enemy, "you, good..." it whistles in the air, the flat of the blade pressing downward with quick speed, "sir!"

From The Royal Balcony, Sirion the Elder passes through the double doors. He looks heavily upon the field and then says, "M'lord, I..." He then pauses in wonder for a moment looking upon the Man in white, knowing him.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Turning to the men on either side of him, Nials nods to each. His nod seems to be the signal, a signal to which the men break into a full speed charge. Their new pace quickly closes the remaining gap between the two 'enemy's. Nials runs with his sword by his side as if weilding a lance while his shield is held before him. Full speed he charges, so that if the sword misses his shield will bawl through the man. Drawing close, Nials continues his charge, the blunted edge of his sword aim for Arnafel.

Harlithor runs behind the others of his group, shieldless and little wanting to face arrows and spears that way. But as they clash, hitting the flank, he darts out to the left and around the other three, throwing his right shoulder into one facing a fellow to give him a step on his oponant and pushes off that contact, rushing in at Falaroth's side and bringing his heavy blade swooping around low and behind, the dull edge seeking to take the man in the back of the knee and take him from his feet..

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but Arnafel parries the attack with his Longsword!

From The Royal Balcony, The laughter of the Prince now comes like a clear bell, "Sit then! Tell me, this must be a tale worth hearing even if I must ignore the spectacle from below."

Illiana sits in the stands, watching her Husband amid the combatants with avid eyes.

Men against men, a mighty clash of weapons rings out! And the lists arrupts into a deadly dance before the watching spectators.

Faramir narrows his eyes as he scans before him, marks becoming difficult as combatants meet and he hopes not to strike a friend in this, but again he reaches for an arrow, its long shaft drawn high above his head then nocked neatly in place and with the bow not fully drawn he searches...

The battle nears and Faramir places a mark for his next dart. Lifting the bow fully he draws the string back, his breath halts as he concentrates...then with a whisper upon the winds he realeases the missle, "Orome!"

"Ho! Emmengrim, indeed!" But he surpasses the man as he does his battle with Ingold, and instead throws himself alone against a pair of Emmengrim's men, sword whipping and striking. Whirling through the air it goes, as blades are met and parried and turned, chips taken from his shield and bruises left upon him as he fights -- but there are men all about him now, and he struggles to keep the two he faces between himself and the archers of his foe. "Ware the bowmen!" he shouts to his company, his voice one made for the battlefield with its thundering roar.

From The Royal Balcony, Ceridwen too rises, from the seat just so recently taken, a look of pure astonishment upon those angular features of hers, green eyes finding the Prince first, then once more to the second man -- now named, though she does not know whether to believe what she hears or not. And, as this man speaks again, she once more retakes her seat, though slowly and with a clearly inquisitive gaze that not quite wishes to look away from him.

Faramir launches an arrow...
Faramir's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

Harlithor attacks Falaroth with his Greatsword and badly wounds him!

Charystra's smile at her betrothed's shout is soft. She seems almost a commoner in her simple riding clothes, but the regal note about her is visible even in those

Romendil twists to the side and brings his shield up to meet the sword of his foe. A loud ringing echos from the sword and shield. Stepping back, Romendil shakes his shield arm and winces at the pain. hearing the words of one of his fellows he sighs and is in no way able to help. Moving once again close to Aramis he feints a swing toward the mans sword arm again then at the last minute swings his sword up at the mans chest, his shield held lower than before.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but Aramis parries the attack with his shield!

Ingold takes a short stride back, though for his long limbs what appears a short step is easily more than short, and avoids the blade of his opponent with a professional ease. His eyes look over the man quickly, scanning him, and he finally nods sharply to himself. His blade strikes out at a shoulder once more, though the swing drops as it goes along to create a diagonal pattern.

From The Royal Balcony, "And yet here is one who also knew death, I gather," the blue-eyed man addressed as 'Thorondur' tells the Prince Imrahil as the Lord Sirion appears, the ascetic's smile at once quiet and dazzling. "And thou, Ceridwen... thy puissant lord rides upon the field this day, I trust? He surely hath more tales than mine," the man says as he sits, "..my good Prince of Belfalas."

Illiana pales a little to see Nials shot but maintains her hope and watches with her lip held between her teeth.

The keen eye of aramis catches all, blocking the incoming blow, indeed, it does catch all, for one of his men in dire need of assistance regails upon his honour, as he dodges from his opponent momentarily, pressing another back from his man to allow him time to regain control. Spinning back towards his own battle, he instinctively raises his shield to his chest, blocking his vitals from any blow incoming, and placing it where it may move most swiftly to another.

From The Royal Balcony, Sirion the Elder bows, "I have been through death and madness. It would seem I have been fated to live. For what end, I do not know." Sirion shakes his white hair and laughs, "Age has fallen on me before my time. Such is the price I have paid."

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Emmengrim dodges your attack.

Clashing, grunting men all abotu the field, and indeed now there is little strategy to be used as the teams dissolve into a series of single combats. Men slip and fall, rising up again under a hail of strokes against them, shields splintering under the onslaught before they find their feet and return the strikes, not held back by fear. Few have fallen indeed, but the contest has but only begun.

A miss and Faramir sighs.."too close" he offers to know one in particular and his greatbow is shouldered, "Time to make this interesting methinks.." The bow is shouldered and his hand reaches for the blade by his side..

Metal clashes, and sparks fly as the men of Isilrim and Calanros meet and deal each other fell blows. And amidst the greater battle, the two knights, Nials and Arnafel meet, and their blades fall against each other as Arnafel steps aside smoothly, parying his opponent's blow, evading his charge, and repying in turn with a hard blow to the other's chest.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

Faramir slips his bow over his shoulder and rests it across his back.

Illiana gasps and rises to her feet.

Falaroth, again falling to the ground again, he clenches his teeth. Then mustering up what strength be left in him and the pride of his heart he gets back upon his feet and slowly retreats behind archers of his team. Calling to for his men he yells, "I need aid, and am hit. I must regain strength before I may attack, come before me.

And as Falaroth calls to them, some few honorable men drop back to his aid.

Romendil looks at the man in front of him with surprise at the lack of a return blow. Not thinking a second longer about it he swings his sword low and hard at his opponets knees where the leather armor provides little protection. Wishing to end the battle and reform with the others.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but he misses by a hair.

From The Royal Balcony, The young ascetic favours Sirion with a nod, and replies in like solemnity. "And yet I might envy thee, Isilrim--for with age comes wisdom in nature. The weight of wisdom in youth, alas," he utters with a melancholy laugh, "...is upon my shoulders, and has been--no armour of steel can quite compare."

From The Royal Balcony, Slender fingers, though not un-calloused, bearing the marks of both reins and sword, lightly toy with the red-golden ends of the thick braid that drapes across her shoulder, a subconscious gesture. "Indeed, my lord husband was honoured by the Prince, he leads one of the teams which fight so valiantly below. Much to the joy of me and his children," Ceridwen replies, a little slowly, but mostly found again is her composure.

The blow is indeed unexpected, but luck is with the squire Aramis as it swings past his legs, allowing him to stab for the opening in his opponents defense as he swung downard, Daelentadil moving straight and sure for the right shoulder of Romendil, the squires face a mask of concentration, glistening with sweat as he attacks.

"Gondor!" comes the instinctive call from Faramir and a ring announces the blade from his side, "Hold your ground Falaroth!" and moving to a trot he starts forth, a free hand makes for the shield upon his left shoulder as he goes.

Faramir calmly unsheaths his Longsword, the ring of steel carries to your ears as he holds it at the ready.

Faramir slides his left arm securely through the leather straps of the tri-cornered shield, emblazoned with the ship and swan of Dol Amroth

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by a long shot.

The blow of Isilrim lands but only brings a slight grunt and a chuckle from the Knight it was dealt to, "Sure Lord Isilrim you would not seek to bring me down with a blow that weak." His tone in playful, but his eyes are serious. With a move of pure speed, Nials spins bringing his sword across in a lateral swipe at Arnafels sword arm.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, "Children, then," the young stranger in the white of purity says to Ceridwen with a smile. "It pleases me to hear of it. When last we met, the noble Rananar named himself otherwise, and drove himself toward a fate unseemly and unearned. It is a boon to us all that such a dark path has been averted."

Hard pressed are the men that followd Emmengrim into this ordeal, for fierce is the ealdorman of Wold, cleaving his path through the raised shields and waving swords, but the captain himself sees only the opponent skilled, one to know the ways of blade truly as well as the sandy-haired Westfolder. But after the miss such onslaught was expected, and swiftly on the ground move booted feet, to back and left, bringing the tall form chain-attired away enough to avoid the bite of blunted edge, yet within reach to aim another still testing strike, Yfeldom coldly grinning when chopping from low to high, to paint a shimmering cross in the air after the passing of Ingold's own, to soar towards the extended forearm strong.

Emmengrim attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!

Romendil twists his body to the side even as his swing pulls him forward. The sword of his opponet passes harmlessly over his shoulder. Following his previous swing, Romendil holds his shield high above him and shoves the point of his sword at his opponets side.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Calarath hardly stifles a whoop of exhiliration as his blade hits its mark, circling around his opponent as Harlithor's great long blade bites deeply onto Falaroth's legs, turning as his opponent falls, and returning to his fellows to quickly help finish off the vestiges of Falaroth's squad, then pointing his slender blade ahead he charges towards the flank of the remaining opponents, his men's blades dripping fresh blood as they run forth to face the 'enemies', he and his men circling around to aid Aramis in his struggle against the ranger of Ithilien, Romendil.

Instinctively, Aramis doubles over, the sword of his opponent passing inches in front of his stomach as he swings outward, aiming for the sword-arm of Romendil, the flat of his blade glistening as it swings along towards the wrist that holds his opponents sword, a grin of battle upon his face as he twists around in the attack, his defense seemingly carefully created, opening only in the slightest spots for instants at a time.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

The sun flashes brightly on the horizon. Night gives way to morning.

Harlithor for an instant freezes in suprise of his successful stroke, an instant that Falaroth uses to fall back behind the archers. He goes into motion again, skidding to a halt a few steps after as he realizes again archers face them. So he waits for the other three with shields to go in the van, following, waiting for the distance to be short enough to ply his two handed weapon..

From The Royal Balcony, Ever so briefly sorrow does darken her keen, brightly green gaze, though a smile of nothing but warmth soon drives such shadows from the past aside. "Those dark days have been since long put behind us, I am most grateful to say. No longer does my husband think himself unworthy of anything, and least of all our children." A soft chuckle, and Ceridwen looks out over the field for a moment, seeking Rananar no doubt. "Indeed, he is quite hopelessly proud of them."

"Indeed, I would not..and yet, we have but begun", replies Arnafel with a brief smile, which fades swiftly to be replaced by a look of grim watchfulness as he moves back from the Knight's blow, yet not swiftly enough, for the blade bites lightly into his arm, severing a link or two of his armour, yet doing naught else. And now he draws back briefly, sending two of his men to the aid of his felloe warrior, Falaroth, ere he strikes again, an overhanded blow at the other's right shoulder.

Striking down one man with a heavy dint upon his helm so that he falls, Rananar pivots and drives a stroke against him aside against the second opponent, surging forward to half-knock him down with a blow of his shield before he, too, falls with a backhanded blow to his head, tumbling to the ground. Rananar laughs, the sound rising above the clash in the field, as he looks for an opponent -- and finds himself to Emmengrim's leftside. He does not announce himself, no chivalrous knight proclaiming his lineage so his foe can know him -- he drives forward, before the swing of his sword letting Ingold be ready. His sword slices hard towards Emmengrim's ribs, a short chop powered by the strength of his arms and shoulders.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Rananar attacks Emmengrim with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, "A pity, that none of my own cousins ride upon the field of honour this day," the white-robed observer murmurs frrom his seat. "Some say there is too much of pride in the House of Girithlin," he says to Ceridwen with an irony-laced chuckle. "I am certain that thine husband's pride is a good one, and not the hubris of some who share my name."

Pulling his sword arm back the sword of Aramis strikes the hilt of his own, sparks fly but neither seems the worse. Moving back to take view of the field Romedil sighs and looks upon his opponets face curiously. his own face being hidden in shadows cast by his hood, Romendil stands a minute to regain his breath. Moving once again close to Aramis he simply thrusts out with his sword aiming for the mid-section of his opponent.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

Faramir emerges from the row of archers, his blade held forth and his shield tucked neatly by his side. Bright eyes gleam as he searches the crowd of combatants and he sights a man wielding a deadly great sword, "Hail Harlithor!" is all he says before striding closer, quickly narrowing the distance vetween them

Drawing back his arm and blade after such a swing, the Commander of the Rammas Echor smoothly keeps his heavily booted feet in the graceful dance of battle, and avoids the strong attack of his opponent. Yet keeping in time and rythm, the delicate balance of momentum and strength with which a sword is swung, Ingold uses that power from his previous swing and that obtained with moving a single foot behind the other to backhandedly strike at the man of the Mark, his sword recrossing its previous path yet with more speed.

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Your attack against Emmengrim mildly wounds him!

Such a simple attack, so easily unexpected, the blade strikes the stomach of the squire, sending him doubled over, gasping for breath as his sheidl arm wraps about his stomach in an effort to contain the sickening feeling that accompanies such blows. Confused as to his opponents location, Aramis swings wildly outward in front of him in a wide arc from the bottom left to the top right of his view, hoping to hit something in the interim...

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

His men spreading out behind him to engage the archers, Calarath swings around behind Romendil, his sword singing in the air as it slices the air towards the Ranger, a cry of exhiliration uttered from his lungs.

Calarath attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but Romendil parries the attack with his shield!

The next blow is dealt from the fabled blade of Lord Isilrim, a blwo that is easily dodged by Nials as he hops quickly to the side. His eyes turn to his men quickly before bringing another blow to bear on Arnafel. Seeing his men firmly entrenched in locked combat with Isilrim's forces, the Swan Knight known as the Keen readies his blade bringing it down in another lateral swipe upon an area in Arnafel's defense that appears to be left open.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

From The Royal Balcony, To that, Ceridwen laughs warmly, green eyes sparkling bright with amusement. "On most days, it is a good pride, aye. Yet there are times when it sorely tests my patience, and my calm. But that I believe is a fault which all men have, at least all men worth having." Head tilting faintly, she studies the man with whom she speaks for a moment or two, before nodding and to her words adding: "But you are right, too much pride can be a heavy burden, if there is nothing to lighten it or someone who might help carry it."

Romendil stepping back from Aramis' swing, Romendil catches movement in the corner of his eye and instincts bring his shield to that side blocking the blow of Calarath. Surprise evident in his movements, Romendil steps back to view both foes at once then swings hard at the sword arm of Calarath.

Romendil attacks Calarath with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Attention fully upon the battle raging before him, the fight between himself and the other, Ingold does not notice the approach and subsequent attack of his captain. Yet when he does notice, when their blades strike at the same opponent in quick succession, almost crossing paths, he gives a grim nod, not even then taking his eyes from the man on the other team to give greeting to the lauging Rananar.

Taking advantage of his opponents attention to another, Aramis steps forward, pressing both shield and sword forward in a dangerous regail upon the shield-arm of his opponent, yelling a forewarning of his attack whilst he goes.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by a long shot.

From The Royal Balcony, Now, the Prince sips his wine and shakes his head, "Indeed it is! It is the fault that has made the high fall low. Tell me then, " he addresses Girithlin, "What brings you here after all these long years?"

The distance has closed and as Calarath strikes out at Romendil, Harlithor leaps left again from behind the three with shield, just as the first time and angles for a strike at Romendil, yet someone shouting his name reaches his ears above the din and he pivots, seeing that the lord Faramir approaches behind Calarath, and not certain whom he will attack, gives a deep cry and leaps past Romendil adn Calarath, his great blade whooshing more like a battle axe than a sword, trying to rake the tip across Faramir's chest to keep him at a distance, rather than a felling stroke..

Harlithor attacks Faramir with his Greatsword, but he misses by a long shot.

Romendil sidesteps the attack of Aramis and swings his sword at the backs of the mans legs as he steps in front of him. Raising his shield toward Calarath at the same time preparing for an attack from him as well.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, The man the Prince named Thorondur turns to gaze more fully upon Ceridwen, and smiles an enigmatic smile. "Dost think, then," he asks softly, his subtle voice chiming as music, "..that a burden shared is made less taxing? For I find the taxation of mine own burden, should it be shifted even in part to another, would sit upon my soul as the most grievous of sins."

Laughing, he explains, "For who could truly wish to share madness?" A joke.

Hopefully.

Occasionally, perhaps when the lady thinks no one watches, cool blue eyes look up towards the balcony with a flicker of icy distaste tainting that gaze, the presence of Ceridwen upon the royal balcony an apparent source of resentment for Lathwyn, and if ever the child at her side seeks to stray, firmly does she hold him back.

Falaroth lies on the ground, parrying his strength. Literally resting unseen to gain energy. Looking to be another man upon the ground, Falaroth lies and finally feeling his strength return, he cries in a voice that seems to rise above the cries of hurt, "Ai! Might be with me!" And with his last remaining energy he charges, a bit slowly. As he limps along with a valiant heart he notices men that fight among him fall. This aids to his strength like a fire rekindled.

From The Royal Balcony, Sirion the Elder steps forward, "Not I. Of that I have had enough!"

Even as his stroke goes astray, Arnafel moves, his opponent's blow slicing through the empty air where he had stood but a moment ago. And so he continues forward, instead of stopping as might be expected, shield held high to defend, sword extended straight ahead, pointed at Sir Nials' midriff.

Verily, twice the foes strike, twice they score. Emmengrim, still precariously positioned after the hopeful assault, he fails to notice the mirthful captain of the East approaching, the tip of ebon kite little slowing such masterful wave of the battle-rod, catching and falling soundly on the waist lean where sheath sits, slapping and sliding on it, driving the wooden length 'gainst thigh and hip, even as on the other side a heavyhanded swipe is attempted to parry, failed thus also this when shoulder is met, hissing and crunching the layer steely when touching forcefully. "Come now, Helm, and aid your kin..!" bellows so uncharacteristically the Rohirrim, in his Northern tongue, when jabbing a responce with the Foedoom thirsty, over the descending swordarm of the Wall-lord, mercilessly helm seeking the edge dull.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Emmengrim attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

Romendil's blade slicing down mere inches away from his arm, Calarath jumps aside and uses this split moment of distraction to lunge towards the opponent, his slender blade glittering in the air. He takes a quick glance back to watch his three fellows, still engaging the archers but having small success in taking them out as the melee men are distracted.

The air between Faramir and Herlithor is cut by the deadly greatblade and the Captain darts nimbly back, then with a grunt of exersion and a double step forward he knows he must close the distance quickly to get into striking range. Lunging desperately his blade is thrust forth, right foot extended he stabs mid hieght...

Calarath attacks Romendil with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Faramir attacks Harlithor with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

The sword-flat of his opponent lands squarly upon the calf of Aramis, bringing a small gush of blood forth through the cut leather breechers, yet no cry of pain escapes his lips, seemingly a small annoyance to the battler he presses still forth, battering with shield and sword in an attempt to dismay his opponent in confusion.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

Feeling the satisfaction of his sword against his opponent's armor, Rananar withdraws his sword, swift and sure in his motions; many have been the battles that have honed him, teaching him by blood and steel to fight as he does. Shield held up, he fights around it as he drives his sword forward again in a scything stroke. Now he seeks to find Emmengrim's knees even as he attacks Ingold. And when that is done, he looks around, turning a blow at himself, slipping by, looking to aid where he may.

Rananar attacks Emmengrim with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Having faced that very blow one too many times in his past, Nials knows well enough to just out of reach of the blow to his mid riff. His nimble dance lands him to the side of Arnafel to which he presses his advantage seeking to hear the thrilling ring of sword on armor. His sword is raise and another blow is launched.

From The Royal Balcony, The young ascetic turns to Sirion with a brilliant smile, the look of charisma and command still shining beneath his tired hermit's guise. "Then sit, old friend, and let us speak no more of such things. Deeds of valou are done below, and--what ho!" Spying a woman gazing coldly upon Ceridwen from below, he leans toward the lady solicitously. "It doth appear thou hast an admirer, my friend."

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

Romendil takes the blow of Calarath in the arm, but his shield protects him from the blunt of the attack. A small line of red can be seen from the area the sword hit but Romendil takes it in stride. Kicking out at Aramis to keep him back, he swings his sword at the head of Calarath more to provide room between the three of them than anything else.

Romendil attacks Calarath with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Charystra steps up to the wall, and places her hands gently on the ivy. She scrambles up the wall, almost slipping several times from her precarious hold on the vines, but finally makes it, and vanishes over the rim of the balcony.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra peeks her head up over the balcony, which is followed quickly by the rest of her body.

From The Royal Balcony, Her expression growing somber once more, Ceridwen considers those words, then in agreement inclines her head. "You have the truth of it, my lord, some burdens were not made to be shared. Unfair, perhaps, but though I still do it on occasion I have found that fighting ones destiny rarely will take one very far." A thoughtful smile, and she raises one hand to brush aside a wayward lock of bright hair, that smile exchanged for a troubled frown as Imrahil speaks. "Lady Lathwyn, I suspect. We ... do not much care for each other."

Harlithor sees his swing arry and too hard even for the conservitive nature, and the weight pulls his arms out to the left, no time to move aside or parry the thrusting longsword. Squarely he catches the blunted point in his chest, air forcibly rushed past his lips as he staggers back, barely keeping his feet. But he does manage to stay upright and backpeddles, stopping suddenly and dropping his stance low, one foot shooting out behind the other and his greatsword straight out and extended at gut level, his only hope that Faramir rushes after to press the attack adn will run into it...at the same time he cries out, "Another blade I could use to aid me against the Captain!"

From The Royal Balcony, "Yet doth she climb ivy, as it would seem our ladies of Gondor do in this age," the young man tells Ceridwen with a conspiratorial grin at the ascent of Charystra, "Thou might have cause for worry."

Harlithor attacks Faramir with his Greatsword, but he misses by a mile.

Again Aramis attempts the attack that twice proved futile, regailing upon his foe with shield point and flat of blade, yelling out as he takes a few steps forward, fay in his first two attacks, hoping to make it worth-while in another as he adds yet more force...

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra coms up uponthe balcony, green eyes unmitakable as she scan those present, perhaps searching for someone...perhaps not. A warm smile touches her mouth at the sight of Thorondur her son though, and she starts to come forwards, moving to curtsy to the Prince first

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil says with a laugh, "I do not think we shall have to worry of that." He then inclines his head to the Lady Charystra.

Jumping aside as Romendil's vicious blade slices down towards his head, Calarath slams into an embattled man to his side, cutting his evasion short so that the longsword bites through his thin cloak and into his shoulder, drawing fresh blood as Calarath winces and ducks down to take a moments recovery, raising his sheild cautiously and circling around, taking a short stab at his opponent from under his defences.

Calarath attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

His men already spread out around him, fighting with those opponents that present themselves, Ingold pays them little mind. Only an occasional glance is spared the others on the field, for mostly his attention is upon his personal battle with the Rohir. Once, as he pauses a moment to look about, Emmengrim's own blade comes whistling at him, striking lightly his sword arm though glancing off after hitting once. The Guardsman in the livery of Minas Tirith shakes his head at himself, once more bringing his attentions to this fight. His arm is slightly shaky as he strikes next, perhaps a result from the blow, but his resolve is firm as he thrusts his blade at his opponent's side.

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Your attack against Emmengrim mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Inclining her head in a a greeting for lady Charystra, Ceridwen then smiles thinly to those words, "She would not make the effort, and if she did ..." pointedly she lowers her right hand to tap it lightly against the hilt of her sword. "If need be, a woman need not be shamed for striking another women, no?"

Romendil twists as Aramis strikes him in the side. Loosing his balance he stumbles away from the man and ends up resting on his butt. Looking up in time to see Calarath's attack he rolls while on the ground dodging the sword. Recovering he crouches low on his knee and leaps at Aramis his sword aimed once again at the mans stomach.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

And once again as his blow goes awry, Arnafel draws back, ire flashing in his eyes as he swiftly spins away from his opponent's blow, narrowly avoiding it, continueing the movement until he now stands poised at his opponent's flank. Only then does he strike, and swift and sure indeed is his blade as it darts towards the other's thigh.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, If this man is truly named Thorondur--for surely, he himself has not given the Prince's words credence--he is not the Lady Charystra's son, but the man for whom that lad was named. All is, of course, conjecture... for he named himself 'Nolondil', and wears not the raiment of the rightful Lord Girithlin but a simple monk's robe. "I myself prefer," this man tells Ceridwen, "..that steel in the hands of the Secondborn be used only upon the servants of Mordor."

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra straightens from her curtsy and murmurs softly, "Fair day..." to everyone present. A special warm smile she has to Sirion the Elder and a curtsy for him as well, her voice soft but clear heard in its musical notes and tones

Faramir continues on his momentum, pressing any advantage he can spy from the opponent. Seeing Harlithors move he side steps, his blade dipped and turned to redirect the greatblade before stabbing forth once again. Feet evenly set and balanced, eyes locked intently upon his target, yet ears continually cocked to the surroundings..his blade lashes out!

Faramir attacks Harlithor with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

Surging about the field in a chaos of blood and dirt, the teams fight each other with vigor, laughing men of Rohan and dour men of the South-kingdom striking heavy dints, holding no strokes as they battle. Several have fallen of the more than two score men who took the field, left to lay in the midst of the storm ofbattle.

Rananar, finding his way open for an instant, and having searched for where his aid may be lended -- he rushes forward, driving aiding one of the men upon his side with a cut made to the back of his opponent's leg, the grin fierce upon his face. Harlithor hears, "Squire, fall back now! Give aid as you may!" And so he seks to interpose himself between the squire and the Steward's son as he comes from behind and to the left of Faramir. Let the knights know their chivalry -- he will strike without warning, shield acting to batter the man, sword hewing flat-bladed at his side.

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword, but Faramir parries the attack with his shield!

From The Royal Balcony, "I fear," Ceridwen replies with a frown clouding her brow for an instant, "that my temper at times is much too lacking in mildness. Those things that I cherish the most, my family and the steeds I rear, against any foe that threatens these things I will defend them, with whatever means necessary." Again her emeraldine gaze is drawn away from those upon the balcony, searching the field for the familiar figure of her husband.

From The Royal Balcony, "Why, look yonder, Ceridwen," the white-robed man exlaims softly--somehow, that musical voice is never aught but soft and subtle--and leans forward in his seat to extend a finger, pointing out the dour Rananar. "Thy husband doth employ the fabled shield-bashing technique so popular amongst the foul Corsairs of Umbar."

Falaroth turns his head towards Romendil and sees he needs aid. Slowly gaining pace he approaches with his arm leaving a small trail of blood behind. Continuing on slowly with each step taken more grueling than the last; blood runs down his leg where Harlithor bore a wound. And as he is come upon Romendil his gaze shifts to Aramis and his eyes squint as ready for attack.

Falaroth attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but Aramis parries the attack with his shield!

Calarath, thinking he sees an oppurtunity to make a strike, swings his blade with almost all his strength towards Romendil's arm, his sheild swung aside boldly as he makes his attack....

A slip in his defenses lands another blow upon Nials, but again he laughes at the blow, "Mean you to take me a piece at a time," he says looking breifly at a broken link now found within the rows of linking chain, "If so we shall be here for a while." Setting his sheild before him, Nials probes with his sword giving him time to turn to his men. Though some of Lord Isilrim's crew has gone now, the Men of Calanros have over taken there foes with only a single loss. Turning back to his foe, Nials smiles, "You may be a better swordsman, but now you face me and my men alone." His words are a prelude to his next blow, in which he brings his sword down in a broad swipe. As the blade is raised to deliver the blow, it's metal surface catches the rays of the sun making it shimmer silver in the light before it is brought down.

An unexpected attack falls upon the shield of Aramis, drawing his attention to a new opponent. Blue-grey eyes landed upon him, Aramis swings his sword-flat about towards the side of Falaroth's shoulder, yelling out no warning but a grunt of effort as the sword flat presses against the air...

A crack upon his shield and Faramirs eyes widen at the sudden attack from his flank, almost jumping back he turns quickly with the blade in his hand joining in momentum, a dip of his shield to sight his aggressor and there stands his Captain opposing, "Rananar!..well met!" His blade dips and then is turned blade point to Rananars middle and thrust out, "So it comes to this!, then so be it worthy opponent!" And with determination donning his face he attacks!

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

Aramis attacks Falaroth with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

Faramir attacks Rananar with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

Illiana covers her mouth with her hands as she sees her Husband struck by Arnafel, her emerald eyes wide.

Calarath attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

And once again, from the dark comes the dropping scytheblade on the backs of legs, knocking out of balance the man of Mark - enough to allow a momentarily lapse in defense, ill place the lenght of sword long to block the other that graces hauberk over ribs, surely remembered this kiss of weapon in the form of bruises later, yet not now when fight is joined. About the armigers are falling back, for great was the destruction of the Eowain lord, alone all but left Emmengrim to toil. Up from his grouch is the gray-eyed Heldreda sooner than not, biting together lips, beard-adorned features icy and determined when the Aethelwigend circles further to his left, cautious the paces now, whipping in nature the curve of blade gifted that aims at thigh and knee and leg, to deliver a stunning reminder of the Rohirrim's skill.

Emmengrim attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!

Harlithor reels back from the onslaught of Faramir, seeing his thrust tactic not going to work, he yanks the sword up and twists to his right, catching the longsword on his own blade, the force driving both swords against his left shoulder and throwing him down to his right knee, well to the side as Rananar presses against. Harlithor spares a thankful nod to the Rohir and stumbles to his feet, turning back to where his squad leader fights, and seeing their original foe attack aramis, he rushes that way as quickly as possible, dodging a spear thrust and whipping his great blade in a backhand as he charges past Aramis, "Friend Aramis, step aside!" his greatsword cutting at Falaroth's chest and shoulders, trying to drive him away from Aramis..

Romendil twists to the side yet again managing to avoid Calarath's blade. Looking upon the man with no hatred and mostly respect he stands tall and moves toward the mans side, with alightning quick movement he sticks his heel behind the mans leg and slams the hilt of his sword at Calarath's head hoping to knock him over and out.

Harlithor attacks Falaroth with his Greatsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Romendil attacks Calarath with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Green eyes still locked upon the two teams below, the valiant fighters which command the field, Ceridwen chuckles and slender brows arch faintly as she tilts her head and looks back at the speaker. "Of the corsairs, I know little myself, though I doubt it was from those raiders that my husband learned what he knows. He is often a practical man, and finds the methods best suited to see him through a fight." Muttered somewhat wryly, she adds: "Of course, at times practicality is quite forgotten."

At the yell of Harlithor, Squire aramis responds, looking naught to the voice, "Nay, regail yourself not upon my foe, for I need help of not yet, take rest upon the side, and join again, or fight alongside me!"

Dancing now the blades and the men, the swirl of battle all about them, but both are determined upon one another as Rananar and Faramir face each other. Rananar's shield comes forward, turning the blow, a line across its painted surface showing where the thrust found a moment's purchase. And then exploding outwards he presses, sword swinging with heavy impetuous to the helm of Denethor's son. A song begin to find its way from his lips, of deeds and glory such as the men of his country sing in their own ancient tongue.

As Aramis stroke hits, it only causes slight wound barely opening the skin enough for Falaroth to notice in his frantics. He swings his body around coming forth upon the unpretected side of Aramis. Falaroth swings his sword and inverts the blade so that it slices through the air with speed upon his foe.

Falaroth attacks Aramis with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword, but Faramir parries the attack with his Longsword!

From The Royal Balcony, "The Corsairs--albeit good for little else--are indeed quite practical in their manner of fighting," the young stranger answers Ceridwen, seeming relaxed and at ease in the company upon the balcony. "Better that our knights should learn these lessons from thy noble husband than at the hands of a raising swart."

Aramis lets out a grunt of pain as the sword slams against his side, his face clinching momentarily as he regains his compusre and lashes outward visciously at the scout before him, yelling his rage in a pent up burst of hot air as he charges forth!

Aramis attacks Falaroth with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra settles to watch, her fingers softly finding the struings of her harp and working out a complex melody which seems to match the shift and change of battle and the passionate fury with witch it is fougt

Faramir lifts his blade in like of his opponent and the two meet with a clear *ring*, "<Rohirric> A **** **** **** ***, *** *** ****** **** to **** **** *** ****** a **** ********!" He offers a grin then slowing the momentum to gather thoughts, he backs off slightly and begins to circle to his right...

Harlithor laughs loudly, the rush of arms upon his usually quiet and slow witted self, "Mayhap you need not my help, but the battle is to be won, tis not a place to brag and sport one's own blade, just drop our foes to the dirt!" and steps back in, more calm than Aramis' rush, watching to see which way Falaroth will dodge, and then slamming his greatsword down to try to take him in the sword arm and relieve him of his weapon..

Harlithor attacks Falaroth with his Greatsword and mortally wounds him!

Calarath ducks swiftly as Romendil's blade sweeps towards him, but with his sheild lowered he has no defense against the sword, the blade biting a deep gash through his weathered armor of studded leather, and quickly staining the armor with fresh blood. Staggering back from the concussion of the wound, Calarath falls straight into two men dueling behind him, his head knocking against a heavy mace missing its mark. With but a feeble attempt to jump clear of the raging melee, he falls to the ground with a groan.

From The Royal Balcony, "And what lessons he might still need to learn, those I shall happily handle myself," Ceridwen replies smoothly, a gleam of mischief bright in those green eyes of hers. "I consider myself more than able in that regard, knowing best where his weaknesses lay." A light toss of her head, clearing her gaze of wayward curls of reddish gold, and once again the field commands her attention, seeing the husband she just spoke of take on the Lord Faramir.

And so the duel between them rages, hard blows exchanged, either to find their mark or be turned aside. And indeed, Arnafel's blow is one that finds its mark, but Sir Nials is swift, and his blow does likewise, landing on the Lord Isilrim's left shoulder, severing links, and raising a bruise under his armour, eliciting a grunt of pain from him as he draws back. For a moment he stands thus, icy grey eyes observing the men in front of him, and then he says, "Indeed, and now my mettle shall be tested against many foes". A grim laughter is in his eyes as he leaps forth, blade rising on high, and then falling towards the other Knight's weapon arm.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Pulling back soon after his thrust, Ingold pulls his leg back to gain his offset balance... Which just happens to the the self-same leg that, not but a moment later, his Rohirrim opponent strikes at. A touch of a smile upturning the corners of his thin mouth, the Commander, with newly gained momentum and balance, strikes out once more, swinning his blade in downward strike at Emmengrim's legs. Yet his blade rises as he goes through with the swing, and, as it reaches the Rohir, it is about the hightof his stomach.

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Your attack against Emmengrim lightly wounds him!

Romendil turns as the man he was fighting falls. Spotting Falarath in trouble he curses "Come now Falaroth, hold your own and I shall be there soon." Moving toward the mans side he moves in behind them and lunges his sword at the square of Harlithor's back. "Now is two men to one such a fair fight?" then curses again.

Romendil attacks Harlithor with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

Falaroth whips his body to the side as the blade rushes past causing wind to lift his cloak into the air. Crying with great exhiliration! And lo! as he swings his body Harlithor's sword bores into his side releasing large amounts of blood. He grunts in immense pain and falls to the ground one final time nigh the fight shall end. As Falaroth lies upon the grass, a pool of blood accumulates around him. His appear to be open, yet look distant; the rest of his body limp. It seems as if he is unconscious and injured seriously.

From The Royal Balcony, "As I recall," the young man responds to Ceridwen, the sly smile now curling his lips somewhat misplaced upon the face of a purported ascetic monk, "...the ladies of Rohan were quite skilled in such matters. I did particularly enjoy my final trip through your Mark."

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil narrows his eyes looking at Falaroth, "Well, there is a man who has fought his all. The leeches shall have to see to them."

"HOLD!" Aramis yells to Harlithor, leaning down beside his opponent Faraloth, "We shall see you to a healer, let me take you from the battlefield." Grasping the mans legs, he drags him off towards the side, motioning to a group of idle-men to take him to a healer, "Quickly, he is hurt!" Without further waiting, the squire rushes back into battle, sword raised as he makes way towards Romendil.

Harlithor 's arm jolts as it smashes into Falaroth, missing the targeted sword arm. A look of concern flashes across Harlithor's face and he moves closer as if to check on the fallen, yet he hears the voice of Romendil and spins, the blade slashing down, and can spare no time, already beset, trying to defend himself, dropping back several steps, his great blade sweeping out before him at Romendils, simply trying to hit it and keep it from hitting him..

From The Royal Balcony, The young stranger turns briefly to Imrahil and nods, commenting quietly, "Not a Girithlin, that much I can guarantee." With that, he looks back to Ceridwen as she answers him.

Harlithor attacks Romendil with his Greatsword, but he misses by a long shot.

Illiana grasps the railing before her, watching the battle with wide eyes. She spares a glance of concern to the poor man who is pulled away then her eyes once again seek the bleeding form of her own love and lord.

As the sword meets armor, Nials winces in pain, "A better blow friend," he congratulates, though it seems ironic on a field of battle. Another few links are severed in his chain coat and his smile is replaces with a slight frown, "Indeed you are worthy of your sword my friend." Nials tone is friendly, but there is a underlay of tenseness. His eye meet Arnafel's and the two, one set blue as the ocean while the other is the grey of a storm cloud stare into each other. Gildenmegil is raised again, though this time it is brought down changing course at the last second to slice laterally at Arnafel's swordarm.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

Illiana Forgets herself for a moment and cheers her husband's blow before she blushes and once again takes her seat.

From The Royal Balcony, "One stallion is much like the next, the number of legs matter little, and the methods for handling them are quite similar," Ceridwen replies with a wry chuckle, toying idly with the ends of her braid as she speaks, head tilted at an angle which lends her an air of mischied that perhaps better would suit a maid of seventeen and not a lady and several times mother. "Gentle, but firm, that is the whole trick. Let him think he is in command at times, but never for too long."

Romendil steps back and away from the greatsword. Looking at the weapon intently he chuckles "Nice weapon that ye carry sir squire. To bad I care naught to feal its sting this day." Nodding in salute to the man he circles to keep both Aramis and Harlithor in his vision the strikes at harlithors right arm.

Romendil attacks Harlithor with his Longsword, but he misses by a hair.

As he is dragged off the battle plain, Falaroth's body sways. His eyes of grey seem to be in a state of shock, yet they are distant and unresponsive. The blood continuing to rush from his open wound and his hand still clasping the sword called Angrin-Aglar which found it's first mark in the Lists of Dol Amroth.

Daelantadil swings downward with a slight whistle towards the shoulder of Romendil, Aramis yelling out his warning of attack, shield held at chest level, light reflected curiously in the dints from attacks, sword swinging downward towards the opponent with much force.

From The Royal Balcony, The young man in white gives Ceridwen an amused look, and then makes the sign against evil in her direction, mock-cringing before returning his attention to the melee below. "The Valar save us," he prays, "..from strong-minded women of Rohan!"

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by a long shot.

Into a wall runs one soldier aspiring, ready to pierce the guard of the Helming, but that will not come to pass for outward flies the triangle odf a shield, catching unawares the zealous youngling, squarely in the face still unbearded, wits dimming when mind faints and legs give away. A wan victory it is, once more, as a morse of distraction it proves to be, the tip and tooth, skimming upper edge of a battle-friend, shiny sword plunges to thrust at the tender area, up limbs a shock running, on face fiercely smiling confusion flashing with a bitter taste of pain. This not how it should go, this deems Emmengrim, swinging back the fist-depicted board to consolidate a careful obstacle, ward off further mishaps even as forth screams Yfeldom once more, skidding uo and around - aways trembling the grip that lets the heavy branch steely to angle from above at the curve of neck and shoulder of the enemy, Ingold's neck on his side left.

Emmengrim attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!

Harlithor grunts with the effort of controlling his weapon, and not letting the swings tire him too much at the same time. He misses, yet, tis no matter, for it seems to keep his oponant far enough at bay that he reads teh swing in return and steps back again, playing his five feet of steel against Romendil's three, trying to make it a game of distance. Quickly the long, blunt blade strikes forward, trying to tag Romendil's as it retreats from his own slash, not seeming to have the whit for a retort, or it may be, he doesn't waste the breath...

Harlithor attacks Romendil with his Greatsword, but he misses by a long shot.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil allows some laughter, "No matter where you have been in the long years Girithlin, you certainly have not changed in certain aspects. Perhaps it would interest you to know that I have one Bethphel of Umbar in my keeping."

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra chuckles softly, the sound falling line water on stones in tune to the music which she seems to compose to the battle itself

Still moving, Romendil dances away from Aramis' swing and his shield comes up to parry the blow of Harlithor. His steps land him next to Aramis which he thrust his sword at, aimed at the mans sword arm.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Indeed, the tunic of Aramis rustles with the air from the near-blow of Romendil, swiping but an inch from his arm. Sighing with relief, the squire attacks again, his blunt point stabbing forth towards the stomach of the Ranger, shield held above his head as he leans over to add force to the blow.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Slender, darkly golden brows quirk faintly upwards. "I fear that is nowhere nearly enough," Ceridwen in a tone of voice tinged with sly amusemene replies, dividing her attention between pleasantries and amusements on the balcony and watching her husband upon the field below.

From The Royal Balcony, The young man's dark eyebrows rise and his sapphirine eyes widen in sudden amazement: all speech and humour leaves him for a moment as he whitens, turning to his Prince with an unreadable stare. Only after a long moment does he say, his voice nearly catching, "Highness... where keep thee that foul weaver of spells and deceptions?"

Harlithor tries to take advantage of numbers now, pulling his sword away so that it barely taps the shield of Romendil, circling towards his back and keeping the distance wide, favoring reach still. Quickly his blade strikes again, sweeping horizontally, trying to club him in the small of the back...

Harlithor attacks Romendil with his Greatsword and badly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil replies to the Girithlin, "She is under guard. At the conclusion of the tournament she will be taken to Minas Tirith for judgement before the Steward. I do not think she will find mercy there."

Arnafel says, "Indeed, you are a warrior of some account, Sir Nials", Arnafel replies, holding the other's gaze, drawing away only to avoid his blow. And yet, he is fooled, for the blow changes it's direction at the last moment, landing on his sword arm, severing yet more links which fall to the ground to lie there, gleaming in the sunlight. And even as a thin line of blood appears on Arnafel's arm, he ignores it, in deadly earnest now as he he lunges, body extended, blade thrusting at the other's chest."

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, The Girithlin's face darkens at the mention of the Steward, yet he says nothing for long moments, only searching the eyes and the face of the son of Adrahil. Finally, he nods in all respect, and quietly submits, "I would speak to her ere the transit, my Prince, if you would have it."

Illiana sits in the stands, striving to maintain her calm as her husband is joined in battle with Arnafel.

From The Royal Balcony, "Bethphel?" Ceridwen in a voice with curiosity coloured asks, green eyes finding Imrahil for a moment, then with some concern apparent upon her brow shifts back to the second man upon the balcony. "Oh, it must be that woman I've noted over the past week, walking freely about here but by some guardsmen always accompanied?"

Romendil steps back but the sword still hits the leather armour which protects the ranger. The blade of Aramis does little but well leave a bruise. Even as he turns to square off the two men the blade of Harlithor finds its mark striking hard into Romendils back and drawing a line of blood. He grunts with the pain and turns to face both men at once. Wincing again he looks at the greatsword and curses. Moving in close to Harlithor to make the long blade nearly usless and provide some protection from Aramis his plunges his sword hard at the mans stomach.

Romendil attacks Harlithor with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, "By some several," replies Imrahil with a tinge in his voice.

The battle rages about, sometimes more loud, sometimes more softly, but always raging. 'Tis not the harsh sound of good men fighting the evil, but of friends fighting allies. As Emmingrim's blade comes rushing downward swiftly, a hard blow to any man to be hit where neck joins shoulders, the Guardsman of Minas Tirith, Ingold raises his shield to protect from such a strike. Instead, the man of the Mark's sword falls on the shield, causing shock to run up the Commander's arm and shoulder. Yet he does not falter, though the sudden and swift pain of surprise flashes over his eyes. While his opponent is yet occupied with banging his sword upon the man of Gondor's shield, Ingold brings his sword up and about, striking with a backhanded motion his blunted blade at Emmengrim's shining helm.

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Emmengrim dodges your attack.

Turning quickly to his side as Arnafel lunges forward, Nials slides out of immediate danger only to recieve more broken links, a think trickle of blood and a nasty welt that is sure to form. Speak he does not this time only does he raise his sword in retaliation of the blow, striking fast and hard gather as much strength as he dare without placing himself off balance.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but Arnafel parries the attack with his Longsword!

Noting a serious blow upon his comrade, Aramis charges froth, in attempt to take advantage of his opponents outhrust weapon, he regails upon his body with all at his use, shield battering forth as well as sword blade and hilt, aimed to take the man from the battle once and for all.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Enough baiting time Faramir steps in again, his eyes dart sideways and frown seeing things going not to well. Looking to Rananar he knows he must make short of this, but such an opponent means that is not likely...still though. With a quick inward step and a low feint he drives his blade suddenly up and high, thrusting the sword point forth..

Indeed, Romendil's press keeps Harlithor from drawing his blade to parry, his lack of shield telling as he takes the blunt sword in the gut, nearly doubling over on it. Coughing, he stumbles back, his blade whipping up, unaimed, yet with Romendil pressed close, if he doesn't move, the heavy weapon is in line to crush into his chest or chin from below....though Harlithor means nothing but to get away and open the distance, hardly holding his feet..

Faramir attacks Rananar with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Harlithor attacks Romendil with his Greatsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

Romendil twists to the side and groans as Aramis' sword finds it mark, though the move saves him from the brutality of the greatsword. Not caring anymore about the two men against him he move back close to harlithor and once again thrusts his sword at the man, this time he feints at the mans arm and twists his wrist bringing the hilt of his sword at the mans nose.

Romendil attacks Harlithor with his Longsword and terribly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil looks at the Girithlin. His grey eyes bright, considering, "And what would you say to her Sir?"

Sword following the feint, feet moving together, Rananar reacts too slowly to his opponent's attack, instead taking a nick upon his sword hand as he tries to twist aside. But the trickle of blood but brings more laughter among his song, before he pushes forward again, sword angling towards Faramir's sword arm with a wicked swing, the flat turned but an instant before he might strike.

Again Aramis takes advantage of an attack upon another, all his force tossed into the blows he seeks to unmercilessly deliver upon Romendil, shield and sword, now blade, now butt, the shield pressed forward to dismay his opponent and block any blow that may come before it gains speed.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but Romendil parries the attack with his shield!

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword, but Faramir parries the attack with his shield!

Cool blue eyes calmly follow the battle upon the field, that frost-tinged gaze in particular the tall form of Rananar seeks, now seeing him with the lord Faramir do battle. A slight smile curve lips of a wine-red hue, as Lathwyn leans to speak some quiet words to the young boy that stands beside her, slender arm lifted for a momen to gesture in the Rohirric Captain's direction.

From The Royal Balcony, In response to Imrahil, the young man only replies, "Hello, for the one, and goodbye for the third--but between the two I know not. Only that she hath brought much evil upon my family, and is an acquaintance of old--and I should like to gaze upon her face once more ere she is justly slain."

Seeing that his blade has found its mark, Arnafel draws back, careful not to overextend himself, turning aside blows from two other squires even as he does so, felling one of them with a swift blow. And thus it is that he is perfectly poised to foil the Knight's attack, his blade rising, and catching the other's sword, letting it slide down the length of his own and finally away from his body. And while the other's blade is still pointed away, Arnafel strikes, his weapon sweeping in a wide arc across Sir Nials' chest.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

No laggard nor slow ox is the Helming, despite his size and height, and over the domed helmet sweeps the oncoming sliver of iron, yet at the same time more drastic happenings take place, fingers slip from their sweated slip and down stumbles Foedoom, on the boot smeared floor of field, glancing off and away upon the clang on Gondorian kite. "By Helm..accursed wound-wielder...", thus curses Emmengrim, second time now for him to lose the precious twig of steel in the midst of battle. Lo, though, the pride and resolute courage of his, for back draws not the dun-locked man, yielding, no - for brows burrow and fist strikes, under shield and safeguard, to reach for abdomen link-clad, tight ball the digits stony.

Harlithor tries to gain his feet, but he never gets the chance, eyes bluring as he hears more than feels something crash into his nasal guard, and swords swing overhead as he collapses in the dirt, drifting off to dream of whatever squires may dream...

Emmengrim slides back into its shield the bright blade, doom of foes, Yfeldom sharp and deadly.

Emmengrim attacks you with his Bare Hands!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!

From The Royal Balcony, "So be it!" says the Prince. "Yet my heart warns me Girithlin, that if by choice you follow this path, than doom may find you yet again."

Even as his blow connects with Harlithor, Romendil's shield swings to his side blocking the attack by Aramis. Bowing to Harlithor he calls out to a squire and a healer to recover the man and tend to him. Watching it done he turns his attention to Aramis and grins under his hood "So we meet again friend." Simply said he thrusts his sword out at the mans chest.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

More of a minor annoyance than a dreadfull blow, Nials winces at the repeated stroke taking it in stride as his next blow is brought to bear.

The blade of Romendil clips the squires shield, bouncing off his armour, drawing for a trickle of blood and a grunt, words intermingled, "Aye, goodsir, so we do," he punctuates the words with swift movements, his sword swinging through the air, snapping his wrist at the last moment to change the direction of the sword from the mans side to the his shoulder in an attempt to disable his sword-arm.

From The Royal Balcony, The words between the men exchanged do puzzle Ceridwen somewhat, that much is apparent, though for once too polite to further inquire she devotes her attention wholly to the battle below, a faint frown touching her brow as she sees hers husband take his first wound of the day. "Too slow," to herself she mutters, though perhaps such is merely the way that she shows concern.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, "I honour what my fathers fought and died for, my liege," the young man replies to Imrahil, his words quiet and carefully chosen. "The freedom we know hath ever been opposed by the blood of Bethphel's line. Fear not for my road or my soul, for the light that leads us on is strong within me."

Faramir swings his sheild roughly across his front to meet and clash with the incoming blade, a jar can be felt down his forearm and he thinks 'lucky' before pressing the shield path back from where it came to try and open Rananar's mid section. Swinging his blade from right to left with a deliberate slowly rising arc he attacks, the blade edge turned to use the flat and dulled side of the weapon. Aiming to swing up bewteen left side and shield arm he navigates the weapon carefully on its complex path, his feet moving with him in trained unison. The air is cut as the blade nears...

Faramir attacks Rananar with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Romendil dips his sword arm down and takes the blow of Aramis in the shoulder, though it hardly pierces his leather armour. Not even bothering to recover from the blow he ducks in closer to the man and swings the hilt of his sword at Aramis' gut trying to knock the wind out of him.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil replies to the man, "Then this I say to you, Girithlin of reknowned. When you speak to the Lady Bethphel, beware. For if your heart be not true, then it may falter."

The sword of the Ranger swings close, but misses it's dodging target, Aramis, who slowly makes his way towards teh battling Faramir and Rananar whilst he himself regails once more upon the sword arm of his opponent, a light attack whilst he backs a bit off, but an attack none-the-less, aimed for the wrist in an attempt to knock the sword from his hand.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

As the Rohir drops his steel, Ingold's eyes widen slightly in disbelief for, lo and behold, the man of the Mark does double up his fists and try to fight an armed man with his bare hands. Amusement touches the Commander's face, but with it comes wariness, for any man who would do such must be either lost in the head or great with his skill. The Guardman is once more taken aback as his opponent takes a swing at his midsection, beneath his shield. Hands are more manouverable by far than long steel, not matter how trained the swordsman may be. Yet, without hesitation, Ingold lowers his blunted sword parallel to the ground and defends himself from the onslaught. Even as the other's fists are deflected by the blade, the Guardsman swings outward, his steel ranging directly towards those same hands...

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Your attack against Emmengrim mildly wounds him!

The stroke from Faramir is not so harsh, for the rim of Rananar's shield absorbs much. A link is loosened, and a little of Rananar's breath is forced out at the feel of the sword against his ribs. But it does not hinder him nor make him falter, as he now ducks forward, shield trying to force Faramir's own shield aside as he stabs like a viper from beneath, seeking a wound upon his opponent's leg.

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

Amrothos steps up to the wall, and places his hands gently on the ivy. He scrambles up the wall, almost slipping several times from his precarious hold on the vines, but finally makes it, and vanishes over the rim of the balcony.

From The Royal Balcony, Amrothos peeks his head up over the balcony, which is followed quickly by the rest of his body.

From The Royal Balcony, "Fear not for me, Prince Imrahil son of Adrahil of the House of Imrazor," the man addressed as a Girithlin says again to his Prince. "For I have met the trial of her wicked ways atimes before--in the North, and in the Valley of the Last Home, and in Rohan and in Gondor itself. She holds no worry for me."

You paged Emmengrim with 'I must say... I've never had to fight someone using BH before... let alone try and do it parrying with a sword. :)'.

Romendil doesnt back off as the sword of his foe comes close but strikes nothing but air. Instead the ranger presses his attack and swings his lunges forward thrusting his sword at Aramis' knee where the leather armour proved little protection.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword, but Aramis parries the attack with his shield!

Once again his swiftness serves him well, for Arnafel avoids the blow which slower men, even if they be stronger, would have fallen too. His blade dips low as it flicks out like a whip, aimed at the other man's kness now.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil nods and says, "Then Girithlin, you are a better man than I. For she and all her folk hold much worry and care for me."

The sword of the ranger clips the edge of the squire aramis's shield, the attack fay, yet pressing him back again, till he is near the battling captains, "Lord Rananar!" He mutters through clenched teeth, "A foe beyond me I do battle with!" Again he swings his sword, snapping his wrist near the end, punctuating the attack with a sudden change of target, swinging upward from below, towards the right side of Romendil.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Rising from his seat, the young ascetic nods to Imrahil in subtle affirmation before bowing once again, this time in leavetaking, to Prince and ladies inclusive. "I must go and prepare, then... fare thee well, my friends of old." And then he is gone away, without any more explanation than he arrived with....

From The Royal Balcony, Nolondil opens the library doors, and steps in, the doors swinging closed rapidly again.

From The Royal Balcony, Nolondil has left.

A deft stroke but an even amount of sidestep from the nimble Faramir saves his leg, catlike he steps about his opponent, trying to find an exposed flank for which to strike at. One step...another, a quick succession of fients aimed to confuse and then the true strike, a deep thrust and his blade point is driven to cut the armour of Rananar.

Faramir attacks Rananar with his Longsword, but Rananar parries the attack with his Longsword!

Moving his leg from the path of the blow, Nials mimics his 'foe' in the whip-like thrust. But his sword is aim higher than the knee, aiming for the upper reaches of Arnafel's chest. Not use to using his sword as such, the blade flies higher than intended and has moved to far to be drawn aside. The silvery steel blade lunges for the side of Arnafel's face in a messed attempt at the whiplike motion.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil arches a brow watching the Man leave, "Most strange."

Tired as he is Romendil is unable to avoid the swing of Aramis as it slices into his side. Cursing under his breath he backs off and looks about the field where men lie fallen and otehrs still leaving injured and not wishing to risk more. Circling around to the side of Aramis he swings his sword at the mans leg again. "No ye dont, for I have faught two against one too much this day, and I shall not again."

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Green eyes follow the young man's departure, the look upon Ceridwen's face not easily identified as betraying any single emotion, and as he door behind him closes, she nods her head in a thoughtful manner to Imrahil's words -- though soon enough gazes out over the field and the men below, thoughts of troubled days in the past set aside for the present and the grand fight of today.

From The Royal Balcony, Amrothos comes onto the balcony, his right arm held in a sling across his body.

A fist of stone, truly, but not of bedrock for even stoutest of cliffs bleed when it rains, and now it is the crimson tears that blush over the back of hand when from the flushing knuckles, having taken on the slap of longsword, over them the dulled yet still fell shard of a blade slithers, ugly the gash left on skin tough, sheet sheer of red left on Ingold's weapon thus. Cry loosens and fires from mouth grimacing, pain perceived in those granite orbs under stalks of brown brows, should one see, nevertheless no plead for mercy yet sounds, but another assault, on his right Emmengrim dancing a touch falteringly, an uppercut crashing with faint spray of sanguine to seek the jaw of Mundburg's lieutenant, intent in to continue the descendant of Hammerhand.
. . . and the blow of Faramir Denethor's son is knocked aside, almost with negligence. The fury of his forefathers is a lightness in Rananar the captain, the laughter and the song uncontainable as his soul revels in such interplay between two warriors, the joyful dance of battle. Again he strives forward, eyes glancing to Aramis in his plight as pushes at Faramir with his shield, this time lifting his sword up to strike down once more at Faramir's helm as he keeps his shield between them.

Emmengrim attacks you with his Bare Hands!...
...and he misses!

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword, but Faramir parries the attack with his Longsword!

The sword of Romendil hits it's mark, and hits well, for the left leg of young aramis is knocked from him, a gaping wound opened in the calf of it. Yelling out the squire attempts to regain his feet, only partially so, bouncing about on one foot he looks quite comical, his last swing punctuated with a grunt of pain as he sends himself off balance, sprawling upon the ground at the feet of his opponent, sheild held defensively behind his head.

Aramis attacks Romendil with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra watches the battle with caught breath but looks up long enough to murmur, "Fair day m'lord Amrothos...as she moves to rise and curtsy to him."

From The Royal Balcony, Amrothos inclines his head politely to the lady and moves to His father's side. "A good day to thee Lady Charystra, and to thee my father. How fares the battle?

Romendil quickly steps aside from the mans blow and kneels by the man, sword held ready as is shield. Calling out to Aramis he speaks softly "Do ye yield, for there is no need for this fight to continue friend." He offers his hand to the man and speaks again "Come, let us find a healer if ye yield."

Harlithor swoops the point of his great blade up and around, dropping his right shoulder slightly to slip the sword hom in it's sleeve strapped to his back.

A turn of his wrist and Faramir levels his blade, pushing it high to meet his opponents above his head, the blades ring out once again, many among the clashes that can be heard. Taking a back step now, judging the distance between the pair tightening he losses the blade in a circular motion, keeping it high and level and aimed to counter Rananar's own attack. The Rohir's helm in sight

Faramir attacks Rananar with his Longsword, but Rananar parries the attack with his shield!

The squire scrambles to his feet, nay, his foot, with the help of the Ranger, he limps a step back, waving his sword negatorily, "Nay, I battle to the end, good sir, though I thank thee for thy offer, but to the end I fight! Ready thyself," He yells, holding his sword up defensively as he awaits the attack from Romendil.

Grey eyes follow the blade as it darts toward him, and yet for a moment, Arnafel's attention is drawn elsewhere, and it is this that proves to be ill for him, for the blade strikes where he had expected it not. Barely in time does he draw his head back, and even then, the tip of the sword digs deep into his cheek beside the ear guard, and cuts its way upwards until his temple. With a startld exclamation of pain and surprise, he draws back, raising his shield arm to wipe the blood which drips into his eyes. Once he shakes his head as if to clear it, then leaps to the attack again, true ire now in his eyes as his blade flashes forth, intending to land on Sir Nials' shield arm.

Arnafel furiously attacks Nials with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Romendil shakes his head sadly and moves back away from the man. "If it is thy wish, I see no reason to further this but at thy wish we shall, for thee are noble indeed and uphold the honour of Dol Amroth well, the Prince would do good to watch you." He circles again slightly for a minute then lunges his sword at Aramis' good leg, lightly only to knock the man down with the flat of his sword.

Romendil attacks Aramis with his Longsword and mortally wounds him!

Emmengrim grabs some of the vines, and tries to pull himself up. He looks very silly, as he merely tears some of the ivy down.

From The Royal Balcony, Never one made to patiently and in the manner of a proper lady wait and watch at the sideline, Ceridwen now finds the heated battle below too much for her restless self to calmly overlook from her seat. Rising once more, she moves to the edge of the balcony, well out of the way for the other's line of sight, and green eyes keenly seek and soon find her husband and lord Faramir, one hand grasping the hilt of her sword while the other rests upon her hip. "A fine battle it is, though making out whose team is doing the best I find a difficult task. Perhaps your noble Faramir's men do have the most luck, so far."

The clatter of a sword striking a shield studded with iron, as Rananar's defensive measure pays truly -- and twice over, it does so, for it frees his blade to flick to the ground, driving in -- and tearing out a dibbit of dirt which he deftly flicks at Faramir's eyes -- and turns the motion into a drive at Romendil's side, swinging wildly even as Aramis falls before him, roaring at the man.

The blade of Arnafel lands solidly upon the shield of Nials, leaving a loud gong-like note in the air. Though wanting to offer apology, the Swan-Knight notes the look of anger within his opponentes eyes and decides to finish the fight. His sword is swung quickly, this time using the more tradional style aiming for Lord Isilrim's side.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Rananar attacks Romendil with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

A wince, perhaps not physical for his face remains solid, touches the eyes of the Commander of the Rammas Echor as his blade, blunted as it may be, connects with the Rohir's hand. Perhaps memories are brought up of steel on flesh, but the Guardsman shuts them off, leaving no room for anything but the battle. A touch of sympathy hints in his solid grey eyes. Ducking to one side and stepping back, he avoids the uppercut aimed for his jaw, though 'tis no easy task to avoid the fists, quick as lightning. Using what speed can be gained from that move, he once more swings in from the side to strike at the left side of Emmengrim's helm... noticibly, he avoids the man's neck and face, keeping his aim only on the metal of the helm.

You attack Emmengrim with your Longsword...
Your attack against Emmengrim lightly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Amrothos moves forward and gazes down at the field as well, his sea-grey eyes so like those of his sire move over the fighting men, picking out this one or that. "In truth, blood is shed on both sides. How long hast the battle been joined Lady?

Faramir blinks, he can not believe Rananar disengaged to strike a fell blow upon an unsuspecting opponent nearby, "Well as the fox tries to out fox, I too can deal blows that are beneath me!" And with fury rising he darts across to the nearby melee, hewing forth as he goes his fell blade ringing upon armour and shield and he lashes visciously into the fray!

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil says, "Long enought Amrothos."

As Romendil starts to move toward Aramis he is struck in the side and falls, moving little and making no effort to get back up. A red line appearing through his leather armour and cloak. he groans and pulls his shield over his side and keeps a tight grip on the pommel of his sword.

Illiana has partially disconnected.

Together Aramis and his opponent tumble to the ground, the sword thrust of the other knocked upward into the gut of young aramis by his shield, knocking the squire to the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head as his open chest is exposed to the battle above, his armour slashed to pieces, his stomach bleeding profusely, yea, one would think him dead as he lies upon the ground, for no movement does he make, and his chest does barely rise in the taking of a ragged breath.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra nods at Imrahil's words, "Indeed long enough..." worry has marked her face, and indeed she has a pale lok to her skin and hollows to her cheeks, "but they all fight so well..and so determinedly..."

From The Royal Balcony, "I could no say precisely, my lord," Ceridwen replies, one hand moved to lightly support her against the railing that edges the balcony. "But as the Prince says, long enough indeed. Both sides fight with honour as well as valour, none wishing too yield."

From The Royal Balcony, Amrothos nods and looks to his father, noting the Prince's mood. "Aye m'lord.

Once again the Lord Calanros' blade finds its mark, and draws a line of blood from Arnafel's side, and now his armour is rent by several cuts. Yet he pauses but for a moment to regain his breath ere he presses forward, feinting several times ere he strikes truly at the other's thigh.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil asks the Ladies present, "Who do you think shall win?"

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you block his attack with your shield!

Nimbly dodging aside, Nials watches the blade miss him by a handspan then jabs his blade forward at Arnafel's exposed side.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but Arnafel parries the attack with his shield!

The battle continues, though the advantage must surely belong to the side of the Mark-captain. All over the field men are fallen, groaning. The tide surges, as second winds come to the fighting, redoubling their efforts. Among them is Rananar, who gives both friend and foe a swift look to be sure their injuries are not over-great -- and then he looks to the battles, seeking out ... there, the proud knight he contested against in the single combats, battling another of his brother-knights. He makes his way through the melee, aiding as he may, taking strikes and further bruises but returning the worse as he wades through to Nials' aid.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra looks at Imrahil, "I will not say my Prince...I have seen too many battles change at the last moment to judge this one finished till it is."

Rananar pages Ingold and Nials: Keep it up, guys. We get Arnie and Emm out, maybe we can force Fara to surrender. ;)

Aramis goes Out Of Character.

Romendil goes Out Of Character.

From The Royal Balcony, Amrothos smiles gently, "A wise observation Lady Charystra.

From The Royal Balcony, "My heart is with my husband and the men he captains in this fight," Ceridwen is quick to reply, though with a wry note to her voice adds: "Though, as I just said, it would seem that earlier at least luck aided lord Faramir, and added to his skill -- which I do not doubt -- it helped him make wise decisions in choosing his men. Now ... I am no longer so sure, the lady Charystra does speak wisely."

His shield arm is swift and true as it sweeps down, turning the other's blade aside, giving Arnafel a brief respite in which to regain his balance and strike again.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but Nials parries the attack with his shield!

Harlithor goes Out Of Character.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra smiles slightly, green eye focused on the battle below

Illiana applauds her husband's skillful parry

Blade blocked on his shield again sends another gong-like note into the air. Slightly taken aback at the strength of the blow, Nials strikes again using speed rather than strength.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

False certainty, perhance, or hope, is held in the demeanor and gaze of the man from West-Mark, as he misses anew, to receive a punishing blow upon the conical cover of helm, ringing lightly the polished dome yet giving in not, nor does tremble or fall Emmengrim, but wits aid a decision dire that is met and voiced, back pacing the Aethelwigend of Rohan, down throwing his shield like a plank of discarded wood, haughty but resigned his expression sweat graced. "No more, my lord..be it another time we continue..." And truly, now even the links about wrist are stained rouge, uncouth the flap of cut skin that lets more of the priceless life's blood to trickle forth.

Ingold suddenly turns as, through the mist of battle, he catches sight of a figure approaching from his side. Eyes widening, he raises his shield just in time to avoid a nice hit on the arm from Faramir. Shaking his head, he keeps an eye on both the Steward's son and the man of Rohan, yet attacks neither, glaring slightly in an almost friendly way. "Another time," he says loudly enough for the Rohir to hear over the battle din, and turns his attention quickly to Faramir. "Would you attack me unawares, Captain Faramir?" he asks with a smile, bringing his blade about and striking at the Gondorian's side.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir dodges your attack.

Once again Arnafel moves swiftly to evade the blow, and yet he is slower now, for the blood dripping constantly from his face is wearying him. "Let there be an end to this!" he exclaims, then lunges again, and now he attacks with the intenet to disarm the other man, or send him out of the fray.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but Nials parries the attack with his shield!
Blocking the blow with his shield, Nials patiently waits for an opening to appear within Arnafel's defense. Seeing a slight chance, Nials lunges forward with all his strength bringing the sword across in a swipe that moves faster than can be watched.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Finding his way through the field, blood upon his sword and a bruise forming under his ribs from where an axe-stroke found its mark, Rananar catches a breath which he can hardly hold for his laughter. "Such deeds in arms!" he cries out, his euphoria great indeed. With the tide of battle in the favor of his side, and men using all their will and strength to forward the honor of their team, he returns himself to it, out of the momentary pocket of emptiness . . . and straight to Arnafel, driving at him from the side as he calls, "Care, Nials! I aid you!" His sword stroke is sure and skillful, a great flat-bladed swing with his sword to Arnafel's helm.

Rananar attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Faramir steps aside Ingolds attack as the commander lashes out, "Hail commander!" he offers with a grin, "Unawares Aye, but then when things look grim one can only make do with what advantage is sought"! Then with a quick step inward and a flash of sunlight on blade he lashes out again, this time more determined to make a mark..

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he misses!

Illiana rises to her feet as aid arrives at her husband's side.

From The Royal Balcony, Silent now, Ceridwen closely watches the battle unfold beneath the balcony, keen eyes green like moist grass following every movement of her husband's, a slight smile playing over her lips -- one liberally tinged with pride, though none too haughtily confident, merely taking pleasure in the great deeds done this day by many men of much valour.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra's eyes follow Emmengrim on the field below, a touch of worry high in her expression
However akward he may be, Ingold manages to duck out of the way of the Steward's son's blade, keeping his skin whole and, more amazingly, keeping his balance, for he did seem to trip as he stepped aside. Yet regaining his footing, the Commander mumbles to himself at the loss of momentum caused by the stumble. Once up again, he glances quickly about, smiling as the fight comes closer to an end, and immediatly returns to the battle with a hard thrust of his blade at the Captain's midsection.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir parries your attack with his shield!

Even as the Lord Calanros attacks, Arnafel sees another warrior approach, and thus his attention is divided, and this proves ill for him, for in truth, he is not able to avoid either blow, and both elicit a grunt of pain from him. Circling now to keep both before him, he attacks Nials again, his shield held before him to block any attack from the Rohir.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

Armiger comes and goes over the field, returning blade and shield, accompanying the grim son of Heldred to where the battle area ends and healers await, ready with straps and linens, to mend the split fist marked with drying crimson. "Here, mine helm..bring them to my quarterts, Pagenon..care with the rag.." half-grunts Emmengrim to the squire young, turning idly to watch how bandages are wrought and ointments applied, the lust to fight still in the man as longng are the glances given at the struggling figures, well guarded though, dented the bastion of vainglory of his - for now.

Dodging yet another slowed blow, Nials quickly says, "You are wounded my friend, yeild and keep your pride my friend." Though his sword is ready, Nials does not strike, yet.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra's murmur is low, soft as if to herself, "Emmengrim beloved....ye fought well....would that I could tell you so..."

Turning the shield to be face on and moving it to cover his middle Faramir intercepts the attack and still allows himself a free blade to counter with. Pushing away with his shield to try and detain Ingolds blade as long as possible he steps to his right, swinging his own steel from right to left, lowering the arc to cut low across the waist of his opponent, blade turned flat he strikes out

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you block his attack with your shield!

With a smile, the Lord Isilrim draws back to reply briefly, "No worse than you, Sir Nials. Fight on, for I am not so wounded yet that I cannot raise my blade."

Rananar withholds his stroke, though he surely readies himself as Nials beseeches the surrender of his fellow knight, feet set in proper stance for another drive, shield held in the ready. He does not laugh now, his breath coming hard as it is, but there is a smile upon his face -- the battlefury is still within him. He does not add his words to Nials', however.

Even while his blade is being held by Faramir's shield, Ingold brings his own down, having to nearly cross one arm under the other to do so, but does it in enough time to keep the other's sword from slicing him upen, blunted or no. Having deflected the Captain's attack, the Guardsman frees his own blade and, gaining momentum as his arm swings down, strikes with a backhanded motion at Faramir's legs.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir parries your attack with his shield!

You paged Rananar and Nials with 'It looks that way... Y'all just need to take down Arnafel there and come rescue me from Faramir, and we'll have it. ;)'.

"I had to offer," Nials says, his voice dropping low and does his body. Holding his shield before him, the Swan-Knight jabs forward, bringing his sword up at the last minute as it slides near Arnafel's sword arm. As he does this his eyes turn to the mean that were fighting with them only to find that the squire have fallen back leaving these last five a space to duel.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

And with Nials' stroke, and the freeing of space as the men allow the last captains and commanders to battle alone while the rest of the companies end their own battles, Rananar comes forward again, once more driving hard, holding back no strength -- Arnafel's helm, once more, is his target, hammering down from above with the flat of the blade.

Rananar attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

Before Ingold can make the blades path true Faramir sends his shield forth slapping the blow sideways and ruining his aim. continuing to use the shield he steps forth, pushing the blade outwards at each chance, hoping to leave the commander defenseless. Trailing behind him comes his lowered blade, but with a promt move he drives it suddenly forward sweeping forth above the ground and with blade sent flatsided he drives it up and between Ingolds legs, aimed to strike against inner thigh.

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you block his attack with your shield!

From The Royal Balcony, "The fight seems to be nearing its end now," Ceridwen softly comments, said battle her attention wholly commanding now, faintly narrow eyes the hue of dark emeralds not leaving the field below for the briefest of movements. "Many of the brave knights and Riders are tiring, even the strongest arms feeling the effort of so many swings."

Wearily now, yet with a glint in his eyes, Arnafel slips aside, avoiding Nials' blow, yet not so Rananar's which is hits its mark truly. Dazed, he stumbles slipping for a moment ere he regains his feet. He moves forward, shield and sword now held a trifle weakly. Briefly he regards both his opponents, then replies with a low stroke at the Nials' knees.

Arnafel furiously attacks Nials with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Nials pages Rananar and Ingold: how bad does a badly wounded useually hit for?

Longleggedness may sometimes be a disadvantage, but in this case, Ingold can count it otherwise. For, as Faramir's blade rushes towards his thigh, he is able to take a single step backwards and remove the target before the sword touches his leg. Immediately after he steps back, he brings his shield down to cause the Captain's blade to glance upward. Freeing his sword once more from the shield play, the Commander of the Rammas Echor thrusts again, this time with a jab at Faramir's shoulder.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir dodges your attack.

Worn from fighting and not quick enough to dodge the blow, Nials takes it instead grunting loudly as the dazed warrior bruises his knee. Shaking his head, but smiling at the man's determination, Nials raises his sword, hopefully for the last time against this man, bringing it down aimed for the top of Arnafel's helm.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

A twist of his torso and Faramir lets out an audible sigh as the bladepoint from Ingold cuts the space he left. Slashing with his own blade to cut a path to Ingolds he attempts to push it aside, then continue its momentum to turn its point and stab toward the commanders body. His feet moving desperately to put him in a firm position to attack from, dust kicks up about knee hieght as his boots move about..

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!

With failing strength now, Arnafel does not even attempt to avoid the blow, forging ahead heedlessly, a grunt escaping his lips now as he swings with all his might.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

Taking another blow, Nials grunts. Finesse is gone from his movements now, and all that is left is raw strength. Bringing the sword above his head, Nials holds it there, "I bid you to yeild and you rejected my offer." Nials says, his voice booming about the field, "Now let us finish this." As his last word is said the sword falls, light reflecting off the silvered surface as it decends aimed again for Arnafel's helmet.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword, but Arnafel parries the attack with his shield!

No wounds yet seem to have touched the body of the Commander of the Rammas Echor, and though he does seem to be a little akward - if only slightly - with his swordarm. While Faramir kicks up dust to find a good stance, Ingold takes a quick step forward with one foot, bringing the other around behind it. With the added momentum the move gives him, he smoothly knocks the stab away with his own blade and, with only a slight falter, turns the swing around and aims heavily at Faramir's sword arm.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir dodges your attack.

Rananar follows Nials' attack upon Arnafel with another blow, using the flat in a stroke very like the one he used against Nials upon the single combat. The weapon weaves low, seeking to find the back of Arnafel's knee as he pivots to add the strength of his turning body to the blow. The fact that Arnafel's shield is lifted to block his brother-knight's attack aids him much in this.

Rananar attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

Soon the surturing and tying of clothes is done, and Emmengrim can continue his way from the lists to where his lady awaits, his hauteur now returning after the lesson delivered by the lord of the Wall, only remotely trembling his legs, sure the step of riding boots when climbing stairs. An oversized parcel of gifts is his fist, wrapped with white strips, like a ball of thread, marking him from afar, the stormy-eyed Captain of the West. "Ladies..my lord.." speaks the Heldreda lean, inclining head unscathed, even if his attire is less than courtly, specks of blood colouring the hauberk like buds of rose over a wall growing.

From The Royal Balcony, "A headache for the good knight, I fear," Ceridwen comments as she sees the third or so blow in a row strike down hard upon Aranfel's helmet, her interest in the battle below in no way dimished together with the lessened number of still standing contestants. "I fear the good lord Faramir soon shall lack men to fight at his side, and still a few on my husband's side have strength enough to swing their swords."

A careful move and Faramir avoids having his sword arm bruised, dipping his blade while his feet carry him to his left. As he takes a moment to glance about he frowns seeing things looking ill and knowingly it is too late to call out with his horn, but determination is his strong point and fearless he continues on. His blade sent forth once more, a feint, a second grimly he stabs out!

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

Weary Arnafel might be, and yet not so weary that that he cannot raise his shield..and so he does, turning aside the blow which else would have landed on his helm. Yet, once again he ignores the Rohir Captain, and once again he pays the price, fo the blow lands heavily on his helm, felling him. For a moment he lies in the dust, drawing in deep gasping breaths, and then he rises, staggering like a drumken man, attacking Sir Nials with no skill or technique whatsoever, merely swinging his blade, for that much effort is all he can procure.

Arnafel attacks Nials with his Longsword, but Nials parries the attack with his Longsword!

Catching Arnafel's sword upon his the blades slide till each is on the others hilt, looking his friend in the face Nials breathes out through clenched teeth, "Damn thee stubborn ass, yeild and do not make me strike thee again."

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra watches with wide eyes yet her face is serene and almost calm, greeneyes the only hint of worry in her face

As he moves his shield to block against the first blow Faramir sends at him, which turns out to be a feint, Ingold sighs lightly as the other's blade goes elsewhere and manages a hard stab at his shoulder. His shield arm falters visibly with that blow, and a large bruise is sure to rise from the blow of the blunted steel. "You are surely a better swordsman than I remembered, Captain Faramir. The healers will have be abed for days now." Yet he does not allow his words to stop him from attacking once more, bringing his sword down and about with a hard, strong-handed swing at the Captain's side.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir dodges your attack.

Emmengrim grabs some of the vines, and tries to pull himself up. He looks very silly, as he merely tears some of the ivy down.

Romendil pushes his body up and turns to watch the fight. Stumbling as he stands he removes his bow from his shoulder and sets it in front of him and leans on it for support. Rubbing his side he winces and then sighs. Catching sight of where Arnafel, Nials and Rananar are not to far away from him he shrugs again. Removing his hood and pulling his cloak aside he stands motionless watching.

Wounded, weary, and yet stern and proud, a fell flame is kindled in the Lord Isilrim's eyes as he gazes upon his opponent, "You exceed your boundary, Sir Nials..strike me and finish this if you will, yet bear in mind that a contest among friends this is, and the least you could do is maintain a civil tongue!"

Rolling his eyes, Nials suddenly kicks the other mans sword from his own. Using his sword like a bat, Nials smashes the flat side of the blade into the side of the mans head.

Nials attacks Arnafel with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Tall is Faramir and his size belies his quick movements, yet as Ingold makes his strike the Captain has quickly dashed forward and to his right to put himself closer to the mans shieldarm side, "And you" he utters quickly in between breaths, a bead of sweat running down his cheek, then with a heavy grunt he drives his shield forward looking to bash Ingold back

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

Romendil pulls his Greatbow from his shoulder and readies an arrow to it.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra watches the battle with wide eyes, her hands clenched slightly. Fear for Arnafel touches her face, and for Nials as well as she watches

Wiping at his brow, Rananar steps away even as Nials strikes Arnafel. "There. That leaves but Faramir their captain. The others shall deal with those who still follow him. Come, friend Nials, and let us make an end." Marching forth towards Ingold and Faramir, ahead of the tired knight, he shouts, "Faramir! Think no less of yourself, should you choose surrender! Your deeds in arms are great -- but how would you win the victory, against so many against so few? Your valor shall surely be remembered."

From The Royal Balcony, "Well fought, 'Stanfyst'," Ceridwen with a wry smile and a dip of her head greets her countryman, diverting for a moment her attention from the last remaining fighters down upon the field. "Your teammates for the day fight well too, stubborn if battered by now." Raising her right hand from where it rested lightly upon the hilt of her sword, she tucks a lock of reddish gold aside, green eyes bright and keen still.

Though he raises his shield to help block the blow, even though the Captain rams with his own shield, a loud grunt, followed by a gasp, is heard from the Commander after a slight crack... "Weeks now," Ingold mumbles. Just as he prepares to strike out with his sword, however, his shield now dangling loosely from a limp arm, Rananar calls out to the Steward's son. "Aye, Captain... He does speak truth." Yet even as he supports the Rohir's words, he lashes out once more with his blade, a potentially dangerous blow towards Faramir's helm.

His blade falls from his weak grasp, and slowly Arnafel sinks to the ground, his eyes closing as the blade smashing into his head sends him into unconsciousness.

Romendil looks upon the field and sighs "Another falls and yet one remains standing beyond us all." Looking toward Faramir he calls out "Take heed Captain for they come next to thee. Worry not about one anymore but worry about many, the man speaks the truth." Reaching back and pulling an arrow from his quiver he sets it to his bow and waits for any to approach him.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir dodges your attack.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra's voice is choked as she spits ut, "Arnafel...brother...Nials.." she clenches a hand at her side, pained and pale her expression

A handful of remaining soldiers muster about Faramir and he turns his eyes upon Rananar, his voice stern and commanding as he utters for all to hear, "I shall take that option whence one of your men strike me a single blow to harm me...just the once, only then shall I step down!" The look on his face hard and grim, the Dunedain standing tall and terrible only the sudden attack from Ingold causing him to move and he throws Ingold a cold glare, "And so I shall strike thee for that!" With renewed vigour he wields his blade mightyly, his feet adjust quickly as he faces the commander, his blade sent out like a dart from a bow, the point wickedly sent forth

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!

From The Royal Balcony, "Little likening I had to continue, one cloven shield is enough for this tourney." comments dryly Emmengrim, allowing a brow rise when observing the going-ons down on the field, and when appraising the fiery-maned lady, to the one with platinum curls his path leading, "And your husband honored his kin, splendid show.." Some quality of scorn finds a foothold in the deep voice, vibrating with exhaustion more than evil nature, as the Stonefist reaches the lady Isilrim's side, laying his sound palm on her shoulder slender, concentration shifting from the ring of steel to the chime of strangled words that Charystra airs.

Watching his friend fall, Nials shakes his head. Though the Mand of Rohan bid him follow, the Swan-Knight turns to the squire who are standing all about them, "Move damn you," he barks at them, "You," he says pointing to one of them, "Fetch the healer, while you.." he says pointing to another, "Fetch his sword and make sure no harm is done to it. And while you wait for his recovery clean and oil it." Waiting to see that his friend is cared for, Nials stoops beside him, "Forgive my uncivilty my friend." Rising again, Nials turns to watch the battle between the Captain of Rammas Echor and the Lord of Rohan against the fabled sword of The Lord Faramir.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra's head tilts, and she rises slowly to stand beside Emmengrim, her face pale, "You fought well beloved lord...." she murmurs

Forehead wrinkling at Faramir's cold stare, the tall Commander shakes his head and raises his sword, knocking the blow away from him before it even reaches his body. "Direct your anger not at me, m'Lord." He says smoothly, a hint of a comforting smile touching his face, "For, even should we best you in this game, none shall ever doubt the courage and valour of Denethor's son Faramir." Saying this he does not lash out so hard, but lunges with a blade worked towards the shoulder of Faramir's own swordarm.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Faramir parries your attack with his Longsword!

From The Royal Balcony, "The brave knight Arnafel, your brother lady?" Ceridwen asks of Charystra, the lineages of all these lords and ladies of Gondor as of yet only partially known to her, a few weeks in Dol Amroth in no way enough to sort such tangled matters out. "Your concern is understandable, yet I believe a headache -- if a mighty one -- is the worst that he will come away with, those strongs struck with flat blades against his helmet, after all."

Bow in hand and arrow still nocked to it Romendil moves toward the fallen Arnafel and toward Nials. He calls out, "A good fight indeed. Healers are on their way to help thee and others." Raising his bow again he adds "I care not to fight further unless ye wish to sir knight."

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra murmurs softly, "He is my brother in spirit and by former marriage...also he is of my house. The Lord nials also is a dear friend and to see them fight so...troubles me."

From The Royal Balcony, those strong blows struck, even

"You have left the fight and are now out of the battle, if you were to raise your bow against me nothing would avail from it." Nials says to the stranger, his tones harsh.

Romendil laughs "Silly knight, praytell if ye can when I left the fight?" Setting his arrow in his quiver he adds "For you do not set rules nor tell me when I left a fight, I remained untill the fallen were seen to and watched the rest, but never left and now I come to aid Arnafel a member of my team. T'would be well for you to hold your tongue."

The crowd ringed about cheering now with little pause at the brave show, and the mighty deeds in arms, is counter-pointed only by the groans of men still waking from the sleep of the fallen, groaning with the ache to their heads and the bruises that surely mark the end of the battle. Healers, squires, and servants move to clear them from the field, to take them forth from where they lie to shelter and healing.

"Such courage! Mighty are the sons of the Steward!" So is Rananar's praise, and he laughs again for he has rested a little, and can afford such expression of his joy. "But two swords against one -- and a third, if needs be. I have tasted your skill -- but let us put it to the test again." And with that he comes forward again, rushing to take Faramir at an awkward angle, sliding to a pivoting halt as he brings a slicing stroke forward, whipping the weapon from above his shoulder towards Faramir's side.

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, "The heat of battle often overcomes the best of men." A flicker of a smile dance upon Ceridwen's lips, green eyes finding Emmengrim for a moment, then wandering out over the field below. "It is up to us women to stay sensible, I believe it is said." Wryly, the last is said, and she turns to the lady of Gondor again. "A notion I do not always agree with, but when it comes to battles, most oftently."

Nodding once, Nials turns and walks further afeild away from Romendil. Staying away from the dueling trio, Nials seems ready to rush in if needed too.

*Ring* Blades meet and the remaining men fight on reguardless of the wounded being dragged from the battlefield and in the midst of the remaining fighters one head is held higher. Faramir holds his shield well away from his body, holding his left flank at bay, and to his right he keeps his blade ready to strike. A moments pause to see the incoming Rananar and he knows things will turn for the worse soon so with a quick step and fient he makes a swift counter upon Ingold, even as he does he does not judge the swiftness of Rananar and a cut upon an open shoulder draws a grimace from him.

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra laughs faintly, but there is a bittersweet note to the sound as she laughs. Unconciously her eyes seek Emmengrim and look for injuries, worry paling her fair face

Romendil kneels by Arnafel "Are you hurt too badly, there are healers coming and tents set up for the wounded. Looks like our team has proven the lesser not in strenght but in size in the end." He looks about the field and sets his bow across his knees.

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!

As there are few left upon this battlefied besides those involved in the current fight between the Steward's son, the Rohir lord, and the Guardsman Commander, Ingold pays very little attention to anything besides those before him. The light smile on his face widens slightly, though it contains some small bit of pain from his injured shoulder. Raising his blade, he easily knocks away the swift counter passed uponhim, and strikes with his own sword, a swing towards the Captain's shoulder once more.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Your attack against Faramir mildly wounds him!

Withdrawing his sword and readying his shield, as Faramir turns his attention to Ingold Rananar makes his own stroke. He moves slightly, feet sliding over the ground to find him a better angle for this stroke. Then,pressing forward he now jabs his blade at Faramir, a clean hard thrust that should bruise mightily, if not cut the very flesh, should it land. His shield, scarred now from hard use, is ever before him, ready to take the replying stroke if needs be. His smile is grim now, but the light of battle is still in his eyes, and a different light of battle is yet in his hands, stained with dirt and blood but as fell as may be.

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword, but he misses by a long shot.

Beneath the heavy cloak that adorns Faramir a light shirt of chain is hidden, but the strike from Ingold slashes away a portion of that cloak at his shoulder to reveal the shining mail beneath and Faramir takes a backward step as he takes in the twain opposing him. little time to think and only time to react he keeps his shield close upon his left letting his blade be guided before him, with a feint to his left to put Ingold hopefully offguard a moment he suddenly wheels and lashes out, sending the blade to the newcomer on his right..

Faramir attacks Rananar with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Faramir's tactic works, putting the Commander off guard for a precious moment... Yet as the other's blade lashes out to attack the Rohir instead of himself, Ingold's mometntary confusion is without worth. As the Captain's shoulder is turned towards him, the Guardsman strikes out sharply with as much strength as he can gather from his weary self with a heavy thrust towards the Steward's son's side.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Your attack against Faramir mildly wounds him!

Moving, circling to try and draw Faramir to spread his attention from two extreme sides, Rananar tries to keep to his left side, trying to leave Ingold with his right. He looks across to the commander of the great wall, waiting -- and when that man makes his stroke, he pushes forward, again making a heavy stroke, forcing all his weight behind it to overtop Faramir's shield and fly helm or head or shoulder, whatever makes itself available.

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword, but Faramir parries the attack with his shield!

From The Royal Balcony, Charystra murmurs softly, "Are you well my Lord?" to Emmengrim, her face pale with concern which she rarely truly shows

From The Royal Balcony, "Ahh, clevery feinted of lord Faramir, that is another bruise for me to tend when this battle ends," Breath sharply sucked in between teeth clenched together, some concentration with concern -- though not truly worry -- tinged by that sound betrayed, and Ceridwen mutters these words quietly, shaking her head. "A fine swordsman, that tall son of Denethor, to fend so well against two opponents of no meager skill."

Rananar redoes his last pose>: Moving after the raising of his shield leads to Faramir's sword deflecting and striking another small nick along his weapon hand, circling to try and draw Faramir to spread his attention from two extreme sides, Rananar tries to keep to his left side, trying to leave Ingold with his right. He looks across to the commander of the great wall, waiting -- and when that man makes his stroke, he pushes forward, again making a heavy stroke, forcing all his weight behind it to overtop Faramir's shield and fly helm or head or shoulder, whatever makes itself available.

Faramir grunts as Ingold strikes beyong his Shield and strieks him once more, breaking link in chain, though to one advantage that left the shield for use against Rananar, lifting it well enough to block his blow. Now turning to face Ingold once more, for he deems that man more a threat, a quick dart of eyes to his right and then he charges a step forth, shield held well before him and blade slashing widely, hpeing to seperate these combatants..

From The Royal Balcony, "The younger son of Denethor is fell indeed, " says Imrahil at last breaking his silence addressing Ceridwen, "Yet many Men do not see it so, for Faramir is also learned in lore. It is said that he was instructed by Mithrandir the Wizard, who your folk call Gandalf. For the most part, many of the Men of the Minas Tirith follow his elder brother Boromir more, yet there is no rivalry between the twain." Imrahil picks up his chalice and sips from it.

Faramir attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

From The Royal Balcony, "Is there then a rule of sorts that say a man may only to one thing devote himself and in that excell? Ceridwen asks in return, green eyes turned from the battle below to upon the Prince linger for a time, thoughtfully studying him. "I would think not," she then goes on, a smile upon her lips, "but I do suppose I can to some degree understand the reasoning of those men who would follow lord Faramir's brother first. Yet, I would not call it a poor choice to be lead by a man such as this son of Denethor, his performance today having been -- and still is -- impressive to say the least."

The widely slashing blade of the son of Denethor catches Ingold still pulling back from his thrust, giving him a nasty blow to his already slightly bruised sword arm. "Must we be so violent, Lord?" he mumbles to himself, the pain showing brightly in his eyes though his face breaks out into a smile. Glancing quickly to the Rohir on the other side of Faramir, Ingold immediately attacks once more, inhaling heavily as he raises his blade to swing with the last of his strength - for the pain in his arm has sapped him more than he did show - remaining. His sword comes down heavily, straight for the Captain's own arm.

You attack Faramir with your Longsword...
Your attack against Faramir mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil replies to Ceridwen, "As well as your people know, in these hard days, hearts are turned more to the sword than to the harp and the loves of old slowly fade when the need for arms becomes of more need and thus the people love those who wield them even more." The Prince now looks upon Ceridwen, the grey eyes, those two orbs of steel grey cast within a deep pool of thought, "And did I say that Men would not follow Faramir, Lady? You mistake me. When the hour arises, the Men of Gondor shall follow this Son of the Steward, for within the house of his spirit the high blood of Numenor of Old lives again."

With Ingold's stroke finding its mark, again Rananar attacks Faramir, smiling as he does so -- the lordly Faramir's vaunts at least come to naught, though Ingold who has found the better mark has surely been wounded much the more than the northman lord. His stroke is a deft thrust this time, seeking to snake past the shield, to find some place fo weakness.

Rananar attacks Faramir with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

From The Royal Balcony, To these words Ceridwen nods, a somber note tempering her fire, if only for a little. "Saddening, but undeniable truths, Prince Imrahil. Yet, even with troubled times both past and ahead of us, one must never forget the things which truly matter -- and anyone who fights such battles too is of great worth." The sounds of battle once more her attention grasping for, the fire-haired lady of the Mark with emeraldine eyes gaze out over the field yet again, the last standing contestants sought.

A slash to his left and Faramir wheels to face Ingold, a cut from his right and the Captain grimaces and looks right. Upon his forehead the sweat flows regularly and while he holds their gaze he steps backward, raising his hands high allowing the blade in his right to swing down, the shield lifted high enough to expose his flank, with a broad grin and a deep sigh he offers, "I surrender Captain Rananar, I fight a losing battle and declare you and your team victorious"

Lowering his sword now, slowly, as if to do so any faster would only worsen his injury, Ingold's small smile spreads a little and he lowers his head slighlty. His left arm dangles quite akwardly from his side, yet he makes no move to let go his shield. With a light sigh of his own, he casts a nod and a smile to Rananar, though holds his silence, his granite eyes still filled with the brightness borne of pain won through battle.

Having stood just outside the circle created by the trio of fighters, Nials walkes forward, sword in hand and body covered in an afternoons worth of grim, sweat and blood, his smile is bright, "Truely brave Lord Faramir.," he says, then he bows before the man, "I believe that even Lord Boromir, thy brother could not have fought as well as you did this afternoon my lord."

"At last! Bravely fought, Lord Faramir! You do your father and your people proud. Hold it not against me that I saw us too well matched and sought to win the melee rather than hold to battle with your fell blade, as I did before," Rananar exclaims, setting his sword the ground and leaning upon it, catching his breath. Little wounded, the greatest of the wounds he has taken are but bruises he recieved in the earliest parts of the battle among the press of men where errant blows found their mark. To Ingold he looks then, and returns the smile. "And you, Ingold Commander! So are the stalwart men of your kind. I shall remember this day."

Romendil sits back upon the field, bow across his knees and watches as the last of the small fights end and the captains stop fighting and all is finally drawn to an end. Standing wearily he slings his bow over his shoulder, making sure Arnafel and the others about are in the care of healers he walks slowly away from the others a grin upon his face.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil replies sadly, "Such is the way of Men. To fight battles against a shadow that shall never leave the world. Yet such is fate, and perhaps it was meant to be that way." Imrahil sighs and he turns his glance to the distant sea and he slowly chants:

Ah! Gondor! Fair beneath the moonlit trees.
Swift rivers, southland, swords and steel,
Whither blows the west wind, that holy breeze.
Shining like a crown, kinged in the days of old,
When gold flowed, and marvels were told,
When white the tree was is bloom,
The wind is cold, and the footstep of doom,
Last days, dawn, yet perhaps there still blows,
The West wind, and a light, for new kings to sow.

Faramir turns a reddened face to Nials, hot and flustered and thinking how quickly he could remove his clothes if he wanted too, "Thankyou Nials...kind words but don't tell those to mine brother " he winks and looks to Rananar. "And you fell Rananar! your blade sung as did you and did you proud...and thee commander!" he says to Ingold "Only your handstrokes made me come to quarter, well done!"

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil falls silent for a long time and says, "Yet gladly I would trade all our pride and castles of stone if but again the heirs of Elendil would return."

Rananar disappears through the gateway in the southern wall of the inner bailey.

Sheathing his blunted blade, the Commander of the Rammas Echor appears about to fall from his feet. "'Twas my honor to fight at your side, Lord Rananar... Perhaps someday we may raise our blades together in battle against an enemy worth the killing." Chuckling lightly, he shakes his head at Faramir, "The desperate acts of a wounded man, Lord Faramir," he nearly mumbles. "A beautiful fight, though." His words grow softer as he speaks, and his shoulders slump more. Turning in silence from the field of battle, he staggers towards the sides.

From The Royal Balcony, Joyful pride brightens her expression once more, as the lengthy battle finally comes to an end and the win is declarted in favour of her husbands team, yet Imrahil's words still to some measure restrain her emotions, with sobriety tinging them. "What might still come to be, that is not for us to say. Yet hope should never be abandoned, or else all would be lost."

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil now stands and says, "I commend all of you who competed upon the field this day! For you laurels shall be given. Fare thee well."

Imrahil now looks to the Lady, "You speak fairly Lady of Rohan. Yet ere we depart, let me say this to you Ceridwen: that though all darkness may come, and all hope may depart. Look ever for a new dawn, for dawn ever is the hope of Men when all other hopes faileth."

From The Royal Balcony, "Your words are wise, Prince Imrahil, and I shall not forget them, but rather carry them with me for as long as I can, though hope that such a time will not come too soon when they will be of need to me." With that Ceridwen in respect bows her head again, a long day of many happenings so concluded.

From The Royal Balcony, Imrahil bows to the Lady, "Go then with good grace, I shall see you soon, for this tournament is reaching its conclusion."