The Arconian Open

[Swordsman]

Nækos glanced briefly at the bird that landed between Rayen and himself, and then back to Larya with Talla. For lack of a better reaction, he was about to sheathe - but then he heard something that caught his interest.

A good distance away, back across the noisy crowds and in the arena, he thought he faintly heard "swordsman". He swore in elvish, and turned and took off running. Senyik went after him, leaving Larya with Rayen and Talla.

[Darion McNair]

The number of people with noticeable wounds was increasing. It seemed that every other competitor had a mild cut or puncture of some sort. Darion continued his search for the competition committee. Stopping to watch one of the bouts he noticed the Swordsman walking off of a bout area after a fight. He made his way over to him.

“Were you able to watch any of my bouts?” He asked quietly, walking alongside him. The Swordsman glanced up at him and lifted an eyebrow.

“You have no wound so I assume you are still in.” He replied. Darion nodded. “How many bouts have you fought?”

“Two, Sir.” Darion said. The other kept walking, remaining silent for a few moments.

“Rule number one: always concentrate on the task at hand. We’ll discuss your. . .employment later.” With that, The Swordsman left.

Darion stopped and watched him walk off. He knew the Swordsman was right, but the fact that his future in Arconia was directly related to his performance in this tournament nagged him.

Turning his attention back to his search he caught a glimpse of a long table littered with documents. A man and woman were sitting there working hurriedly, writing tournament results.

“Excuse me sir.” he said as he approached the table. “I’m here to inquire as to my next bout. My name is Darion McNair. Could you tell me my next opponent?”

“What? Oh your next opponent. We’re very busy here. Come back later.” The man replied, sounding agitated. The woman next to him looked over at the man and then up at Darion and back to the man.

“Don’t be so rude Dimitri. This young man asked nicely, it won’t take that long to find out.” She scolded him. She gave Darion a kind smile and said. “It will only take a moment.” Darion nodded and smiled in return. He waited a few minutes and she looked up again. “Your next bout is slated to be against a Senyik Devlinn, on bout area number one. It is scheduled to take place in 15 minutes.”

Darion heard this and frowned. Senyik was a skilled swordsman and a major threat. What’s more, if the Swordsman saw that bout he might use it as a deciding factor concerning Darion’s acceptance.

He would not play any games, his last opponent’s head was too easy to climb into. Darion knew it would be much more difficult to lead Senyik, and make him fall into his traps. But with the right moves, who knows, it could be possible.



He wondered if Senyik or the Swordsman knew of this.

[Lady Ciarda]

"What a place!" she thought to herself, "so many change purses, and so little time."

Ciarda mingled innconcently through the crowd, batting her long lashes, flipping her long raven hair, and smiling at every finely-dressed man that looked her way, keeping them distracted long enough to make a small profit and lighten their pockets.

She was taking a break from her 'work', when a small tap on her shoulder came from someone. She sighed and turned, worried it's be a guard or someone who would be after her, which was generally not that unsual.

With a gleeful shriek and a large embrace, Ciarda grabbed her old friend, Cristina.

"Oh dear, how have you been? It has been forever, has it not? Almost 4 years. Are you well? You look quite splendid," Ciarda rambled on as she tried to avoid the real $reason$ she was there.

[Lord Tellurine]

Baron von Schmect and Baroness von Schmect were sitting in the royal box overlooking the competition without much interest. The royal box was empty except for them, because Queen Zelda was busy competing. Even though the number of competitors had dwindled considerably they were still unwilling to get caught up in the fervor of who might win. For one, the field of competitors was still too large, and two, they were going to make sure their grandson, Silas von Schmect, was ultimately the winner of the competition.

The only problem was they were asking Lord Tellurine for help.

“Of course I can make sure he’ll win,” Tellurine lied just as easily as he could draw breath, which was just about as often as he lied.

“Make sure that he does,” croaked the voice of the elderly Baron, “and we will reward you greatly.”

“My reward,” Tellurine said, while drawing in a breath, “will be seeing the von Schmects as rulers of Arconia.”

“You’re too kind,” grimaced the Baroness von Schmect, her beak-like nose turning up slightly. “Go now, and see that Silas wins.”

Tellurine bowed with an air of forced dignity and left.

The Baron turned towards his wife. “You were a bit short with him, don’t you think? The man, if that’s what he is, has been very helpful to us thus far.”

She made a slight snort and said, “I find the men of his ilk oily and if we become the ruling family in the land, the last thing we need is people thinking we’re in bed with the oily industry.”

“Good point,” agreed the Baron, and although he had no idea what his wife was blathering on about, he usually agreed with her anyway… it saved time.

[Lady Cristina]

"Ciarda! What a wonderful suprise. How are you? Where are you staying? How are my aunt and uncle? I'm looking for a job how about you?" Cristina was overjoyed that her cousin was here. She knew that even if she couldn't make with Ciarda here she would have a splendid time before she left. Ciarda knew to much of what she really did for it to be safe. She had to get inside the castle and soon.

[Rayen]

Rayen watched Naekos the Swordsman take off running in the opposite direction. Apparently, he was late for a bout.

Larya, still holding Talla, stared into the sky looking after the pheonix.

"Is it really made of fire?" she asked breathlessly.

Rayen chuckled. "No. It's the coloration of it that makes it look like it is. With the way the sun hits its feathers, it appears to be flaming. It's just a defence mechanism. Actually, I saw them all the time when I was younger. Did you know that they're native to Zarconia?"

Larya turned to her with a look of surprise on her face.

"You're from Zarconia?" she asked, handing the halfling girl back to Rayen.

"I am." Rayen answered simply.

"Tell me about it." Larya replied excitedly, following her companion as they headed back the way they had came.

"Let's head to my room at the Bitter End first. Talla needs to be fed."

[Serge the wise]

Serge saw Rayen and others walk away. Jeck landed on his shoulder and ran to the queen. "Your Majesty, Jeck, my good friend, hasn't found you trusted attorney."

"By the way, what is happening on this merry day?"

[Crin Dalmeiier]

Silence.

It was a word that had gotten her farther than any other word had, and it was a word she would quite possibly cling to until her dying day. As Crin Dalmeiier had no idea when her dying day would be, this led to more opportunities for the reminder that silence had saved her time and again. And as her dying day grew nearer, Crin learned more than anything to savor silence.

The capital city of Arconia was anything but silent during the most active part of the day. A tournament was in full swing, and Crin had chosen rather foolishly to arrive in the very middle of it. As Crin was not one to hang herself with regret for her choices, she merely slid her impartial mask into place and made the most of her situation. Idly, she browsed through the few merchants' stalls and listened to the sounds of the fights taking place nearby. The merchants, of course, had tried to get spots as near the tournament as possible.

"'Lo, there, miss!" a merchant chirped brightly as Crin passed. A woodsmith, obviously, dressed in a dirtied apron and commoner's wear. Intending to keep walking, she gave a curt nod, but the merchant was not finished yet. "Want a pretty name carved on that great stick o' yours?"

"Touch my glaive and I will use it to carve you." Although Crin looked as though a good wind could knock her flat, the merchant backed away at the viciousness in her voice. Wide eyes trailed along the glaive.

News obviously traveled fast in the capital city, for by the time Crin reached the end of the line of stalls, many merchants gave her a wide berth. This was the way Crin liked it, though. She fingered the wood of her glaive and waited.

What she was waiting for, many could not be sure. For, if there was one thing Crin valued, it was silence. And her answer to any question about her doings would be just that.

~

And so enter Crin...I hope she's not too, erm, heinous.

[Rayen]

*snickers* Crin...your entrance was perfect. You're an excellent writer and you'll fit in nicely.

[Serge the wise]

Originally posted by Crin Dalmeiier
"Touch my glaive and I will use it to carve you." Although Crin looked as though a good wind could knock her flat, the merchant backed away at the viciousness in her voice. Wide eyes trailed along the glaive.

Ouch, yes I agree with Rayen. What an excellent start!

[Darion McNair]

“Quickly, go report the bout, boy.” A tall, swarthy man growled to the teenager beside him. “The Swordsman over Molleta.” The boy nodded and hurried off, saying over to himself the results so as to not screw them up. Zigzaging around crowds of spectators, he leaped over the rope marking off the spectators area and hurried across the street. Slipping down an alleyway he entered an unmarked door.

There was a crowd of men all pouring over a large sheet of parchment on a wall with what looked like bout outcomes on it. The boy hurried past the crowd and up to the one that seemed to be in charge of the board. The man leaned down and the boy whispered in his ear. Without saying a word, the man turned and wrote “Swordsman over Molleta” on the parchment. Instantly a mixture of cheers and groans rose from the men. Many of them had tickets that they were throwing on the ground, others were taking out their money pouches and forking over large sums of gold and silver.

“Woohoo! You can’t beat The Swordsman, that man is my goldmine!” one of them shouted. The rest scowled at him, obviously rooting for the underdog.

The boy ran out of the room again, no doubt back to the tournament area. The man in charge of the parchment sheet raised his voice over the crowd of men still shouting praises and obscenities. “Next bout, McNair and Devlinn! Do I have takers?”

“I don’t know, they’re both pretty evenly match.” one of them offered.

“I’m in, Devlinn is tougher than nails. I’ll put up 10 gold.” another said.

“McNair’s technique is unbeatable, he can play anyone for a fool! I’m in for 15 gold and 5 silver.” yet another bellowed.

“Gentlemen please! This is not the Province Lottery, gatherings like this the queen hath expressly forbid, keep your voices down.” The men lowered their voices but continued placing their bets.

[Serge the wise]

“Gentlemen please! This is not the Province Lottery, gatherings like this the queen hath expressly forbid, keep your voices down.” Van heard in the crowd.

As if curiousity had stabbed him with enthusium, he ran to the betting box. "I place 20 gold on McNair! I don't know why but I'm still betting."

[Zelda]

Ok, I'm starting a new thread Arconian open III (can we PLEASE get Arcon home before the thread reaches 100?)