Gwaiandir sighs and stretches seemingly at ease.
Bullvye lays his spear down after stopping in the field. he looks at his opponents and starts stretching his arms and legs. He takes a seat on the field andstarts to pop his bones, stretching the feet out, by pulling ant the toes. To keep him Limber and easy to move without cramping.
Erindil, accompanied by his squire and myriad knights and maidens, marches with self-assured grace into the southern lists, stopping abruptly enough that his cape of ebon swirls about his tall frame in a lordly manner. With a gloved hand he strokes his chin, indifferent, unconcerned - his eyes deep and blue glint with a roguish twinkle as he glances over the pool - and with the other he idly runs his fingers over the pommel of his weapon.
Coming down from the North on the heels of the messenger who has announced the first pairings comes Rorgan, who wastes no time coming to the center of the lists and waving the contestants to him.
Bullvye sees Rorgan comes down and stands. Some of the Rohir follow behind him to root on Bullvye, wether he win or loose.
Bullvye nods and goes back to stretching. Keeping his spear close in case he shoudl need it.
Bending his confident gaze upon Gwaiandir, Erindil flashes his teeth in an indulgent smile. "Aye, so it would seem," - here a faint frown creases his features, and he turns to murmur some words to an attendant, then a flicker of recognition - "Sir Gwaiandir."
And then little heed more does he confer upon his opponent, for they are now called to combat. A princely bow to a comely maiden swooning by his side, and he joins the Lord of Nimothan at the center of the lists.
With a sibilant rasp, Erindil draws his longsword and thrusts its tip into the emerald turf, bowing with extravagance before Rorgan.
"This shall be a contest to three strikes. No armour shall be worn, and I shall inspect all weapons to be certain that they are properly blunted. Remember the law of the Tournament -- anyone who does not abide by the rules of fair play shall disqualify their entire team."
"Are there any questions?"
Gwaiandir chuckles softly and shakes his head, makes a princely bow to the swooning maiden behind Erindil's retreat, and follows it with a mischievious wink. Then he turns and strolls into the lists toward Rorgan.
Erindil shakes his golden locks, and drawing up his weapon, presents it hilt-first to Rorgan.
Gwaiandir arrives, grinning. "I beg pardon for the tardiness. I ws some detained. I do not believe I have any, no." He is carrying his rather shabby sword in his hand.
Nodding and inspecting the sword of Erindil, Rorgan says, "Pass. Next." And while the next contestant makes his way toward the Captain, he announces, "For this contest, I shall be the judge of what does and does not constitute a 'strike'. The rules of fair play that I especially expect to be abided are 1) No strikes to the head. Period. 2) No strikes at the knees or below. 3) No striking an opponent who is down upon one knee or worse."
Erindil twirls his sword upon its tip before him while he waits for his opponent's weapon to be looked over.
Gwaiandir lifts his sword up, lets go the hilt and catches it lower down on the blade in his gloved hand, holding it there fore Rorgan's inspection.
"Pass. Next," says the Captain of the Minas Tirith Guard with a nod toward Gwaiandir.
Gwaiandir makes a small bow to the Captain and then steps aside for the next.
As each new combatant is inspected, the constant low clamour of the crowd swells as onlookers voice loudly their favourites among the pool.
Bullvye stands grabbing his practice spear up. He walks tilll he is standing behind Rorgan. Tapping the Nimothan on the back he presents his spear to the Lord.
Gwaiandir strolls over to Erindil and, well, looks him over, assessingly.
Turning and taking the spear by the upper haft to hold the tip before his eyes, Rorgan nods, "Pass." Then raising his voice for the gathered crowd, he announces, "Let the first battle begin! Gwaiandir and Erindil shall now come forward and face each other in the center of the lists!"
Bullvye takes shi spear and heads back to the crowd, holding the spear up for the praise of his Rohirric kinsmen and others in the crowd who know the Rider.
With an ostentations twirl that draws an appreciative gasp from the ladies of the crowd, Erindil flips his weapon up into his right hand and salutes in turn Gwaiandir and Rorgan with swipes of his blade.
Gwaiandir walks simply but with grace to the center of the field. When he arrives, he steps out of the way of Erindil's flying blade and makes a bow of his own, only exaggerated enough to ERindil. Then he turns to Rorgan, grins, and wink.
Gwaiandir +whispers to Rorgan, "... ... ..., for the ... ... ...."
Raising an arm, Rorgan nods in return to each of the fighters and stands within near view of the fighting.
"BEGIN!" and the arm is dropped.
Raising his black-gloved hand and holding it before him, Erindil clears his throat with a delicate cough and blinks his eyes several times. "Abide a moment, my lord," he says to Rorgan, setting his sword to lean against his hip for a moment. "I shall be ready anon."
And then he takes both hands to the golden-glinting clasp at his neck , a shrugs off the rich ebon of his cloak.
Gwaiandir leaps lightly back and crouches
Erindil takes up his weapon again, and drops down into an easy, sparring stance.
Hrethawyr wanders in and pauses to watch the combat beginning, leaning on his spear as he watches.
"Shall we have at it then, old boy?" Erindil inquires with an ingratiating smile, bouncing with feline lightness upon his feet.
With serious movements belied by his rakish grin, the Lord of the Telpekhor now slowly circles his opponent, offering as yet no real attack.
Knees bent and sword to the ready, they young scout watches his opponent, moving smooth as water about him, making him change his guard. "As you will, milord Older Boy."
Gwaiandir winks.
Hrethawyr grins slightly as he hears the exchange, murmuring, "older boy.. heh"
Gwaiandir dances light on the balls of his feet, floating, butterfly-like.
Bullvye smiles watching his friend fight he looks and spies
Hrethawyr and raises his hand as he walks over to him. " Hrethawyr, my kinsmen how are oyu? I have not seen you at all while being here." the young rider smiles ans he offers his hand to him
Along with the new arrivals comes a messenger, who tries to deliver unto the Captain a note, but Rorgan takes not his eyes from the fighters, saying, "When the match is over, boy, then shall you deliver your message."
Hrethawyr smiles at Bullvye and takes the offered hand, "I haven't been doing too badly. . was in combat earlier. . but. ." he takes a deep breath and looks up at Bullvye, "it looks like I might have to fight a duel before this festival is over"
Bullvye chuckles and nods, leaning on his spear somewhat. " Tis good. would be an honor if we fought."
Hrethawyr hrms softly and nods, "it would be indeed . . have you done any combat here yet?"
If the accounts of Erindil's travels are true, he has suffered grievous injury in the past, yet his movements are unhindered as he feints with half-hearted jabs. And then suddenly his playful thrusts turn serious: he drops his blade horizontally across his body and leaps forward, twisting his wrist as he does and rotating his blade so that it finally sweeps in towards Gwaiandir's open side!
Bullvye shakes his head " Not today I haven't at since leaving Rohan. It will be a good fight I am assured you will have a challenge before you with a fresh me." he watches the fights then turns to Hrethawyr " Then again I have a challenged with a vetran of the day's fighting."
Gwaiandir quickly turns to block, closing both hands aroung the hilt of his longsword, then when it meets Erindil's sword, sweeping it up and stepping under and away, attemping to send Erindil's sword out if his hand with the centrifical force and weight of the movement. In any event, he dances aside and turns, grinning.
Hrethawyr smiles a bit lopsidedly as he peers up at Bullvye, "I believe your words. . thank goodness I have rested a bit since I was on the field" he studies the current pair fighting, and adds, "it's been an interesting day. . a learning experience. . first the poetry competition and now combat"
Hrethawyr says, "well the poetry was really yesterday"
Bullvye nods " I lked the poetry, the boy from Lamedon touched my heart, but nothing like a true poem of our country." he smiles and watches the attack of Gwaiandir and smiles " I do hope the restdid you good. for tody I have been resting as well, getting in a few practices when main combat was going on. I do hope to participate in the drinking contest later " he smiles and laughs a little
There is a great clang as the blades meet, but Erindil is too practiced, and his wrist too fresh, to be so early in the competition denuded of his weapon. He regains his stance quickly after the parry, and again holds his blade en guarde before his body.
Hrethawyr glances at Bullvye and grins, "drinking contest. . free ale is always a good thing.. especially when there's lots of it"
"Come lad, I have shown you my attack! What response have ye?" Erindil calls with mercurial good-will.
Bullvye riases an eyebrow at Erindil's comment and shouts out words of encouragement to his teamate. "
Gwaiandir chuckles and tosses out, "Not, milord, to turn my back in retreat before a friendly heart, as you Rohirrim seem so wont to do." He is grinning as he moves in, and moves around his opponent. Then suddenly, with a flash in the sun, the sword is making for....
Rorgan raises a hand on the side of Gwaiandir as the blow strikes Erindil. "Point! Gwaiandir!"
Gwaiandir leaps back, grinning, and crouches. "Old boy."
Erindil's chuckle is laudatory as a strike is landed upon his right thigh, for it seems perhaps his wrist was bothered by Gwaiandir's disarmament attempt after all - he was not able to swing his blade down in time to parry the blow.
Yet, quick as a summer cloudburst is his riposte, the blunted tip of his longsword thrust with rapier-like grace towards the armpit exposed by the scout's attack.
And now the arm upon the other side of the Captain is raised as he shouts, "Point! Erindil!"
A great uproar swells in the crowd as the knight earns his first point. Self-assured enough is he that he chances to fling a glance and a broad, blue-eyed wink over his shoulder to a bevy of maidens girt in waists of gay pinks and greens who wave silken scarves in reply.
Gwaiandir winces, driving the tip of the blunt sword out from his arm with the back of his upper arm and, when it is pushed aside making with his own sword tip for the chest, near the heart of the haughty lord in the moment of the cheer.
Even as his attentions are bestowed saucily upon the female crowd, Erindil's blade whistles in a gleaming arc to meet Gwaiandir's from above. There is a great metallic clash as the twain meet, crashing downwards towards the grass-carpeted ground.
Having now perchance the advantage of a torso undefended, the knight counters again with a light jab, for all the world lunging as a fencer despite his heavy blade. His bright eyes, so singular upon the gondorian cast of his features, sparkle with sapphirine brazeness as he utters breathlessly with his attack, "Have my heart on a skewer would you?"
Hrethawyr takes a quick breath, watching the current combat intently as if intending to learn something from it.
Gwaiandir takes flight out of the way and off to the side, tumbling in a roll, light as a leaf spinning from a tree, and tumbles again to his feet, some distance away, crouching again at the alert ready. He winks. "Aye, if you had one."
Bullvye takes a sharp breathe as well, really getting into the fight, somewhat shadowboxing.
The Rohirr and Scouts shout in a loud yell of support for Gwaiandir and his comment
Even as the contest moves, so does Rorgan, maintaining a good vantage point to watch the contestants from and call out the points scored, calling out for those passers by who have stayed to watch, "The match stands tied at one!"
"But then who would the fair lasses dream of at night?" Erindil cries in mock horror, his features drawn in a mask of aghast shock as he leaps forward again, flecheing as his takes after his quarry. His sword is low, and the point swings round and back in tight feints as he thrusts, circling Gwaiandir's blade.
The crowd cheers for the men fighting, giving them both a cheer for sticking in it
Gwaiandir grins. "Me."
Again now does Rorgan raise his hand on the side of Erindil, "Point! Earindil!" And the crowd roars its approval.
Bullvye smiles and looks at Hrethawyr " Watching them makes me a little anxious to get into battel."
Hrethawyr hrms softly and nods, "I expect that it will go all right. . if we are careful"
Ever shifting his position to maintain a close watch on the combatants, Rorgan's eyes are only for the men and their movements.
Bullvye goes back to the fight as well,his eyes watching the movements. mind loggin it
Hrethawyr leans closer to Bullvye and speaks softly, "he moves very well"
Gwaiandir takes a hit from ERindil's sword tip in his torso without a wince this time, having had the time to see it coming. He brings his own sword up and underhis opponent's and swings the weight of the longsword across and down, to push the sword away. Then in the finish of the same movement, he brings it up and under, at the same time, leaping back. "Swords, two. Wits two."
Bullvye nods not moving his eyes from battel but leans close " They both do. but I am assure the knight has more knowledge of this than the scout."
Hrethawyr hrms softly, "tall"
The blithe laugh springing forth from betwixt the knight's smiling lips is affable, though perhaps a trifle patronizing. Not from malicious intent, for the goodwill in his eyes denies that possibility, but merely confidence in his own abilities.
Erindil stands his ground for a breath as his opponent moves away, and then darts forward, cutting with the flat of his blade cleanly sabre-like at Gwaiandir's left torso.
And then does the Captain again raise his hand upon the side of Erindil, "Point! Erindil! Match! Erindil!"
The crowd cheers for the knight even the Rohirr for it was a great match to behold.
Hrethawyr tsks softly and leans toward Bullvye, "was well fought, despite the outcome"
With an easy, practiced motion, Erindil tosses his silvery blade into his left hand and sinks its tip into the ground at his feet, extending his hand graciously to his bested opponent.
Bullvye nods as he grabs his spear. " Was truly fought well." He calls out to gwaiaindir " Good Job Gwaiandir! You brought honor to you, your team, friends and family for the great fight you made today!"
Hrethawyr cheers for Gwaiandir all the same and leans toward Bullvye, "he's clever"
Raising his voice over the dying applause, Rorgan decrees, "An epic match fitting to begin our tournament. The next contestants may now come forward!" he says after accepting the paper from the messenger who has stood by waiting through the entirety of the match. "There has been a last-minute addition to the lists: Bullvye will not recieve a bye this round. He shall face Hrethawyr once I have inspected Hrethawyr's weapon! Come forward, Hrethawyr!"
Gwaiandir thinks for a moment before accepting the proffered hand, then grins and takes it pulling himself up.
"Come forward, Bullvye!"
Gorlim makes his way quietly from the Inner Courtyard to the lists. As unobtrusively as possible, he takes a place in the crowd to watch the proceedings.
Hrethawyr hrms softly as he hears this, glancing at Bullvye, then makes his way to Rorgan for the requested inspection.
the Rohirr erupt in a thunderous cheer as Bullvye steps forth, he raises his spear in Hand. Some scouts cheer for the Rohirr as well."
The The Rohirr do not only cheer for Bullvye, but for Hrethawyr as well. Bullvye comes forth and awaits to see what will be told of him
Gwaiandir chuckes at Rorgan's speech and raises one hand above his head winding up the cheer for Bull as he leaves the field.
Hrethawyr peers toward the cheering crowds, turning faintly pinker along the cheekbones and tops of his ears.
Eyeing the spear of Hrethawyr, Rorgan gives the man a nod, announcing, "The weapon of Hrethawyr passes inspection. Let the contest begin!"
"Hrethawyr, the rules of this contest, no doubt, have been relayed to you by your teammates. This will be a match to three points, and I am the final judge on what constitutes a point. No striking the head. No striking at the knees or below. And no striking an opponent who is down on one knee or worse. Failure to abide by the rules will result in the disqualification of your entire team. Do you understand these rules?"
Gorlim leans against the viewing stand nearest him, arms folded across his chest. He watches intently as Hrethawyr steps forward.
Erindil shakes the man's hand vigorously, and then claps him heartily upon the shoulder. "You showed yourself well, Gwaiandir, and perhaps in the future you will win more tangible renown!" For now a company of lasses - of a common sort, yet slim waisted and fair faced forming an attractive bouquet of flowery colour regardless - approaches, giggling shyly amongst themselves with grey eyes for the knight alone.
Hrethawyr listens intently to Rorgan's words and nods, "have been in combat before. . and do agree to the rules, sir"
Chuckling, Rorgan chides the contestants in their own language, "
''LAY ON!!''
Bullvye nods and turns to hold his arm out to Hrethawyr to shake " To your family and forefathers do I honor in this fight sir." he says before gettinging into an attack pose after if the shake happens.
Gwaiandir chuckles at the proffered compliment as they make thier way across the field together. "Perhaps someday some sign of wit will be yours as well. For now, I bit you and your feathered birds farewell. Enjoy. I go to mend my ribs."
Unheedful of the new round of combat which begins at his back, Erindil takes a leisurely pace alone across the turf before mingling into the throng. He pauses only long enough to flip his cape up with the tip of his sword and catch it in his hand, affixing it about his shoulders as he walks.
The younger of the Rider's nods and moves forward quickly with a short jab aimed for the lower ribs, just testing his oppenent , to get a feel. Bullvye smiles brightly as the grouds cheer and settel for the fight
Hrethawyr raises an eyebrow slightly at Rorgan's words, the grins a bit. He takes Bullvye's offered hand and shakes it firmly, smiling. "and honour to yours as well" he then moves back a bit and gets into a defensive pose - holding his spear nearly horizontal and with both hands
Gwaiandir nods and heads over to the water bearers for a drink of cold water and a douse of the face..
The murmur running through the crowd when Bullvye readies his weapon carries a hint of confusion. A spear? In a swordfight? What sort of combat do these horse-lords wage?
Hrethawyr moves his spear only enough to attempt to deflect the jab, trying to deflect it away from his body.
At the same time, he swings the shaft of the spear around, aiming a blow at his countryman's ribs.
Bullvye pulls back his spear and pivots himself just to miss the blow from his fellow rider's spear. he smiles and sends the non pointed end of his spear to poke his comrade in the back lightly, but enough for him to feel he was there if the move works.
And the Captain raises his hand on the side of Bullvye and cries, "Hit! Bullvye!"
the crowd erupts into a thunderous Roar. Bullvye doesn't acknowledge them but smiles and readies for his comrades attack
Hrethawyr oofs softly as he's caught with the blunt end of Bullvye's speak. He takes a ragged breath and grins slightly. Spinning to face his opponent again, he turns the blunted blade sideways and strikes the flat of it at Bullvye's shoulder.
Then does Rorgan again raise his hand, this time on the side of Hrethawyr, "Point! Hrethawyr!"
Hrethawyr nods politely to his opponent, then takes a quick breath.
Bullvye sees this comming and raises his staff to block the hit ccomming at him from his comrade's blade. *clack* is heard from the wood crunching together, but it easily slides down and thwaps him. Ullvye shakes his shoulder and rolls his head about. smiling and laughing as most Rohir do when they spar. He then ready to hit goes for a jab, but changes it midway to a swat at the man's thigh with the other end of the spear.
And yet again Rorgan raises his hand on the side of Bullvye, "Point! Bullvye! The score stands at two to one in Bullvye's favor!"
The crowd roars for the two combatants again and for the great show they have given
Hrethawyr turns pale and limps back slightly, he drops the hand to the thigh that's been hit. Gasping a quick breath, he regains his composure and advances again, this time limping slightly while trying to hide the limp at the same time. One more quick breath and he grins dropping the blade slightly to swing at Bullvye's ribs with the flat of it.
Bullvye sees this as well and finds himself in an awkward position. moving his blade he goes to knock it away. and if this move works he would send the butt of his spear as a jab to the cest. he notes the limp, but would not use it against his friend. He's not that ruthless, or at least now.
"Point! Bullvye!" Shouts the Captain, "And the Match goes to Bullvye!"
The Rohirr stand in a cheer for Bullvye as well as the other Gondorians. Bullvye holds his spear up then turns to Hrethawyr and bows "
Hrethawyr takes a step back and winces slightly, he smiles at Bullvye all the same, extending a hand to him. and answers "
Hrethawyr sets his spear upright and leans on it a bit.
the crowd cheers again as the two shake hands. now they wait for the next match
"And now we shall have the final match in this bracket, once good Bullvye has had an opportunity to rest, he shall face the winner of the earlier bout: Erindil!" the Captain raises his voice to be heard above the crowd.
Bullvye nods and takes a seat for a second. a small lad brings him water and he drinks water. after a few minutes he is fully rested and ready to go again
The crowd being at odds now, half Gondorian, half Rohirr. Itwill be a good match
Hrethawyr finds a place near Bullvye to sit and waits his turn for a drink.
The golden-haired knight untangles his long legs from where he reclines upon a gaily colored blanket upon the ground, rising and smoothing his pants with care. Cape billowing like a thundercloud shot with bolts of bright gold behind him, he rejoins the Captain upon the combat-field.
Bullvye comes walking up. His hair being the onyl thing flowing. He bows before the knight and hits his chest. Then gets in a somewhat reay pose, not pointing his spear mind you , but ready for Rorgan to start the bout
Fair as those of the horse-lords may his tresses be, but no Rohir is this! His features fine and stern, his limbs long and clean, his mien hearkens back to a nobler race - but for the moment his expression is amused, and he regards the spear of his opponent with intrest.
"Perhaps I ought to have paid closer attention to your bout," he muses unconvincingly. "But no matter!" and again the cloak flies off andthe finery below is revealed.
Raising both hands, the Captain roars, "Let the CHAMPIONSHIP begin!"
Erindil draws his sword and holds it easily before his body, shifting his weight slowly. A roguish grin cracks his features, and he wonders aloud, "Just how /does/ one attack with a wooden stick?"
Bullvye having seen this one fight before, he is ready for some of the tricks the knight will pull. He smiles and winks slightly letting his pale blue eyes watch the knight he goes as if to swat at the thigh but raises the butt up quickly to poke the chest. " Like this."
Erindil springs easily backwards and avoids the blow, deigning not to even lift his sword to parry the attack. Rather, hastens forward with a double lunge as he regains his forward momentum, the tip of his sword trained upon the center of his opponent's torso, between his arms.
An elegant attack it is not, but then: how might one craft an attack against so clumsy a weapon?
And the Captain raises his hand on the side of Erindil, announcing, "Point! Erindil!"
Hrethawyr winces slightly, then props the leg that was hit on another chair, watching the combat intently.
Erindil drops his chin with impudent regard for his opponent sparkling in his eyes.
Bullvye steps back after the arrogant knight hit him. he shrugs and while the knight seems to be ina relaxed move he goes for a short jabe at the ribs to wake him up. " Hmm, one should not boast till the fights are over." he say, as he sends the jab, a little harder than he normally would
"Boast?" is Erindil's startled cry in response, underscored by the musical report of metal biting into wood as from above he drops his blade into the spear. "But the fight is very nearly over, my intrepid friend!"
And he shakes his sword loose from the shaft, and without even taking a step at such close quarters, he flicks the tip of his blade towards the rohir's groin.
Bullvye easily knocks it down with hisspear point. First off it was a good natured fight till the gondorian had to go and do that. The Rider looks as if he has lost his temper on the outside, but the insde he is laughing . Quickly and with some force he goes to hit the sword arm with his bblunt in with a slashg movement
And Rorgan now raises his arm in the favour of Bullvye. "Point! Bullvye!" he announces, "Two to one in favor of Erinldil!"
Hrethawyr cheers and shouts encouragement to Bullvye from his chair on the sidelines.
the Rohir crowd cheers for thier hero of now. a loud defyning one
A scowl clouds the knight's features as his right wrist - already rudely twisted in the first bout - is struck; he is forced to take several steps backwards to gain a moment's respite for the joint, which he rotates experimentally.
Just as quickly though, his mirthful voice rings out, "A clever attack, old chap, but I fear you've chosen the wrong weapon to-day" and he again lunges forward, at his opponent's shoulder. A bold move, without guile, banking only upon the supposition that the spear must be too unwieldy to swing back in time to parry.
The knight thought wrong on this move, the spear might be long it is not unwieldy, that is for the Rohir who use this as a primary weapon. comming quickly up as he spins the spear Bullvye deflects the hit with a *CRACK* of wood and dull blade. quickly jabbing forward after the parry in one foul move he goes for the chest. of the knight. " Old I am as old as you my ally."
Raising his hand, Rorgan decrees, "Point! Bullvye!"
Thecrowd cheers again this time the whole crowd. This has become a heated match in which both combatants will not be forgotten. What will happen now?
Hrethawyr bounces off his chair to cheer, landing on the wrong leg heavily, He winces and sits back down rather quickly.
The blade of Bullvye's spear whistles through the air, landing a glancing blow upon the knight's chest, tearing a great rent in his clothing and leaving a welt swelling with blood, despite its dulled edge. His eyes now ice over coldly, narrowing.
No more playful sparring, he thrusts with a mighty lunge - but he seems oddly baffled; where is an attack best placed against so long a weapon?
The rider barely sidesteps the lunge, , but it brings him closer to theknight. still pivoting he sends a swing with the flat of the blade to his the back of the knight, and if he should miss the pivot will have him in a position to still fight off an attack. Bullvye's face seems like that of determination as he swings
And what happens next comes as a shock to even the participants themselves, for though Erindil feels not the touch of this blow, the Captain is on the other side of the fighters entirely, and raises his hand in favour of the Rohirrim, "Point! Bullvye! Match! Bullvye!"
Hrethawyr gets to his feet more carefully this time, then cheers wildly, "well done!!"
The crowd is on thier Feet The Rhirr cheering in thier own language, The Gondors giving shouts of Well done and Good fight. Bullvye kneels and looks up smiling at the kNight. He stands and goes to the knight's side. He goes as if to shake , but instyead raises his oppenents hand in the air with his. spear raised high
Glowering, Erindil allows his hand to be raised, muttering a quick, "Well done," to his opponent. It is, however, upon Rorgan that his ire is trained. Surprise is writ clear there, and even more, outrage.
With a metallic slither he slips his sword back into its sheath and stalks to the judge, an indignant shout rising his his bloodied breast. "That was no touch!" he cries.
The captain slips away during the cheering of the crowd.
