<html> <body> --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars II: Denuncio (c) Monday, June 21, 724 CR By the time Sigismund's bout arrived Bryn was three tankards into a cask that he had purchased for their group. Charlie had doffed one and was barely into his second while Sigismund had yet to finish his first. Argamont, however, was keeping up with the young Duke drink for drink and even Maysin had enjoyed nearly as much. Being smaller than the stallions she was beginning to show the effects of the stout brew before any of them, though Charlie hid the fact that a single tankard had probably made him almost as tipsy as his monochromatic striped mount. Their four guards each enjoyed a pint but refused anything further. Sigismund was allowed to choose his manner of weapon from the tournament arms master and chose a truncheon and shield. Every weapon allowed onto the tournament field had to be enchanted so that they would only bruise each opponent, though the blows inflicted would feel just as painful as they would have been without the protective spells. Everyone simple called the weapons 'bruisers' for that very reason though, if incautiously used, they could still kill accidentally. Which was why large opponents were barred from being matched up against much lighter foes, which did cause issues now and then as the fields were whittled down and there were fewer choices on how opponents would be matched. Early in the bouts, however, things were much easier. Sigismund found himself matched against a jowly old hound dog and the two danced for a solid five minutes until the bell sounded an end to the match. Since Sigismund blocked more blows while landing more against his opponent he would advance to the next heat in a couple of hours. Meanwhile his first magical duel was a mere thirty minutes later. That was no five minute affair of trading blows, however. When the bell was struck Sigismund gave a hissing roar and charged his opponent, a stocky young human, while simultaneously bursting into spitting flame. The startled youth gave a shout of terror and fled the field. Sigismund's mother Miriam, who had come to watch her son's bouts, hugged him tight in congratulations even though the young alligator still bore the illusion of bright flame all over his body. From the High Box, the Steward Thalberg bellowed his hearty approval, a sound that caused many other combatants still deep in their bouts to turn in sudden alarm before resuming their matches. Thus it was for the day until it was time for the two nobles to prepare for their bouts. Both made sure that they had something to eat a few hours prior to take the edge off the stout drink, but not so much as to make them sluggish in battle. Unlike the earlier heats they would be going up against trained knights and skilled aristocrats so they would have to caparison themselves accordingly. The first bout was a tilt of three passes, or until one of the opponents was unseated by lance. Bryn overwhelmed his larger opponent, unseating him on the second pass, while Charlie managed to unseat his on the first pass. Both of them had a glaringly distinct advantage – their mounts were as smart as they and trained as both mount and rider in such pas d'armes. Charlie's opponent, in particular, demanded his disqualification when Maysin appeared after their tilt walking on two legs and once more garbed in her kirtle. As such was not against any rule the judges dismissed the challenge. Charlie was certain that it was only a matter of time before such complaints pricked the Duke's sense of justice and such a rule was made, but until then he, Bryn, and their mounts would enjoy their edge. Behind the stands in an area cordoned off for a couple score of pavilions the combatants were gathered to prepare themselves before each bout, or disencumber themselves afterward. While Charlie was seated in the Duke's pavilion just below and behind the High Box he happened to spy a large gathering of rats at another pavilion in the distance. The Sutt house colors stood out glaringly against the more somber colors worn by those of the Matthias household and Charlie could not help but find himself staring. There he was, attended by the human and gazelle who had been placed in his service, with his adoptive sister prattling along in the background with his adoptive mother and no one else, while his brother by blood, Erick, and sire were surrounded by no less than a score of fellow rats in a boisterous mob. He felt the muscles of his jaw twitch and only then realized just how tight-clamped his teeth were. A swift rush of heat flushed upward from his breast and left his ears searing as he stood and stalked out of the pavilion. When Hogue caught up and extended his helmet Charlie pushed it aside. He strode out from behind the High Box and onto the tourney field, where the other challengers in the dismounted list were gather, with his tail thrashing behind him. Bryn noted the agitated sweep of his tail, and lack of helm, with an upraised brow and long ears but said nothing while the rules were read off by a tournament crier. Each pair of opponents were given space ten paces on a side within which to face each other, some two score groups occupying the entire field. Charlie was positioned near one end of the list's center rail with Bryn a short distance away. Near the outer rail Charlie saw Erick paired up against a human and, further away, his sire Charles facing off with a raccoon. Charlie, himself, stood facing a tall, gangly rabbit wearing the boar's head livery of a southwestern barony known for swine and corn. Not wanting to expose his hand too early in the tournament Charlie had chosen a single blade and buckler. The hare, other than being able to jump twice his own height from a standing position, could do little when Charlie stepped in and unceremoniously skewered him on the way back down. The young rat's sword did not actually run the poor rabbit through but made a bruising point about the lad's opening gambit – without wings there was no maneuvering in mid-air when a sword was poised below. While the rabbit rubbed his bruised belly and sighed at his own folly Charlie glanced around the field and stands. Bryn was in a furious duel with a Lorland knight that looked to be evenly pitched while Erick and Charles seemed more than a match for their respective foes. Each of them had a knot of onlookers at the rails watching them, mostly rats, cheering them on. Charlie felt a tightening pressure clutch at his breast at the gleeful throngs of Matthias colors cheering them on while his fingers south to throttle the hilt of his sword. Family; by the score. Each combatant had their followers and family, but it seemed that his kith and kin had an entire legion of cheering onlookers. The rabbit, too, looked around, his gaze settling on a trio of other rabbits not far away. All were dressed nicely if not with a great deal of overly expensive materials. The mother looked toward the rabbit with a timorous smile and twitching nose while the broad-shouldered buck beside her had a smoldering look in his eye and long ears lowered in disapproval. Beside them a young girl with a snow-white pelt seemed unaware that her brother had been the very first 'death' on the entire field. From the High Box Malger offered a congratulatory salute and Misanthe beamed. Suria was nowhere to be seen, until Charlie cast his eyes lower and spied her at the far end of the list. She was standing, arms crossed, with a fencing sword dangling from her fingers talking to an age-regressed human leaning on the haft of the mace grounded before him. Who had won their match did not seem readily apparent. The last heat of the day found Charlie once again matched up against an opponent who was more flashy than skilled. In a strange homage to his adoptive father the youth before Charlie was clad in a garish burgundy ensemble that accented the polished burgundy-enameled tooled leather armor he was wearing. Being human his opponent could not leap, so he simply waded into Charlie with an early shield bash, taking ground which Charlie surrendered with a rapid retreating turn. As the boy, who had at one time clearly been a girl, staggered past blindly behind the cover of his shield Charlie planted a boot in his posterior and sent him sprawling in the dirt. Not far away Charlie heard Bryn's bellowing bray of laughter while the boy pulled himself together and stood. Beyond his shoulder Charlie saw Erick paired up against his father – their father – Charles. The two were clearly sporting out their bout in play rather than any earnest effort to see which of them was the better at. Beyond the tourney list railing Charlie was almost aghast at the sheer number of rats observing that particular duel. Many of them were Matthias, but there were others there simply because they were rats or other similar rodents. Sir Saulius stood beside the baroness Kimberly and coached both fighters with his mighty – for a rat – voice. None of them raised their eyes from the immediate spectacle to look toward the knight's sibling, as if he did not even exist beyond the Matthias horde. Turning his back upon his sire and brother by birth Charlie focused his attention upon his opponent. The two traded a flurry of blows for a few moments before Charlie hammered one of the boy's knees with the flat of his blade. His opponent buckled to one knee with a cry of pain only have the elbow of his sword arm similarly stung. Charlie followed through with a disarming strike, catching the masterless weapon from the air and tapping the boy under the chin, gently enough not to discharge the magic placed upon it. With a sigh his opponent yielded and sat down in the dirt to nurse his bruises. Charlie looked on with his back to the crowd watching his sire and brother though the roar punctuating their battle was impossible to ignore. In the end he did not observe who the victor was; he did not wish to know and when Bryn tried to mention it he leveled such a withering glare upon the young Duke that he was rendered silent. The festival merriment lasted far into the night and, after withdrawing from the field, Charlie threw himself into it with a vengeance. He tried his paws at two dancing contests, though failed to place in either, but he did take the prize for his impromptu ballad about the trials of a fennec fox attempting to woo a Clydesdale mare. By then he was well into his cups, trying to match Bryn jest for jest, and contest for contest, from dancing to poetry to music. He was saved having to fend off the amorous approaches of the many females hawking for a rather drunk rich boy by a black and white striped chaperone on his arm whose name he could not remember by the time the waning half-moon appeared above the mountains. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>