Knight of Wessex (A Written World Quest)

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The day of the contest dawned, and the worthies gathered from far and wide looked on as the opening act of the Winchester Invitational Tournament began. The King–in his wisdom–had secured the aid of the finest artisans in the isles and abroad to see that not a moment would be missed–basins of water transferring images captured by the keen eyes of tamed birds ensuring that a clear view of the action could be viewed by all. Criers stood among each of the viewing pavilions, introducing the impressive devices and how they would allow the designated battlefield in Winchestershire to be viewed from the safety and comfort of the city.

Maps filled with colored dots hung over the pavilions, allowing even those who lacked the wealth or connections to gain a close view of the viewing basins to claim a rudimentary understanding of the byplay–each dot colored according to the allegiance and training of their matched youth–for this was indeed the Youth division. Not the true flower of Wessex' martial expertise, but the promise of what it could become in the future. A chance for the young pups to prove themselves to be of a superior pedigree, to earn the attention and patronage of the mighty, and see who the most promising prospects stand as.

The King himself had not yet made an appearance–by this point, it was clear that Alfred the Great was not long for this world, and his dim flame of life needed to be carefully husbanded–and yet, the institutions and legacies he had built were no small thing–none native to the great bastion of Christendom in the North Sea would dare flaunt his will–though this did not stop the vultures from abroad from probing for opportunities and weaknesses, so as to better suit their own ambitions.

Many promising youths had already been singled out by now. Perhaps it would be Winfrid Tolstan to seize the crown? Scion of the ancient Tolstan house, born and raised in the hills and fields. Strong of arm, and master of the bow, said to be capable of firing a dozen shots in the blink of an eye. Perhaps the victor would be Margh Grouse of Kelliwick, said to build his cultivation in the image of the legendary Sir Gawain–the Knight of the Sun. Indeed, this battle would take place under that light, and it was said that such a legacy was invincible in the light. There would be little shame to lose to such an expert after all, and was Cornwall not joined in cause with Wessex?

Less pleasant prospects were to be overcome by one of the handful of Norse adventurers who were in the region. While most were of middling concern–youths accompanying their fathers who wanted a chance to earn some acclaim–a pair of genuine monsters stood among them–a heathen brother and sister with hair of flame and eyes of Steel, shining like the Full Moon. While there had been assurances that there was little to fear of them causing any great concerns… Who could trust the integrity of those so short lived and with nothing to fear from blade and brand and everything to gain from victory?

And of course, then you had the damned French!

Few had much good to say about the Continent's adventurers. Flush with wealth inherited from the Great Emperor's deeds, safe from the heathen tides, they could set their eyes towards intrigue instead. Few indeed had won a measure of esteem from the worthies of Wessex–as the majority would only deign to show themselves if they wanted something. No small number of small crises were brought on by their forked tongues, and schemes to secure just a little more land in a spot where the competition was not so fierce, at the expense of those who lived and worked in this place.

Least of all was their own golden child, the Squire Estienne Bonhomme, fifth son of a Duke–who even so far down in the line of succession still warranted treasure and patronage enough to secure a full panoply of Knightly Accoutrements. Flush with Zeal, with a foundation the envy of those who were descended from less rarified heights, the only thing the audience could agree on was that this little brat could not be permitted to claim victory.

Then there were the other little curiosities here and there. The Eotenslaga–giantslayers of the West–had two scions attending this Tournament–a rare occasion given the beating they had taken in the past generation–one wielding the traditional blade of the clan–disdaining the shield as a thing that only let you die slower against their ancestral foe, and wielding Hama as tool and trap alike to seize command of the battlespace.

The other–strangest of all–was a young woman of all things! Taken in by one of those handful of respected Continentals who had made a home here and didn't start causing trouble. A Squire of Wessex, apparently already blooded in battle against the Danish threat! Though she lacked experience, merely reaching this stage was notable in itself. Though few expected much of her even so–not against how stiff this competition looked to be.

Time would tell the wisdom of such an approach.

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Audrey's first target was clear–simply put, she wanted a proper warm-up before things got out of hand. She knew few of the competitors at this point, but she wanted something nice, straightforward, and yet reasonably challenging to see where she stood among her generation's worthies.

So it was that she bid Crowley take flight, the Greater Storm Crow's keen eyes peeled as she followed his guidance.

It was a stroke of luck that he wasn't glued to his brother's side already–the Tournament didn't open the melee with obvious allies being nearby, but they had likely already coordinated where they would link up, and her swift actions ensured that she reached him early enough to get a fair matchup, one on one! As all proper contests should be!

And yet…

"Jory Grouse!" Audrey spoke up, eliciting a surprised jolt from the Cornish lad, a grin on her face with her visor up. "There you are! We missed the chance to get better acquainted the other day, didn't we?"

Jory frowned at that, hand falling to the hilt of his sheathed sword. "Already? Sir Eotenslaga?" He complained. "I was hoping to get a few easy targets first, did I do something to give offense?"

"Of course not!" Audrey chimed in, taking in his armaments. He was clad in fine mail armor, a good surcoat, and had a great-helm hanging from his belt. A kite shield at his back too, which was… Eh, but she supposed it was fine if you were fighting men and not monsters, she certainly had enough of a nuisance from those who used them against her. "You were perfectly polite, but I do have an appointment with your brother later, and given the stakes…" She tilted her head slightly, baring her teeth just a little bit. "Well, you can understand that I'd rather not take chances."

Jory thinks on the matter, and nods. "Perfectly fair, good sir, he is rather intimidating, is he not?." He pulls his helm from where it hangs and straps it in place, Audrey lowering her own visor at his clear acceptance of the challenge. "Well then, I suppose this is as fine a start to the contest as any! Show me what the Knights of today can do against the Heroes of old!"

"Gladly!" Audrey retorts, as her Hama unfurls.

Iron flashed, and blades were drawn–and the first battles of the Youth Melee began!

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You are facing Jory Grouse, a Brythonic Cultivator associated with the ancient hero Gareth of the Round Table. While your knowledge of their Cultivation isn't great, you have heard the stories as much as anyone else. Gareth is primarily known for his redoubtable stamina and excellent combat skills.

Which would be a problem if you were anyone but Audrey Eotenslaga, a Squire of Wessex. You are not going to lose in an endurance match against him, though you'll likely be here all day if you decide to turn it into a battle of attrition.

The important thing is that he might not know this, and may be overly conservative in his posture, expecting to be able to drag you down over time. This does likely mean he'll have a stout defense, but is unlikely to devote much attention to striking back as long as he thinks he'll have an edge in stamina.

Of course, he might have done his homework too, but there's a difference between knowing a rumor and knowing the reality that a standard trait of your own style matches his crowning glory.

He is armed with Good quality mail and a shield, but his sword appears to be Fine in quality. He seems to have relatively few clever tricks, just excellent fundamentals and stamina that, if not quite matching Audrey's, is more than enough that the melee will end before he tires. He does not seem to plan on grappling.

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What does Audrey do?

[ ] Sample Combat Plan
-[ ] Stance: Pick 8 Prayers or Feats to use in this combat (from the Stance Options list below).
-[ ] Expenditures: As an optional entry, you may state how much Zeal you are willing to expend in this combat and on what.
-[ ] Tactics: Describe what you are going to do.