A Journey in Disguise - Chester

[Aasha]

8 April 1457 Chester, England

Her ankle was still sore from her mishap in Shrewsbury, but the bindings Tiffanyanne had used helped more than she could have hoped. It had been difficult to leave the kindness she had been shown, but she needed to keep moving, she couldn't afford to stay that close to Ludlow. Finally trudging into Chester, she looks around and grins. Nothing made her happier than a crowd, especially if that same crowd seemed to be far into their cups. Pulling the hood lower over her face, she moved confidently through the spectators, the limp almost non existent as she takes stock in her surroundings.

Satisfied the crowd was pumped with enough liquor and excitement to be oblivious to her, and knowing anyone who did look would only see a rumpled, dirty lad in a cloak, she moved closer to the lady who seemed to be announcing contestants. The crowd around her was thick, just the cover she needed, and she could tell from the weight of her skirt pocket that losing a coin or two, if she were careful, wouldn't hurt the lady.

The crowd cooperated splendidly, pushing her into the woman so she bumped her lightly. That meant another bump would go unnoticed as well. Her luck was improving in this town.

[Aasha]

Taking a deep breath, he stood up. The line on his chest from the blade was barely visible now, the blood having dried and flaked off...

He had gone there to be surrounded by Nature, to be in his element... His head was still aswirl with how he should've handled the fight. He still couldn't believe that he'd let his guard down to KISS her... not that she wasn't worthy of kissing, but...

He'd felt utter despair at the sight of the blood on his chest, the sign that he'd lost the fight. He'd so wanted to be the one to kiss Beeston's mayoress... He still had the joust to come, but that would mean horses... and somehow he could not see that going very well in his favor...

He'd give it his best though. He had to. There was a great deal of personal honor at stake for him here now. How had he become so taken with her? Would she even see something in him worthy?

All he could do now was hope for a great deal of luck with the horse and joust. Och, he had to find a horse... What was he thinking, signing up for a joust with no horse!?!?! He wasn't from the county. Who did he know that would just lend him a horse??? Starting to sink into that despair again, he figured he might as well let Mac know he wouldn't be competing in the joust after all...

He made his way slowly to the arena near where she would be waiting after taking care of her other duties... His hazel eyes showing a tinge of blue in them as he prepared to let her know the bad news...

His eyes never left Mackenzie as she announced the next round of duelling. He stood near her once more, the weft and weave of the crowd around them passing like fabric around a needle. Nothing could disturb the hole they created for themselves until there was a slight swell in the movements. Somebody knocked into the Mayor, seemingly casual, but then Grave knew the signs of a sneak thief. For certain, the Rookie Master of the Wolves Of Sherwood, and Officer in those ranks also, had trained enough of them himself. His sharp blue eyes watched the boy as he moved away.

He wondered whether the lad was using a casual technique, or whether he was going to try something different. He so hoped it was something unusual. Either way the sneak would be foiled. Grave was not about to allow Mac to be robbed. He thought quickly of who this could be. Not one of the Wolves for certain - they knew that crime in Chester county was strictly banned under the Agreement. If the thief was one of his, foolish enough to attack on a day such as this, the lad would soon find himself in rather more trouble than he bargained for. Normally Grave would just have challenged right there, but instead he resolved to see if the lad came anywhere near Mac again. If so he would be flat on his back before he even knew what was happening.

Gently, under the fabric of his loose sleeve, he shifted the wickedly sharp dagger he carried for emergencies. His hand formed into a sign to his fellow Wolves, alerting them to the thief's presence...

He came back to the crowded arena. There she was, with the Frenchman... He sighed. The one person he really didn't wish to hear him back out of the remainder of the tournament. Oh well, it couldn't be helped. He had no horse, so he couldn't be expected to joust... He just wished he'd realized it earlier.

Well, he'd make sure of one thing...

He walked up behind them and stepped immediately between Mac and Grave. With a rueful smile, he looked at her and said,

Beg pardon, m'Lady.. I be feelin' th' fool. Seems I fergot all 'bout needin' a horse fer th' joust... I'll nae be able t' compete. I be truly sorry, but nae bein' from th' county, I d'nae be knowin' th' horse farmers. An' I be a mite skeptic t' bein' able t' buy me own anyways...

Tis been a gran' time, but p'haps... it be bes' fer me t' be headin' back hame t' Worcestershire... I be hopin' t' come visit soon, but we weel be seein'...

The crowd's jostling pushed him forward and backward, as people try to get a better look at the combatants... He bumped into Grave and the Mayoress. Steeling hisself, he growled under his breath, just audible enough to cause some of those shoving in the crowd to back away a bit. He muttered an apology to Grave, over his shoulder, before returning to the mayoress.

He lowered his eyes, so that she couldn't see just how disappointed he was about having to bow out this early. He murmured his apology to her, and then started to walk away...

Just then a newcomer to the tournament, upon hearing the Scotsman bemoan his lack of a mount, piped up her voice, hoping he would hear her.

"Good sir," Metanoia opened. "I have a trusty mount here, and as I am not participating in the joust or any of the other aspects of the tournament here, you are free to borrow my mare for the joust, should you desire to participate, as long as you return her to me safe and sound."

With that Metanoia pursed her lips and then gracefully dismounted, and took the reins in her hand to hand to Mcmannanan.

She felt eyes on her, eyes that seemed to be assessing her as thoroughly as she had the crowd. - What the heck? Did they find me? How did they catch up so quickly? No, calm down girl, they didn't, has to be someone else, but why study me? – Green eyes peered around, finally resting on the dandy standing beside the lady. - It was him? what the, how? why? – Instincts screaming to back off and find someone else were quickly quelled when she saw another man approach.

Glad of the obscurity of the hood, her eyes widened when she took this one's appearance in. Muscular arms and legs and a wide chest were the first she saw, then she honed in on the waist. - Good Jah, was that a? Damn, it was. That man is wearing a skirt!?! What kind of man wore skirts? – Forcing her eyes off the man approaching, she looked back at the lady, a wicked gleam coming to her eyes as an idea sprang into her mind. No longer worried about the man by the lady's side, she held her ground and waited for her opening.

After sitting in the new place he continued to watch all fights going on. He kept watching and studying the contestants.

After the last couple finished their sword fight in round 1, it was no need for him to stay here any longer, he did saw all contestants and maybe one of them will win. But that was not important for him anymore.

It was almost time, so he moved back deeper in the shadows of forest....it was abaut time and he will make his appearence soon.

Mac felt his presence, like a magnet drawing on her skin, pulling the hairs and her inner core alike toward him, before she saw the movement from the corner of her eye. Turning she smiled, a cool breeze kicking up and tingling along her arms as he knelt before her.

"I am afraid I have damaged it however, and feel bound to return it to you."

He held the lovely blue sash out to her like a token on upraised hands and she reached out to grasp it. The cloth was still damp but soft in her hand as she bid him to rise. "Please, ye have nay cause to kneel and tis only but a piece of fabric. If'n it cannae be cleaned it can be replaced." Taking his hand she gently pressed the silky cloth into his palm, wrapping his fingers around it with a squeeze. "Keep the sash. If'n it brought ye luck last round, I pray it brings ye luck in the next. The blood merely adds strength and character to the cloth and I know ye will do it honor."

******

The crowd seemed to suddenly press into them and in a brief moment Mac found herself wedged between McMan and Sir Julien. Ahhh but a lass couldna think of a better place to be... Shaking her head, she pushed such thoughts away. She'd been having a very vigorous mental battle all day, with emotions, feelings and worries bubbling up and down. Maybe she'd take a moment to find a tree and have a moment to herself to think...

needin' a horse for th'joust... nae be able t' compete...headin' home....

"Och nay!" She reached out grabbing his arm as a lass she'd never met before stepped forward and offered him her own horse to use. She glanced back and forth between them momentarily before licking her lips and speaking.

"I also have Crusher here in the pasture, " she nodded beyond the arena into the tall green grass where the large black beast eagerly chomped. "He's yours to use McMan, and while spirited and headstrong, obeys leg commands very well, which should benefit you in the joust. He also has a smooth gait... " She grinned, glancing around at their small group.

Aasha bided her time, waiting until just the right moment before making any move. There was a very odd feel to the interaction between the lady and the two men. - Jah preserve us, this lady has not one, but two full grown men falling at her feet. Wonder which she prefers? Odd choices though, a skirted man or a dandy. – Her thoughts amusing her, she hid the smirk as she inched a bit closer. As the talk turned to horses, she had to control her laugh again, immediately trying to imagine the skirted fellow trying to hide his unmentionables when sitting astride. - Shake it off girl, you're here to work, not to get distracted with their silliness. –
Twitching her arm slightly, the small knife hidden in her sleeve slid down, hidden by the length of the shirt, the cloak, and her hand. Ready for action, she waited for a swell in the crowd again. As the crowd pressed close, she flicked at the waistband of the woman's skirt with one hand, the other easily lifting 2 coins from the pocket with the other. Mischief gleaming in her eyes, fully hidden within the confines of the hood, Aasha is pleased with the timing as the lady's skirt starts to fall.

As she moves away, she hits the rump of the horse, startling it while she passes. Not looking back, she begins to weave and duck through the crowd, moving as far and fast as she can before anyone has a chance to react to her diversions.

Bodies pressed against her as Mac felt herself be jostled again. Was the crowd really this thick? There was plenty of room in the open field so why should the gathering be so tight in this area? She was turning to whistle to Crusher when her brain registered that something just wasn't quite right. Twisting quickly Mac was rewarded with a rush of cold air around her knees and upper thighs and quickly glanced down to see the sky blue skirt shimmy down her long legs and pool at her ankles.

"Oh.... Oh my!" She muttered, staring in disbelief at the cloth for a long moment. Her drawstring had been tight, her skirt never once loosening and thank the good Mother for her brais! While she's chopped them off and mended to have them fall about midthigh, at least they provided some protection.

Grave gave the signal to the amassed Wolves - a lupine head, laying low, eyes closed. He moved quickly to the side of the Mayor, his hand reaching down and grabbing the skirt as it hit the ground. He noted the fine cut of her calves and knew that she had spent a lot of time in the saddle. Her muscles were strong and skin fine. A wry grin lightened his face as he wondered what it would be like to...

Putting his arm around her to steady her balance he pulled the fine material upwards and over her legs, securing it with a twist at her waist. She felt warm against him, young and lythe. He allowed himself to hold her for too long, his purpose forgotten in a moment that was already awkward.

The confusion of the moment and the feel of her body next to him was intoxicating, but he kept his head. Her perfume was lavender, as it had been upon the scarf. His eyes half closed and he growled low in his throat, cutting it with his words. "Lady Mayor... are you well?"

His hand went to his waist and he pulled a few coins from the pocket of his tunic. Deftly he dropped them into Mac's own pocket, one of the circles of metal dropping to the ground.

His eyes flickered briefly from hers, noting the young thief slipping away through the crowd. No harm done, He thought, The sneak looked poor and in need of the coin. Mac had money back and would not notice the difference between his own and hers. And he was but short a few coins that he would gladly have given the lad anyway.

He toyed with the idea of following, but his own duel was imminent. Okay, and he was reluctant to release his gentle hold upon Mac. Another would trail the boy for him...

He was initially at a loss... He had come to beg forgiveness for his stupidity in signing up for an event that he didn't have the tools to compete with, and now he was offered not one, but two horses... What was he to do??? Trusting in the Mayoress' words and not wishing to upset her by turning down her offer, he turned briefly to the other lass, whom he'd never met...

Thank ye, lass.. Emm, 'tis mos' kind o' ye... Ye've a fine lookin' horse therre, but unless ye've also train'd th' animal fer joustin', methinks 'twould be bes' fer me t' take th' Mayoress' offer... Thank ye 'gin tho'... ye be verry gen'rous.

He bows his head and turns back to Mackenzie when all hell breaks loose... The horse pushes into the crowd, sending a surge toward them. He bumps against her and notices that her skirt has fallen... He also notices the Frenchman quick on his feet, retrieving the skirt... looking smug?..

Hmmm... He'll be bringin' nae but trouble... Bes' be watchin' 'im... Tha's all I be needin'...

Eyes narrowed a bit, he follows his competitor's brief look... after some lad moving away... a lad??? Wha' th'..?

Shaking his head, he frowns grimly... The day was not turning out as he'd hoped at all... He knew why he was there... Did she??? And if she did, did she care??? All he could do was keep one eye on the prize and one on the competition... and the competition looked to be getting serious...

- Perfect, the lift had gone perfect. – Perhaps her luck had changed from bad to good. She wanted to stop and congratulate herself, but was smart enough to know that even with confusion, if the lady figured what she had done, someone, maybe even the man whose stare she felt, would be looking for her. Or at least looking for anyone who didn't belong. She was pretty confident no one would peg her, they never had before - cept if they used sorcery – but even with the successful lift she couldn't shake a sense of foreboding.

Mentally replaying things in her mind, she couldn't pinpoint why she had such a bad feeling, but she did, and she trusted her instincts. They had kept her alive for way too long on her own. She allowed herself to look back once, to see the skirt reach the ground just as she had intended, and to note the looks on both the men's faces. - that lady's got a heap of trouble in two very large packages there, I'd be feeling sorry for her if I knew why she wanted either one. Suppose they're good looking or something, but they're still men, and can't be trusted as far as anyone could throw them. – A smirk stayed on her face as she thought of how well her plan had gone, though she felt a fleeting bit of sympathy for any embarrassment she might have caused the lady. - Couldn't be helped though, you knew when you saw the skirt that it would be a perfect distraction, and she'd had on some kind of dainty looking drawers, so she'll be alright. Keep moving girl, can't slow yet, keep moving. –

Grabbing the large pole in the corner she gave it a shake, pleased when the tent shook but did not sway. How many times had she assembled and torn apart the poor thing? Way too many to count and probably would continue to do so until it fell apart completely.

Stepping inside she glanced around and smiled. A small table sat toward the center of the room, a black cloth thrown over it and in the middle sat her her crystal ball, a clear and luminescent sphere that seemed to give off a light all of its own. Behind it was an oriental tea set, a deck of cards, a feather and the sweet smelling incense she'd lit earlier to give the tent an thick earthy smell. She hoped these people would take kindly to her services... while she knew some of the very spiritual nature would hiss and spit accusations, twas it not merely for fun? The natural high of learning what one perceived as your future and the guessing and waiting game to see if it happened. Then she had her wares to sell, everything from pots and pans to the small green jeweled pendant of a peacock. She had several small knives as well.

Pushing back an amber lock of hair, Tahnee moved toward the opening of the tent, the dainty bangles on her wrists creating a light jingle and her bright red skirt blew in the sudden wind that kicked up. Her eyes roamed the crowd, searching for someone to draw into her adobe.

"Fortune telling! Have your tea leaves read! Palm readings and a vast assortment of wares for sale! Come one come all!" She called loudly, her trained voice carrying over the crowd in a melodic sing song voice.

Her palms were sweating as she stepped up to face him, her gaze meeting his steadily. But as a clouded passed over the sun, the creases around his eyes of ice seemed to fade...

Though carved of hardwood the pommel of the practice sword in her hand was worn smooth and had a tendency to slip if her palms began to sweat. He was relentless and harsh in his training, never allowing her a moment off her guard, never giving her a moments break. Despite him being a man in his mid-twenties and her a girl of nine, he wasn't about to let her think she could win. He pushed her for perfection. Nothing else would do. These same characteristics would lead her to name him her master of rookies for the Wolves years later...

They would go for hours, round after grueling round. Sometimes her brothers joining in, or if she was lucky, her father shouting encouragement from the sides as her arms would eventually begin to shake from exhaustion. But her father was insistant that she would be able to defend herself in any circumstance. His daughter could make too tempting a target...

The sound of metal scraping metal as he unsheathed his sword made her jump but brought her attention back quickly. From the smirk on his face she knew he had caught her daydreaming. She flushed furiously but readied herself, approaching him with a challenge but not being able to resist a smile.

"Been a long time, eh Master Grave?"

[Aasha]

A slow, evil smile lit his face. She was the last person he had been thinking he would face in the Tourney. He bowed from the waist, eyes never leaving hers. "Lady Inanna. This should be... a pleasure..."

She had changed greatly over the years, from the sweet and shy young girl he had been sworn to protect through to the Leader of the Wolves Of Sherwood. Once she would not steal a toy from her brother, now she would steal the heart right out of a man. He knew her game well. Still he sought to protect her, but now he must fight. All ranks were removed in this contest. It was to be a free and open exchange. He just hoped his reactions had not slowed over the years. He was as lithe and strong as he had ever been, but knew that one day it would fail him. May his Queen grant him that day would not be today.

"Your father chose well in picking me to be his sword master. You were trained by the best. Now let us see whether you remember what I taught you..."

Throat dry, heart standing high in his chest, he turned his back and moved slowly to the other side of the ring. He braced his feet, holding Hrunting lightly in his right hand, and motioned her on. "The first blow is yours. See if you can make it deep."

There was something wrong. Something in his eyes that disarmed her. And the tone of voice wasn't mocking. She readied her stance as her mind sought to pinpoint it. Legs apart, centre of balance low...his eyes, what was is....she raised her sword, stepping lightly....eyes of steel...she prepared to turn...eyes of ice...lower the shoulder as she seems him move...respect. With that she faltered. Her foot missed its mark and her ankle wobbled underneath her. She still turned but knew he had her before she felt it before she landed on the soft ground. The look he gave her then was only slightly less humiliating than the smack on the arse he used to give her with the flat of his blade as a child but still...for the first time in all their many years together, what she recognized in his eyes was respect.

She grinned up at him from the wet ground, offering her hand so he could help her up.

She had made it far enough away from the action that she was feeling safe, the funny feeling she had was gone. Her senses were still heightened, like they always were after a successful take. She let her eyes sweep the area before slowing her gait to a relaxed walk, the limp barely noticable. The coins she lifted had already been transferred to her pouch as she ran, her knife slipped back to its sheath. The food smelled divine, and she now had enough money to stop for a bite, and still have some left over. She found a stall on the outskirts of the tourney and bought a snack, eating as she walked. Lingering wasn't a good idea, so she would keep moving until she had left the sights of Chester behind.

He watched coldly as she fell. The long grass was slick from the mashing of the continual combatants. But still... "If you go down like that in battle then some man will surely run you deep." He growled low as he pulled her to her feet. In the same fluid move he brought his blade around, swinging it low across her head as she ducked. Switching the flow of the blade he twisted his wrist so the flat landed across her rear...

Except it did not. She had obviously grown quicker over the years. The solid sounding slap turned into the whoosh of air, and her buttocks went unpunished. Dancing backwards out of the range of her own blade he swung Hrunting up above his head, left hand out to balance, and waited for her rush...

A hushed calm settled over the crowd as the two fighters faced off. There was no denying this duel would be good and of interest. The two swordsmen err lady were very equally matched and as their swords clashed the first time Mac felt herself holding her breath. Quickly, barely able to tear her eyes from the two, she scanned the crowd, noting that the horse drawn varda had stopped along the outskirts of the crowd and a brightly colored lass was setting a tint. A gypsy? Here in Beeston? Now that was interesting... Mac wonder if she does fortune telling, complete with a little glass globe... perhaps the gypsy could help with her confusion... with her muddled mind...

She gasped as the lady fighter fell to her knees, but bit back a smile as Inanna in turn tricked the Frenchman. Ahh how she loved the beauty of swordplay. It was graceful, powerful and quite seductive in the methodic rhythem of the swords clashing, plunge and tarry. Her fingers instinctively flenched and flexed at her sides and she remembered the first time a wooden practice sword had been placed in her hands. She'd been 8 years old and plucked from the back of a horse long enough to tarry with her older brothers and fall in love with the power of a slinging piece of wood. At 12 she'd received her first real sword; a dainty piece of metal created and designed specifically for her small frame, but she made up for her size in quickness and agility. At 17 she'd bested her older brother Murtagh. Chuckling she remembered his face as the large claymore slid across the hard backed earth of the courtyard and her blue tinged blade pressed again his throat. His hazel eyes had widened and his mouth had hung open for all the flies to enter.

Shaking her head, Mac pushed memories of her past away. This wasn't the place for it. Her new life and new friends knew nothing of her past or skills and twas best this way. Instead of being Mackenzie Gael, the Fraser Chieftan, Warlord's daughter, she was just Mackenzie Gael Fraser, mayor and baker. With every dawn of the new day she was living life to the fullest of her own expectations, and was relieved to not have to watch her back at every turn for the next sword or dagger that would pierce her skin.

She laughed as she dodged his slap. That was one move she had had all too much practice in evading over the years. But she had fallen and blood or not, he had won fairly.

She grinned at him from across the arena, "No more, milord, I have done! You could have had me there but you seem to have grown soft in your old age," she teased. "Still, I know when I have been bested." She bowed to him gracefully before leaving the ring, not just a little relieved that she had gotten away without a scratch. Besides, in a battle of Wolf vs Wolf, at least the Wolves will always win.

Jertydo had been watching the matchs and drinking a cup of ale. Then a comotion went on around Mac. Her skirt fell to the ground. His eyes came to the ground. If he wasn't commited to marrying Tiff he would have kept the gaze, but he loved Tiff to much to think of another woman like that. Another man had helped Mac, by the time he looked back up. Jertydo looked around, there had to be a reason why the mayors skirt had fallen. It surely wasn't a loose fit, Mac would never wear something she constantly had to pull back up. Jertydo couldn't seen anyone acting suspicious, maybe next time.

Long, lazy afternoon. She'd watch Bloodstone fight his way to the final round.

The ale earlier in the day had left her feeling a little groggy now and she wandered about the grounds to get her blood moving and clear her head. There was a little time to kill before the finals; she would not miss watching Stone fight again.

As she walked among the tents and booths, she pondered how a man whose name had long been synonymous with friendship should now draw other feelings from her. When and how had that happened exactly....

She found her path leading to the far edge where gypsies had pitched their tents. Their wares were laid out on brightly colored blankets in front of the tents - jewelry, copper kettles, bits of pottery that looked to be from the far east. Cecily was fingering a carved ivory bracelet when a sing-song voice reached her ears.

"I know your future...." it said.

She brushed it off. The crowd was thick and the woman could have been speaking to anyone.

"Fair Rose, I know your future...." Cecily looked up to catch the eye of a gypsy woman, beckoning to her from behind a bangled wrist and honeyed-amber locks.

Standing behind the Mayoress, he watches the Wolves at play, until her own movements catch his eye again. She was... dancing to the swordplay... She seemed lost in some other world as the fighters went about their match. Not sure what was coming over him, he stretched his neck to speak into her ear...

Aye Lass, They're well match'd... 'Tis a good battle... e'en wit' th' lass slippin', she made a strong move fer a bit. Somehow, I be thinkin' I were lucky t' only come through wit' only a scratch...

He continued to watch her... she was more watching the Frenchman than the match it seemed. He felt a twinge of regret and a small bit of jealousy at the fop. He cut a stylish flair, to be sure... but there was still an almost sinister coldness to him... definitely not trustworthy, but almost honest...

He knew the Mayoress was popular and well-liked, but this he hadn't anticipated. He'd hoped to make his feelings for her known to her before the day was out. Now, with arguably his weakest event looming, he felt as though he'd lost his best chance to win the prize... How to let her know without being made a fool, that was the trick... He'd have to think of something, and soon...

"Come m'dear, come with me!" Tahnee turned on her heels retreating into the darkness of her tent. A slow smile crept over lips as the coins sewn into the sash as her hips jingled a merry tune with her walk. She was always followed by music, and it lifted her spirits as well as provided a nice tune for her feet to dance. The dark haired lady would follow. The Rose had heard her and would follow out of curiosity and interest. She was a stubborn one, yet strong minded and curious.

Stopping behind the small table she beckoned the Lady to sit opposite her. "Come my lady have a sit. I've seen your future but there's more I would talk to you of as well..." She tilted her head, studying the lady's oval face, her blue eyes glittering, and it suddenly appeared as though she had a faint shimmer around her person. Closing her eyes Tahnee took a deep breath before slowly opening them and smiling broadly. Now a clear red glean was visible surrounding the lady. So she had seen the light a moment ago, and in clear daylight as well...

"Ahhh Lady Rose... have you ever heard of an aura? Some say it's the energy from your body others say it's your soul reaching out for the world. Yours my dear, is a sheer clear red. It means you are energetic and successful with a thrive for competition and while you do not seek power it tends to fall in your path. You are also a very passionate and sexual soul. Do not blush my lady... it's nothing to be ashamed for it is just who you are. May I see your palm?"

She held out her hand palm up, the bangles on her wrist jingling.

The melodic jingling of the gypsy's bangles and coins lured Cecily in even as she knew she should leave. Inside the tent, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light revealing the tools of the woman's trade as well as other odds and ends.

At the gypsy's command, she took a seat at the table set with candles, a box of tea, a bowl of water and a crystal ball. She studied the objects as the gypsy studied her.

Although the woman began to speak suddenly, her voice had a tone that just floated through the senses. Like soft music in the distance or a bubbling creek, her words penetrated a listener's consciousness without drawing attention to the speaker herself. This ability to speak directly to the listener's thoughts bypassed doubt and skepticism.

"An aura?" Cecily asked, her tone low and hushed.

She found herself hanging on the gypsy's words. Words that could be analyzed later for truth, or so she told herself. For now she just wanted to hear more. With less than a moment's hesitation, Cecily placed the back of her hand upon the gypsy's waiting palm.

Taking his leave of the duelling field, Grave's eyes swept the crowd. He stopped next to Mackenzie, bowing over her hand and lightly kissing the back of it. "Once more your talisman brings me luck, lady. I fear I may never be able to stand to part with it." Flicking his eyes up, he found hers upon him. A warmth spread through the thickness of his cold blood, unfamiliar feelings swelling within him once more. What was it about this... this... bonny lass? He had made up his mind to have her kiss, and very little would stand in his way. He would rather not steal it - for to do so held untold troubles - but it may need be. He knew that she humoured him, that her eyes were only for the Scotsman. Well, he thought as she blinked, noting how dilated her pupils had become under thick dark lashes, maybe not all for the kilted one. Dead once already Grave did not fear it's cold and metallic taste. He did fear the humiliation she could rein down upon him like arrows upon some brutal battlefield.

He was concerned about the thief still, and his mind would just not leave him alone. If he was a good thief he would not go far. He would probably seek another target this day, thinking himself unnoticed. Which was just the opening that Grave would seek. It was easy to attack the sheep when one was the Wolf...

"I am afraid that I must take a short walk, to burn off the adrenaline of the match." He knew that by leaving her side Mcmannanan would gain his chance. There was always some way to turn a defence into an attack... "That is unless you would care to join me?"

She had made it to the woods, from here no one in the crowd could see her, and she had no desire to see them. She finished the snack, licking her fingers clean of the exotic spices she had tasted in the meat. The last good meal she had was at Tiffanyanne's, but the meat she had just finished had a flavor that was extremely foreign to her taste buds. She wasn't sure she liked it, but after actually spending hard earned money on it, and with the frequency she had to go without, she wasn't going to waste it.

Something about the new growth on the trees always made her feel good, just seeing them made her feel she could start over, that maybe who she really was inside was lying dormant until her 'spring thaw', whatever that might be, caused her to bloom. - Are you daft girl? Losing your mind to some notion that life could change for the likes of you? Theres no going back, you know that. Keep one eye forward to your destination, the other eye back to make sure no one is following. Thats all you can do. –

So she trudged on, or would have, but apparently her stomach had ideas of its own. Maybe it was the rich spices, maybe the adrenalin rush didn't combine with eating so soon, or maybe she was just plain cursed with bad luck, but one minute she was fine, having gotten far enough away to not even hear the crowds any longer, the next, she was doubled over clutching her belly, wishing she could move far enough to hide until the pains passed, and praying she didn't lose the meat.

"Och but ye are a verra guid swordsman!" She cast him a warm smile over her shoulder, surprised at his nearness, their bodies only an inch or two apart, and how she had to tilt her head to see his eyes. My he was tall... she hadna been around such tall men since back home in Scotland. Ahh!, Mac scolded herself, why was her mind wandering to home every chance it got. She'd been in England for almost a year now... "I'm glad ye've taken up my offer to borrow Crusher, I dinnae lend him to just anyone. In fact," she paused, thinking for a moment and then chuckled, "I'm nay sure anyone has rode him in over a year other them me'self. Though I'm sure 'e'll behave."

She was closing her eyes briefly against the bright glare of the sun when a warm hand took hers and she felt the softness of a kiss against her fingers. A small tingle worked it's way up her hands and arms and tugged at the corners of her lips. "I daresay your good fortune lies in the woven thread of a mere sash but moreso in your skill with your blade."

That is unless you would care to join me?"

Mac's breathe caught in her throat and her fingers sought the bottom of her shirt, to rub the soft material between her fingers. Her mind raced suddenly faster than a wild hare. She would love to stretch her legs and pick up a drink along the way, love to talk with this mysterious newcomer and learn more about him, but she was also enjoying the company of her dear friend McMan and worried leaving him would seem rude. Suddenly she beamed brightly and gazed at Sir Julian, "Oh I would love a walk, as long as we can stop for a drink to wet my tongue. McMan" she turned, her hand gently reaching to grab his arm as she cast her eyes to his, "Would you care to join us for a walk? It is a beautiful day and I feel like stretching my legs..."

Having enjoyed a few ale's and watching the last few matches trying to learn from the contestants.
CG leaves the field to warm up away from the crowds and prepare for his next match , he is enjoying the sun and the practice, working hard on his skills, almost not hearing the call for him to step up for his match he rushes over to the dueling field to face Sethwolf

She was successful in fighting off the urge to lose her lunch, but had wasted too much time in doing so. If she hadn't actually paid for it, she would have let it come back up, the pains might have stopped sooner, and she might be feeling better by now. The cramping was still present, which would have stopped anyone else, but not her, she had too much to lose. She forced herself to begin walking again, a hand moving to her belly each time it rolled. It had however, necessitated her slowing her pace, and she wasn't being nearly as careful as she should in covering her tracks.

The Lady Rose's hands were soft, feminine but strong and while she could feel small calluses along the ridges of her fingers, Tahnee knew she probably spent a great deal of time soothing a lintinent into them. This was a Lady who did not shy from hard work but also knew the importance of her own self. Grinning, Tahnee looked up to meet her eye with a small smile, "Not every day do I have visions, but when they come they are rare and thus I value them highly. Today I had a vision of you, Lady Rose. This was before my horse topped the last hill on the low road leading here."

Turning briefly around she drew two candles from a box, one a deep brown hue of the ground and the other a silver shimmer that gleaned in the low light. Placing these on either end of the table she carefully lit them.

"Your hand m'lady." She took the Rose's hand, turning the palm up and gently tracing the lines that etched deep into her skin. "This is your heart line," she gently ran her finger over the horizon line coming from the right of the palm and arching up steeply to stop below her index finger. "The deep steep toward your finger here indicates a very strong sexual desire." She chuckled then, a deep happy laugh as the Lady Rose's face blushed a rich red. "Aye, it seems from your aura and your palm you do not lack for need. I hope your man retains the same lines... one should always be fulfilled."

Hiding her own blush she bent to the hand again, an amber lock of hair falling forward and over her eye. "You have two small branches from your heartline, these indicate your marriages. I imagine your first husband's heartline was flat and he could not... meet your needs?" She leaned back, a grin tugging at her lips as she watched the Lady Rose's expression.

[Aasha]

Jertydo was tired of just standing around and figured a walk would ease his eagerness. He wanted the jousting competition to start. He could feel the rush of adreniline has he held his lance in his hand and the bounce of the horse as it raced down the track toward its target. Suddenly Jertydo remember, he had no horse. How do you joust without a horse? Ah how stupid can one get in the middle of excitment.

In all his thinking Jertydo barely payed attention to were he was going. When he finally came to himself he was in the woods on the other side of the field were the tournament was held. He felt a werid calmness overcome him as he stood in the woods. He always enjoyed a walk in the woods and figured that he had plenty of time before he was ever going to be called again to the arena to joust.

Jertydo walked threw the woods without a care. You could hear the sounds of the tournament fading away with each step, but suddenly he heard a gagging sound and turned to see a clothed figure in the distance. He rushed forward because the figured looked to be in pain. The figured seemed overly startled as Jertydo approached "HEY! HEY!" He yelled to get their attention. "Are you ok? I was walking in the woods when I seen you nearly get sick and hunch over in pain?" Jertydo guessed the person was a boy, not to old either. Jertydo didn't see any blood so that just brought up more questions. " You seemd to be in alot of pain.
Do you want me to bring you to the tournament just alittle ways from here? I am sure someone can help you there."

Seeing Delval come up and kiss Mac's hand gave him a rush of fire and bile in his heart... He was really starting to dislike the Frenchman. His showy manner was getting to be very grating on his nerves...

"McMan" she turned, her hand gently reaching to grab his arm as she cast her eyes to his, "Would you care to join us for a walk? It is a beautiful day and I feel like stretching my legs..."

Looking into her eyes, he almost lost hisself... again... Always something in the eyes... but he saw that she didn't wish to be alone with this... Wolf. He nodded his assent and let her take his arm to lead him. He'd not let this dandy get away with whatever he might have planned for her, not if he could help it.

Letting Mac walk between them, he just glared at Delval... cautiously keeping his mouth shut, lest he say something he might regret...

She heard noises behind her, but really didn't pay attention to them. It didn't sound like anyone running after her, and she was confident she hadn't been made. Someone else walking in the woods was not a danger to her. Since she was hurting so badly, she didn't even bother to look back to check, she just kept walking slowly, hoping the cramps would ease more.

She just about jumped out of her skin when she heard someone yelling at her. - She couldn't be caught, she just couldn't! She had been too careful. But no, this guy didn't know a thing, he saw her when she was trying so hard not to wretch. – A tinge of embarrassment showed, she was feeling too poorly to even attempt to hide it, though she blanched when he mentioned taking her back to the tournament. - Play it off, no way you can head back there, thats just asking for trouble girl, you can handle this. Breathe! – The pain helped her get her voice even lower than the usual tone she used when she answered him. Oh no, I'll be alright in a min'te. Just ate somethin' bad I think. You know how to make it go away? Figured walkin' would help. You partic'patin'? She forced herself to stop babbling, running off at the mouth was unlike her. Se was shocked at herself, though that was something she masked well. Apparently pain right after adrenalin made her act like an idiot, but she figured young boys acted that way anyway, so maybe this guy wouldn't think anything of it.

Grave watched the retreating back of the Scotsman, Mackenzie's arm tucked firmly with that brawny Scottish lad. A snarl lit up his face and he growled low in his throat. The stuck up Scot was really raising Grave's hackles. His condescending attitude, his obvious belief that no Wolf would be good enough for this exhaulted lady of the town, burned in those uncaring eyes. Grave's own eyes wandered down to where he was touching Mac, and how the man chattered with her familiarly.

A dagger slipped unthinkingly in his hand. He must fight his normal instincts. He knew he was losing this battle but he would go down fighting. The instincts of the Italian battlefield would serve him naught here. He must preserve this image of humility, even if he did hear them whispering that dreaded word when they looked at him. "Fop" they called him, and it wrankled. He was no lord, born to nobility and frilly cuffs. His clothing was ragged and torn, years old and out of date. His hair generally unkempt, brushed carelessly back from his forehead. But something of his manners, those of the French court, annoyed them. Pricked at them. Gave them the image of the soft voiced choir boys of the upper orders.

He held the shining blade up in front of his eyes, looking at how beautifully terrible it was.

Blood ran afresh from the wound to his face, punctuating his annoyance at their lack of understand, the unwillingness to give him a chance.

Of her to give him a chance.

"Of course!" He thought to himself. "If I am to lose then I will do so trying. I fought not for Agnes when she sent me away. That will not happen again. I would do anything for this bright, young, beautiful, sunny lady. I would do anything for her love. But I won't do that." He forced the blade back into its sheath, hands shaking.

His strong legs carried him easily to where the two walked, lovers with their arms linked. He smiled warmly. "Let me buy the first ale... or would you prefer whiskey?"

This fine day a dark armoured knight hiding his heavy armour in his dark cape rode into town on his dark armoured horse.

Since there was tournament going on, no one would payed any extra attention to him. He put his dark horse in stables pointing the guy who took care of them not to feed his horse too many and take extra good care of him. Then he gave the guy some pounds. The guy seemed happy abaut that. So he just fused with crowd where already lots of ppl were watching the tournament going on.

By walking through the crowd he looked around...was this palce safe...there were indeed some Bowmen guarding and estabilishing order...but even though it was very possible that here are some thieves.

He noticed the nice mayoress in between 2 guys, both of them were contestans, there was no need to look at them anymore...he watched on both of them, he studied their fighting style while they were competing. But still....he will keep a look on them...to all 3.

The main person he wanted to keep on eye was Duchess...and it seemed she is nowhere to find...just for now, so he fuses again with crowd still watching over all what was going on here quietly...

Cecily found herself blushing furiously at the gypsy's words; the subject not one she was used to discussing. And yet, curiosity was getting the better of her embarrassment and she sat with no thought of leaving, only a desire to hear more.

Had she really just said marriages?? Cecily's head swam as she looked at the lines crisscrossing her palm, lines that meant nothing to her. Though, at the mention of marriage, it was his name she heard, his face she saw in her mind. His smile across the table. His eyes resting upon her. His hands gently brushing her hair. But how could this woman know when she could not be sure herself? Sure myself.... she thought, and realized that she was sure.

Finding her voice Cecily glanced up at the fair-haired woman, "Marriages you say? I've had but one."

After chatting with the scotsman with the odd brogue, Metanoia rode to the gates where the Chester Bowmen guarded the tournament.

"Is everything alright here, my fellow bowmen?" Metanoia asked in her customary reserved, proper way.

"Yes, milady," they replied.

"Good," Metanoia smiled as she dismounted and tied her steed to a post. "We need to keep an eye for pickpockets here, especially those who are small enough to blend in easily. Perhaps it would be best if, instead of trying to be a static defense, we walked around to get a lay of the situation in this tourney. Wherever there are large crowds, there will be criminals seeking to take advantage by hiding among the masses. Let us remember this and act accordingly."

With this Metanoia slipped a hood over her head and started wandering through the crowd, listening to conversations and watching suspicious looking people, while making herself as inconspicuous as possible.

Jertydo laughed alittle, "Afraided the only way I know how to get rid of the pains is to just let it come up son." Jertydo looked back at how far they were from the tourny. "You walked quiet aways, I would have quit after the first dozen trees." Jertydo felt kinda bad that he couldn't help the boy, but Jertydo knew there had to be someone at the tourny that could help him. "Comeon, let me take ya to the grounds. Someone can help ya there, plus I am sure your parents are lookin for ya. Oh and yes I am a combatant I was just knocked out by Bloodstone, got a lucky hit."

Seth sees Cntrgy warming up and smiles as he approaches him for the match. He sneaks thru the crowd and raises his hand and lightly bows to his opponent as a show of respect as they begin the match. He takes looks around to view the crowd as his eyes peak out of his hood. His hood covers his face well, to not show his face to those watching. Seth stands in front of Cntrgy to begin the match and draws his sword.

An' spoil the taste of the meat I ate? Nah, I'll be alright. Just walkin' has helped some. The mention of going back to the tourney for the second time had Aasha's mind whirling. She had to come up with a reason to keep moving forward, not retracing her steps. She had no desire to be caught, and had felt much better once she reached the woods, the feeling of being watched had eased away from the crowd. But she would have to have a good excuse to put this man off, he was practically insisting she go back. The word parents struck a chord, and she grasped it tightly. Faking a look of consternation, she mumbled; Parents don't know I'm out. I'm tryin' to get home afore they find out. I'll be alright, just gonna walk it off. Bet you'll be wantin' to show that it was only a lucky hit and go back soon yerself. She practically held her breath, hoping her ruse had worked.

Her eyes widened as McMan stepped forward, looping her hand through his arm and began walking them toward the drink stand. My his arm was strong under her hand, the muscles tense between the skin as though a slight tremor ran through them. He seemed, not angry but frustrated at something perhaps... Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Mac beckoned to Sir Julien to catch up and held out her other arm to link with his. She'd gotten herself into this, being sandwiched between the two, and so pushed back that nagging thought again that "it was a very nice place to be".

Breathing deeply she inhaled their two scents, the smells mingling in her nose and tickling down her throat. A raw mixture of mint, horse, sweat, dirt, and nature; and what better scents she couldn't think of. Suddenly, having let down her mental wall she was attacked by thoughts; feelings that had been held at bay during the day but that forced their way through to penetrate her thoughts. With a man on each arm she felt like she could walk on air, but knew with the first step she would plummet to the earth, and hit hard with no cushion. Love, afterall, wasn't something she could afford right now. Her future was uncertain and while she'd grown comfortable in this sleepy little town, she knew a man could round the corner of a building any moment with every intention to either abduct or kill her. Love... ahh... could she pull someone she cared about into the web.

Sighing, Mac gave in the argument and pushed the her thoughts back behind the door, slamming it shut with her hip and locking the bolt. She'd felt that prick of electricity, of energy as he'd touched her and while she had no idea of it's origin or purpose, she knew it meant something. Knew it to the very core of her being. His skin tingled underneath her fingertips and his body, walking only inches from hers seemed to draw her closer, nearer always as though it would consume her. Oh how she wished to delve into his mind as well... at least further than their talks had allowed them...

Rousing herself from her thoughts Mac realized that Sir Julien had been speaking to her. Her eyes glittered at the mention of whiskey and she smiled brightly. "Och! I would love a whiskey. Straight and nay diluted.!"

Her touch on his arm brought a smile across his face, and the soft burr of her accent felt light in his ear. With an unconscious movement he squeezed the muscle of her forearm. The strength there made him wonder at her past. As he ordered the whiskies from the vendor he did not let go. Passing the glasses to the two others he kept his touch resting on her. The sheer vibrancy that lay underneath the soft material of her gown warmed him. He could feel the glow of her body beneath the thin cloth, so perfect for this spring day. The cut and weft of her delighted him. The gentle press of her hip against his as they walked. Looking at her face he caught her eyes, but then danced away before he could read anything in them. Was she interested or not? Did she feel anything of what he felt?

Mirroring his soul, half of his body was in the sun, and the other half in the night. By bathing in her he was warmed. Yet he knew this to be transient, though this day seemed to last forever. Something caught in his throat and he coughed. The silence between the three of them was uncomfortable in its comfort. Next to him he felt a glowing radiance, but beyond that the hostility of the big Scot.

Guiding their walk he passed them near to the stables in which the jousting horses were penned. His eyes rested upon a beautiful mare of golden pelt.

"So, Mcman, do you intend to take part in the joust? I cannot claim to be any expert in the saddle myself. I was a footsoldier in my duties, grubbing about at the front of clashing lines, ducking swords. No poems of valor for me in war - just the bloody, slippery ground and a cold bed of reality. Anthem is my steed, " He gestured towards the pen he had stabled the big black stallion, "But really, I wonder who is master and who slave. He is a wilful beast not given to taking orders."

He watched almost over all places here, the Duchess were nowhere to be found, but he will look around. He watched the people ...how they were watching the tournament going on, seemed they were realy impressed.

Some Bowmen went through the crowd but they were not a problem for him, his dark cape was big enough for him to fully cover his heavy armour and by fusing with crowd, no Bowmen saw him...

By hiding in crowd and waiting for his moment he lost nice mayoress from sight with those 2 guys with her....since he cannot find Duchess anywhere, he rather decided to go and look for them. And again he fused with crowd trying to look as insuspicious as possible.

The feeling of her on his arm, it seemed to make everything that had happened earlier that day evaporate. Her scent made him envious of whatever flowers she had bathed in. Her eyes... those eyes could bring life or death with a simple glance... He certainly hoped for the former. Her brogue... their one common thread, was sheer musical delight in his ear and soul. Even the way she asked for the uisge... how could he not dream of spending time with a spirit such as hers...?

The three of them arrived at the vendors. The dandy, trying to show his wealth, bought three drinks. He thanked him curtly... he was still having difficulty in figuring out why she might be interested in a dandy such as the Frenchman... As they moved towards the stables, he heard the Frenchman ask...

"So, Mcman, do you intend to take part in the joust? I cannot claim to be any expert in the saddle myself. I was a footsoldier in my duties, grubbing about at the front of clashing lines, ducking swords. No poems of valor for me in war - just the bloody, slippery ground and a cold bed of reality. Anthem is my steed. But really, I wonder who is master and who slave. He is a wilful beast not given to taking orders."

He looked at the black beast, trying to appraise it... On this, he had to agree with him... there was no telling who exactly was in charge there. Giving him a grim smile, he nodded...

Aye, I weel be takin' part in th' joustin'. I was jus' able t' borra a mount. 'Tis th' lady's ride... Crusher..? He said that last part, hoping that he didn't make a hash of the beast's name...

But, I weel 'gree wit' ye. Therre be nae tellin' who be 'n charge o' such a beast... All I be hopin fer, be t' nae fall an' keel meself. Gie me bes' an' pray t' th' gods tha' I live t' tell 'bout it later... He had to chuckle. He'd let his foe know just how uncomfortable he'd be in the meet. Best to try and play it off. He gave Delval another broad, grim smile. What he wanted the picture to say was back off, whether that would actually work, he doubted it. He'd already seen this man face several tough challenges this day with barely a hint of acknowledgment. This could easily become a battle of wills as well as brawn... He'd have to be careful...

[Aasha]

They walked silently at first, moving through the tourney-grounds, the three of them arm and arm, but Mac could feel the tension flowing between their arms like electricity and she the conductor. Mentally sighing she thought they were both acting like two brassy, bold and majestic stallions, circling and taking stock of each other's strengths and weaknesses alike, building up information before finally meeting in the dueling arena. She mentally hoped they didn't draw sticks together in the joust.

Sir Julien's hand suddenly closed around her arm and she narrowed her eyes at him questioningly but then smiled. The touch, while harmless, was energizing and gentle. Smiling at their talk of horses she was content to listen, her eyes skimming over Julien's horse and assessing his build. Long in hind quarter he was built for speed, but yet his eyes had a glint of mischievious ness to them. Oh she bet he was fun to ride and like earlier her fingers twitched at wanting to be active. Not one to sit idly by and watch the action, Mac was finding it harder and harder to behave.

As their talk turned to the upcoming tourney she listened to their talk of masters and horses, and who's taking charge. She chuckled at that, pulling her arms gently from both of them to climb upon the four post fence that held in the horses. She leaned over the top, not caring of the dirt that was surely there to cluck to the large black steed. Holding out a small apple, half the size of her fist she spoke softly to him, attempting to lure him closer.

"Ye know... tis nay a matter of being master o' yer steed, but of befriending 'im and learning to trust." She spoke over her shoulder, smiling into the bright sun that warmed her face. "At some point ye both meet a magical medium when ye trust each other, and when yer steed can anticipate your moves before ye've even given th' command... ye know you have something special."

"Ahhhh...." Tahnee leaned back in her chair, eyeing the Rose curiously as she reached behind her for the tea pitcher and poured them each a glass. "That would indeed explain the marks in your life line. You've seen heartache the past year? I shall not inquire of what kind for I sense you have moved on and that the pain no longer haunts you. If ever you should need support in the future, lean toward your friends and those you love ." She smiled, holding a teacup out to the lady, "That's not something I've read in your palm but something I know from the heart. Your a happy person, it shows upon your face, and while I do not know you nor your situation, I would bet you are surrounded by those you love and who return it."

Raising the glass to her lips she drank deep, her mind wandering briefly to the family she'd left, those whom she'd known her entire life, and friends she'd just met. Tahnee shook her head, taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts. "The bracelets on your wrist, three fine lines that run horizontal, they're crossed in the pattern of a stitch. That means you've struggled in life, but I see happiness for you and a love filled with undeniable passion. This is reflected by the soft mound at the base of your thumb, the mound of venus and the combination of other mounds and lines."

A brisk breeze picked up and blew through the tent, setting off a dainty melody from the colorful chime of multi-colored glass hung by the edge of the tent. Tahnee smiled softly as she studied the Rose's face. Should she tell her of the vision? Her instinct was to inform people, that they had a right to know, but she and her grannie had argued for years over this matter. Tell them the good things, thing that make them happy, but the bad or worrisome, my child, they do not pay you for this. Was her grannie right?

"'Forgive my intrusion Lady Rose, I understand that it is painful and none of my business, but I want to reassure you that your true love is closer than you'd imagine, if you'd only let yourself feel it. Forget the past, and concentrate on your future.?"

She sipped at the tea tentatively as she digested the gypsy's comments. The brew was as strange as the woman, her visions, and the whole situation in general. Suddenly remembering Mac's tea and the dreams it conjured, Cecily gingerly set the cup down at the edge of the table.

True love is closer than you'd imagine.....

It was Stone, it had to be. Her mind drifted to all the times he had been there for her, strong, supportive and by her side. Her escort at banquets and balls, weddings and work. A vivid memory of them laughing hysterically in a puddle of spilled Chardonnay. The only person not afraid to knock her on her backside in the snow. Someone with whom she could be herself. Someone who made her better.

"Oh my, the time," she gasped, pushing her chair back from the table. "....Stone....the finals....I have to go."

She fumbled in the leather purse at her belt for some coin to leave the gypsy.

Seth readies himself for his match with CG. As CG approaches him, Seth grips his sword to make his swing at CG, but CG's wields his sword much faster than Seth could have ever imagined. As Seth sees the blade coming toward his head, he ducks suddenly. As CG's swings his sword back around, Seth feels a burn on his upper torso from CG's right handed swing. The blow knocks Seth off his feet and the cut throbs with pain instantly. Seth reaches up to feel of his wound. When he pulls his hand back, blood covers his hand and he knows that he has been defeated.

Seth stands and bows respectfully to his worthy opponent. He removes his hand from his wound as though it causes him little pain. He waves to the crowd, keeping his hood low. Seth picks up his sword and fades into the crowd.

(OOC- Sorry for the god-moding, I had been waiting for CG to post first as it was appropriate for me to respond to his actions (since mine was duck), but I know that the tournament needs to be sped up a bit.)

Watching the curvy figure of Mac stepping up onto the edge of the stalls, something odd struck Grave. Her reddish brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, belying something girlish, but her manner was very much that of a woman. He longed to touch that hair, to find all of her depths. The way she moved was assurred, balanced, like a good sword in the hand. Here was a woman who held many secrets, who had a practiced eye for the horse and the blade...

The blade!

"Lady Mackenzie, we should perhaps return to the duelling field. My fight with the priest is next... I should so hate to forfeit by not being present..."

***

He stood at the edge of the ring. Hrunting was unsheathed and held easily in his hand as he practiced swing and parry, preparing himself for the matchup. He knew the man he faced was older, and more experienced with the blade than he. It would take something special to make sure that Grave progressed to the final, but he was ready to give every last effort. There was more in this duel than a mere tourney victory - this stood for the honor of the Wolves.

Honor was not always found in victory...

He licked his teeth and growled low in his throat as he spotted his opponent.

She couldn't believe she'd gotten out of Chester with nary a sight of a wolf. She had heard they were THE group to stay away from, the ultimate thieves, that traveling alone was dangerous, and no one went into their territory and scored without dire consequences. In fact, the couple she had overheard when she finally got away from the well meaning guy in the woods said that they didn't even steal in Chester, it was off limits to all, and yet she had gotten away scot free. What was even more interesting, apparently the lady whose wardrobe malfunctioned was none other than one of the town mayors in the county, and the dandy with her was said to be high up in the group. She couldn't help but chuckle when she overheard that, especially knowing she was the one who did the cutting to cause it. She wasn't sure what a mayor and a bandit had in common, and frankly didn't care right now, but it did show her that she should only believe half of what she heard of rumors, and even that might be exaggerated. - Guess they'd be more puppies than wolves –, she thought to herself as she left the county far behind. - Next town maybe I can relax and stay awhile. Need to rest this ankle, among other things. – She was tired, body, mind and spirit, but was smart enough to keep moving until she felt a semblance of safety.

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