Private Knight-Time Activities

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Drystan nodded as Cora recited their covers, his posture composed but fluid, fully embracing the role. With a bow, he crossed his lone arm over his chest—only to be prodded by her fan. His eye twitched slightly in response.

"Ow. Don't worry, milady, I'll be sure to lose only to the most worthy of suitors."

The cover was airtight, and it was up to his standard. Hopefully it wouldn't come back to bite them.

Drystan had taken the time to study Ukatian nobility, learning the intricate customs and nuances of the elite under Cora's guidance. Their alibi for the visit was sound, leaving little room for doubt.

Playing his role was no issue. Observing and studying the knights and nobles of the city had provided him with the courtly mannerisms he needed to blend in seamlessly.

Compared to Cora's elegant attire, Drystan's outfit was subdued, yet purposeful. His ensemble was almost entirely black—a tailored overcoat, matching trousers, and sturdy boots. However, beneath the overcoat, he wore a durasteel breastplate, reinforced by a chain shirt of the same material.

While full-body armor was forbidden, minor pieces like his breastplate were permitted and even encouraged, provided they were discreet. Strapped to his opposite side, balancing his single-arm stance, was a vibrosaber—simple in design but precisely tuned to ensure it did not limit his capabilities.

At her comment about his swordplay, he shook his head.

"I only started learning a couple of days ago."

A one-armed shrug, his tone almost casual.

"I don't know if you're aware, but I can copy any physical movement—I only need to see it once."

His voice carried no arrogance, just a simple truth. It would also help explain why Drystan's bladework seemed to exponentially improve between their spars.

"Until recently, I used it as a crutch—which ended up costing me my arm on Woostri."

A pause.

"But with the Grandmaster's guidance, I've learned to use it as a way to accelerate my learning, rather than lean on it as a shortcut."

His gaze drifted from her to the open grounds as the ship finished its landing measures.

"By the end of the night, I'm hoping to have enough evidence to take this guy down, and to find out about the bigger players in this trade."
—

As they disembarked, Drystan let Cora lead the way, following the pre-planned routes through the castle grounds. He positioned himself a step back and diagonal, maintaining the posture of an obedient retainer.

The path from the landing zone was immaculate, paved with smooth stone, ensuring that guests could walk without staining their attire.

Up ahead—the main gate. A pair of guards, armed with blasters, stood at attention. Seated at a simple wooden table, a record keeper flicked through a datapad, reviewing guest entries.

Without breaking stride, Drystan's voice remained low and even.

"By the way—put on the earpiece I gave you."

His gaze remained ahead, but his tone was firm.

"It's subtle enough to hide in your ear without being noticed. If we need to split up—either when I'm in the ring or if you have to peel off from me—we'll need to stay in contact."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora tsked to Drystan's comment about losing. Then, the explanation of his copycat ability pulled her attention in a different way. First in curiosity, next in somber empathy, and finally in a faint smile of understanding.

"Valery's guidance does have a way of bringing out the best in everyone."

She made a mental note to come back to both Woostri and Drystan's fascinating skill.

"Hopefully this charade will only last the night," she agreed.

With a final wave to M-10 and Brazier, they departed.

—

Flanked by her knight, Lady von Althann moved in a slow, elegant gait. She did not break stride even when unfolding her fan, raising it to obscure the insertion of the earpiece. From afar, it would look as though the noblewoman were simply adjusting an earring.

"Understood," she murmured.

As instructed, Drystan remained a step behind her and to her right. He had the bearing of a man who'd been raised to do as such, rather than someone who'd had a crash course on Ukatian etiquette.

At the gate, one of the guards shooed away a prospective guest with a shove. Cora and Drystan were a few steps too far out of earshot to hear their conversation. Was the man too lowborn, perhaps? Or he lacked an invitation?

Either way, Cora kept the fan over the lower portion of her face. Stately and demure, she approached the guards with the grace of an aristocrat.

"Good eve, gentleman," she greeted them with a slight tilt of her head. "I do hope that you've room for one more entry underneath Lady Mariel von Althann."

She peered up through her lashes, fluttering them once. "My Knight, Ser Theo, fights for my honor tonight. The man that bests him in combat shall have my hand in marriage."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Drystan watched as the two guards snapped to attention upon Cora—no, Lady von Althann's arrival. In contrast, his own presence as Ser Theo was barely acknowledged, save for a brief glance at the tied-up left sleeve of his coat. That earned a scoff.

The record keeper, peering up through dusty spectacles, straightened at the mention of her name. Regardless of a house's status, those beneath the station of nobility were compelled to show proper respect.

"Your presence is more than welcomed, Lady von Althann. It has been far too long since we've entertained guests of your house. Lord von Grund's father was just a boy the last time, if my records are correct."

After the proper greetings, he settled back into his seat, fingers tapping against his datapad.

"We are more than happy to accommodate both you and your retainer in tonight's gathering. Truth be told, your reason for entering is rather unique. I am sure Lord von Grund would be most pleased to assist in your endeavors. However, I hope you will not find me overly skeptical, but all new guests must present a copy of their patents."

Drystan grunted, stepping forward as any dutiful retainer would, retrieving a scroll from the pouch at his belt. It was expected that items of such importance be kept in a retainer's care.

The patent was, of course, forged. But with Cora's assistance in inspecting authentic samples and Drystan's skill in imitating Ukatian calligraphy, they had crafted something that only the most discerning eye could uncover as a fake.

This, however, was not a summons from the king himself—merely a gathering. Security was lax, favoring efficiency over scrutiny.

A few more taps, a confirming beep, and the gates parted.

"Please enjoy the festivities. Lord von Grund wishes all his guests an extravagant evening."

Beyond the stone walls lay the castle grounds. The path was lined with freshly trimmed shrubs and seasonal flowers, all meticulously groomed to a noble's standard. The walkway was rather long, even by aristocratic tastes, but that was of little concern. Ahead, other guests—adorned in elegant dresses and richly embroidered tunics—made their way to the entrance, their finery shimmering beneath the glow of lanterns.

Yet, among the well-dressed partygoers, Drystan noted several men with swords at their waists—just as he had. Fellow duelists, no doubt.

Picking up his pace, he matched Cora's stride, keeping close enough for only her ears to catch his words. To any onlookers, it would seem like a retainer whispering concerns about the event.

Cora would notice that Drystan had adopted a Ukatian accent, a skill he had honed through conversations with the local populace and careful observation of how they shaped their words. His keen, analytical gaze during their previous exchanges now made sense—he had been studying her speech patterns as well.

"Cor—Lady von Althann," he corrected himself smoothly. "While I keep those rabid suitors from your hand, I'd suggest working to gain favor with Lord von Grund. Between rounds and after the tournament, I'll do what I can to assist in our search, but the investigative side of this mission will fall mostly to you. I trust your discretion. And, to put your mind at ease: I don't plan to lose this tournament."

A glint of mischief in his eye. A jest, not intended to poke fun, but to lighten any nervousness or pressure in the air.

"I heard the winner gets a beautiful Ukatian masterwork saber. I wouldn't mind taking a little souvenir to commemorate this operation."

During their preparation, Drystan had shared with Cora what he had uncovered from his espionage.

Lord Janek von Grund—late fifties. A respected, if reclusive, noble. Widowed. His only daughter was presumed dead, though "missing" would be more accurate. Last seen ten winters ago.

With no direct heir, the next in line for his estate was his nephew, Ser Natan Bohunek, a child still under his parents' care.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Things had gone smoothly at the gate.

Unlike Drystan, Cora had no need to practice her role beforehand; she'd grown accustomed to playing the meek, delicate Ukatian maiden out of necessity. It had helped her survive - but not thrive - during her violent marriage to the Prince.

Beyond that, courtly mannerisms had been engrained into her upbringing as a noblewoman.

As they strolled into the grounds for the gathering, Cora's gaze swept from a bed of finely trimmed roses to the gathered guests as they mingled. With Drystan's voice in her ear, she arched a brow.

"You sound like one of my brothers," she murmured. "Your accent, I mean." There were subtle shifts in dialect for each province, something that an offworlder likely wouldn't pick up on unless they dedicated a sizable portion of time to studying native speech patterns. Unless, of course, they had the rare ability to copy what they’ve heard.

"And I don't plan on marrying any of the men here. Worry not, I will endeavor to find out what I can." She'd kept her gaze forward, but now it inched to the side, almost akin to a fleeting glance at her retainer.

"Such a sword would look lovely displayed on your ship. Most things benefit from a touch of Ukatian flair."

There was a note of pride, almost playful, in her otherwise measured tone.

Lord von Grund was not difficult to spot. She'd studied the photos Drystan had provided, as well as the information uncovered from his investigation and found in the archives. He was a tall, balding man with a sturdy build and fine clothes, currently engaged in idle conversation with another middle aged man.

"You should go with the other duelists to prepare. I will see if I can speak with our host."

Once they parted, Cora began to drift in Grund's direction. With the fan shielding her face below the eyes, the maiden kept her gaze, perhaps distractedly, on the blooming wisteria trees.

Then, she bumped into the Lord's burly back.

"Oh!" she squeaked, dropping her decorative fan at his feet. Lady von Althann's cheeks flushed in girlish embarrassment. "Forgive me, my Lord, I…" Without the cover of her fan, she sent a shy glance off to the side.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Drystan tsked but smiled, satisfied that Cora was more than up to the challenge.

As instructed, he peeled off, allowing Lady von Althann to mingle freely with the nobles and other guests of intrigue, while he made his way toward one of the ballrooms.

Meanwhile, Lord Janek von Grund stood in the midst of a lively conversation, a cigar clenched between his teeth, his deep laughter mixing with the warm glow of the fireplace behind him. A handful of older noblemen surrounded him, their wives elegantly poised at their sides, sipping from crystal glasses as they indulged in polite amusement.

Above the fireplace hung a family portrait—a regal composition of the burly lord, his wife, and their daughter.

Grund stood at the back, his powerful frame looming over his seated wife—a blonde-haired, sharp-eyed woman, her icy blue gaze a stark contrast against the dark, well-worn dress she donned. A young girl sat on her lap, mirroring her mother's appearance more than her father's, her curious stare frozen in time within the painting's brushstrokes.

"And then he said: 'You two are a perfect match. With your husband being a seismologist and you with your many faults!'"

A chorus of laughter rippled through the group, Grund grinning as he basked in their amusement. However, his mirth was cut short when a sudden bump at his back pulled him from the moment.

"Mm?" He turned, his deep gravelly voice carrying a note of curiosity as his sharp gaze fell upon Lady von Althann.

A pause.

His brows furrowed, eyes scanning her deliberately, as if some forgotten thought had clawed its way to the forefront of his mind. But just as quickly, his scrutiny faded, replaced with an unexpectedly warm smile.

"Ah, forgive me for staring, lass. For a moment, I thought you were my little Zuzana." His lips pressed into a thin line—briefly, almost imperceptibly—before he let out a light chuckle and bowed his head slightly.

"She'd be your age by now… or thereabouts."

His jovial expression returned in full, any momentary wistfulness tucked away behind his practiced charm.

"Lord Janek von Grund, at your service." He gave a flourishing bow, then straightened, taking another long drag from his cigar.

"I do hope you're finding the evening to your liking. I know how… hungry for conflict my guests are." A chuckle rumbled from his chest. "My groundskeepers are finishing up the dueling ring in the gardens as we speak. First round should start within the hour—" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with a mischievous smirk.

"Just don't tell the King, or he'll have my head."

A beat.

"Literally."

The crowd behind him erupted into laughter once more, swept up in the effortless charm of their host.

"Now then," he continued, his gaze settling on her with a keen curiosity, "Who might you be, lass? I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

The scrutiny of his gaze, while not unexpected, landed harsher than Cora let on. She was reminded of her father and the weight of his critical glare.

A passing servant quickly picked up her fallen fan and returned it to the lady. The barest tilt of her head was given in gratitude as something in her demeanor seemed to genuinely soften. Cora's eyes drifted to the portrait behind Lord von Grund, finding the visage of his wife and daughter. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the delicately structured facial features befitting of Ukatian nobility.

Her gaze traveled back to their host. "Oh," she said softly, a measure of careful sympathy in her expression.

At his jest, Cora hid the motion of her gentle laughter behind the fan. "It would be a shame to waste such a fine head. My lips shall remain sealed, then."

He seemed the agreeable sort, so far. Charismatic. That, and from what she'd observed of her surroundings - he seemed to know how to throw quite the party.

"Oh! Where have my manners gone," she admonished herself gently. Pinching the fabric of her skirt beneath her thumb and forefinger, Cora offered him a curtsy in greeting. "Mariel von Althann, My Lord. I've brought my knight and retainer, Ser Theo, to enter into your festivities. He is quite strong, but I am hoping to find a man stronger, still…"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

As Cora introduced her cover, Lord Grund's eyes widened in realization.

"Ah, Lady von Althann. My record keeper did notify me of your arrival—and your particular situation." There was a twinkle in his eye, no doubt seeing an opportunity.

"And I must say, I empathize with your predicament. Before my little Zuzana... well, I was often wracked with nervousness trying to find a suitable man for her. I could never stomach the thought of pairing her off with some limp-wristed snob. Or worse." He glanced aside, shaking his head.

"Many of my peers find it strange, but I would rather my daughter be happy with her husband—even if it meant turning down a proposal that would benefit me. To see her in the arms of someone unworthy of her character? I perished the thought. But I'm sure your father must have had the same mindset, given your presence here. And what better place to find a husband than in my tournament—where valor, honor, skill and tenacity are tested?"

A pause.

"Come then, I was just about to conduct a tour of the manor. We'll arrive at the castle grounds just before the tournament begins."

At a glance, Lord Grund didn't quite match the image the reports had implied. Even the nobility around him seemed agreeable by noble standards, and the party itself was both lively and well-run.

Von Grund's background as a former soldier and strategist was on full display. His staff operated with the same discipline—precise, attentive, and courteous. Even the guests appeared to be in good spirits.

----

Meanwhile, Drystan arrived at the grounds, observing several groundskeepers putting on the final touches. He was escorted to a large room housing the tournament's competitors.

A squadron of duelists, all armed with swords, were scattered about—training, checking their gear, or chatting in small groups. A few eyes turned toward Drystan, drawn by his standoffish demeanor and the absence of his left arm.

He found a quiet corner to tuck into before pressing the communicator in his ear.

"The mynock has landed." A pause. Right—Cora wouldn't be familiar with his personal code phrases. "Er, sorry. I'm at the tourney grounds. How's it going over there?"

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Lord Von Grund spoke, revealing what Cora imagined to be a more tender side to the man - a father. A father who missed his daughter, who missed the bittersweet experience that could be finding her a suitable match.

Cora pinned a pleasant smile to her face. There was a twinge of pain in her expression, one that was hidden beneath her practiced, courtly demeanor. The marriage excuse was one they'd crafted to make the most sense, but she hadn't anticipated that it would sting in the way that it did.

"That may be strange," she agreed lightly. "But it is kind. Ukatis might be better off if more fathers thought as you did. Your daughter is lucky to have had a father who cares so deeply for her happiness."

Cora understood why her own father had used her as a chess piece, playing on her innocence and blind loyalty to bind her to a powerful, violent man. The two had not spoken in since the Mandalorian Enclave's invasion. The words they exchanged had been bitter.

She smiled at Lord von Grund. "A tour would be lovely."

Drystan's voice crackled in her ear. A mynock?

"Excuse me for a moment, My Lord. I believe one of my earrings has become loose."

Cora drifted to the side, her fan once again obscuring the movement of her hand at her ear.

"Well so far," she relayed in a hushed tone. "He's conducting a tour of the grounds. How does your opposition look?"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"Nothing I can't handle. And that's with the consideration that I can't use the Force," he said, his tone flat and emotionless. "There are sixteen participants total. Aside from myself, I count fourteen in the waiting room."

At Cora's response, Drystan's eyes narrowed, already thinking of how they could leverage the information. When he spoke again, his tone shifted—gone was the warmth, replaced by that cold, calculated edge. This was an operation now.

"Something tells me Grund won't be putting his artifact collection on full display. Still, it could help eliminate places to check once we're on our own."

A brief pause, as he leaned against the wall in a discreet corner of the waiting area within the arena.

"I need you to get your hands dirty. We need leverage—undisclosed relationships, hidden connections, weaknesses, fears. If we're going to confront him, I want a loaded deck and a full hand. Interrogations go smoother when you know which buttons to press."

—

Grund, as expected, led a gathering of new and returning guests through the manor. Returning guests had no real need for a second tour, but many seemed content to linger, conversing and enjoying the warmth of the atmosphere that surrounded the boisterous lord.

The tour itself wasn't overly detailed, but it was extensive due to the manor's size. The focus clearly leaned toward spaces designed for entertainment or mingling. First was the great hall, where most guests were expected to socialize—attended to by well-dressed servants circulating with trays.

Then the parlor, a quieter, more intimate space tailored for subdued conversation. Private suites were also mentioned, for those who desired even more discretion.

Of particular note was the Lord's collection room, displaying costly—albeit mundane—pieces. The group passed by his personal office, though it remained tightly locked behind a set of double wooden doors.

Another notable feature was a lifelike marble sculpture of his late wife and daughter, depicted exactly to scale. The piece mirrored the painting above the fireplace Cora had seen during her earlier encounter with Grund, minus the lord himself.

"That knight of yours, Ser Theo..." Grund began as the tour continued, his tone edged with curiosity. "He's either one hell of a duelist, to have the confidence to fight with such a disadvantage... or you're particularly eager to find a husband."

A pause.

"Which one is it, Lady von Althann?"

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Fourteen participants present, aside from Drystan. No doubt he'd been subtly sizing them up - which made the fifteenth duelist a mystery.

"Let's hope that you're good on your feet."

There was a cold turn to the way he spoke now. Covert operations - information gathering, even interrogation - were in the wheelhouse of a shadow, not a consular.

"I'm sure I can get you something to work with," she murmured. There was a thread of reluctance in her voice, one that Cora recognized. She took the moment re-center herself; this was a mission, von Grund was suspected to be involved in illegal artifact trading, and she was playing a role. While her knowledge of Ukatian culture was relevant, she had the capacity to become too invested.

"His daughter went missing a while ago. I remind him of her." There was a pause as she turned that thought over in her head, approaching it from a new angle. Cora had a developed a distaste for Ukatian noblemen. "I'll figure out what I can."

—

The tour of von Grund's home was typical for that of a noble family's manor. Cora was careful to keep several steps behind their host, mingling with the pack. The locked office was of interest - though, of course, she made no move save for a passing sweep of her eyes.

The food was good, too. With small bites, Cora nibbled a delicate pastry stuffed with some sort of cheese as she observed the statue of the late Lady von Grund and her daughter. Clearly, they were missed.

"Oh, Ser Theo is exceptionally skilled. He is the strongest among my father's knights - that is why he's been appointed as my retainer."

Cora turned, shifting her focus from the marble figures to her host. She couldn't quite work out whether or not he was curious or suspicious, but she played her part all the same. Shyly.

Blushing, she tried to hide a bashful little smile behind her fan. Her gaze averted to the side, on the blurred form of the statues she'd been lingering in front of.

"My father is…encouraging me to find a husband. If I'm not able to find a suitable match by the end of the season, he will pick for me. I-I cannot bear being deprived of my choice in husband."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"His daughter?"

Drystan looked up from his spot as the other duelists began to file out of the waiting room—no doubt the first bouts of the tournament were about to begin.

"They're lining us up for the spectators. I'll see you soon. Keep leaning into that, it might just be what we need."

He closed the channel between them, falling in line with the rest and blending into the group.

—
Grund listened to Cora's story, and whatever suspicions he might have entertained were replaced with something softer—sympathy. He gave her a somber smile.

"I understand." He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, the gesture carrying a faint air of paternal concern.

"It's not all bad, you know—having your spouse picked for you. My wife and I… we didn't love each other at first, but we learned to during our marriage. Of course, it is up to your father's discerning eye. Let us hope he makes the right choice, if not with your knight, then with his sound judgment—for the good of your house, and for your own happiness, milady."

As they spoke, a man approached—distinct from the rest not only in his clothing but in presence. He stood out sharply from the fanciful finery of the Ukatian highborn, a contrast to the planet's culture and atmosphere itself. There was a lion-like laziness to him—relaxed, but dangerous. A strand of wheat moved lazily between his teeth as he chewed, olive skin, peppered-black hair and beard, and eyes narrowed with a predator's gaze.

His robe was foreign, flowing and worn, the look of a wandering swordsman. At his side hung a pair of single-edged blades, with circular guards, hilts wrapped in faded cloth.

"Ah, Omura. There you are," Grund said with a touch of familiarity. "Come, the tournament is about to begin. We were just finishing up the tour of the manor."

He paused, then turned back to Cora with a grin.

"Allow me to introduce Omura—a warrior from Atrisia. My head of security… and my champion."

Another pause, then a chuckle.

"Not to worry, milady. Should he defeat your Ser Theo, I would not ask for your hand. But perhaps you would consider waiting? My nephew, Natan, comes of age within a half-decade."

Omura gave only a grunt. His gaze swept through the others in Grund's company before settling on Cora—sharp and deliberate, as though analyzing her with a blade behind his eyes.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Arranged marriages were common among Ukatian aristocracy. They were often romanticized in folk tales – men who were thought to be undeserving of a noble bride performed great feats to impress a girl's father, and others, like von Grund, built love brick by brick. A younger Cora had once fantasized about a gallant husband.

Charming stories hid a grim reality. While some couples truly found love, and no small amount of husbands were kind to their wives, many marriages were made in political convenience. The brutality that Horace had done unto Cora had shattered her sense of self. In that year, she'd made herself small and quiet. A somber, pale specter trying to make a home out of her gilded cage lined with thorns. The rebuilding of her life was an ongoing process, but certain scars would forever remain etched into both her body and psyche.

Von Grund's words were not meant to irritate her. Cora hid her bitterness behind the intricately painted panels of her fan and an uncertain smile.

"I do hope that you are right, My Lord."

No small part of her did feel a little bad that she was here to try and nail the man for illegal artifact dealings. The appearance of his champion distracted her from those thoughts. A faint pulse in the Force was felt, but Cora could not immediately determine if it was a warning. Still, the hairs at the back of her neck stood when she fell into the crosshair of his sharp eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ser Omura." He was greeted with a nod of her head, an appropriate gesture to give to a highly-stationed servant. "I wonder, have you adopted Ukatian saber play, or do you fight in the style of...Atrisia, was it?"

She glanced to von Grund, as if seeking confirmation.

"Oh, that's…" The flush of Cora's cheeks was genuine, and she shifted in place. "I'm afraid that it would be nigh impossible to convince my father to wait for five years. I'll very much be an old maid by then!"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"I have yet to meet any duelist here that has convinced me to change my ways."

Despite the understated boast, Omura offered a polite nod to Cora, his gaze briefly sweeping across the group before he silently took his place at Lord Grund's side. Grund chuckled at Cora's response and resumed leading the entourage, this time toward the tournament grounds.

"I suppose that would be too long a wait. No matter—we'll find someone for you. Or at least try," he mused. "Come now, let's see where the night takes us."

The tournament grounds were typical of Ukatian nobility: a central tower flanked by two long wooden stands on either side, overlooking a circular arena of tightly packed dirt, enclosed by a simple fence of wooden posts. The tower, of course, was reserved for Grund and those privileged enough to sit with him, the rest of his entourage filling in around him.

The stands were packed, the noble partygoers buzzing with anticipation for the evening's spectacle.

At the center of the grounds stood the tournament announcer, flamboyantly dressed in vibrant colors and mismatched patterns, his arms spread wide to address the crowd.

"Today, these brave warriors will match their skills against one another! Each has been arranged into a bracket, and the matches will proceed until only one duelist remains!"

He paused for breath, letting the tension rise.

"The rules are simple: fight as hard as you can. A match ends if a duelist forfeits, falls unconscious... or dies. Medical attention is available in the healer's tent near the stands. Each round will have an hour-long intermission to allow recovery."

The crowd remained hushed, letting the rules settle in.

"And now, let the tournament begin—once again sponsored by our gracious Lord, Ser Janek von Grund!" he proclaimed, sweeping his hand toward the host. "The first match: Ser Benesh of Rintay versus Sir Theo from the company of Lady Mariel von Althann!"

The crowd erupted, cheers echoing through the arena.

From the waiting area, Drystan emerged, sword sheathed at his side. His opponent was already present—a young, arrogant noble with long blonde hair and the sneer of someone who had never lost a duel in his life. His lavish attire and gilded blade spoke of coin over skill.

"Might as well have given me a bye," Ser Benesh scoffed, spitting into the dirt. "I can't believe I'll have to sully my family's blade with an invalid's blood."

Drystan didn't react. Instead, he bowed gracefully to the crowd, his eyes briefly finding Cora's in the stands. A small nod—measured, composed.

Swords were drawn. The match began.

Benesh charged in like a brute, his swordplay crude and wild—more butcher than duelist. He hacked and swung at Drystan, who dodged and weaved with precise economy, never once letting the blade find flesh.

A poorly timed strike from Benesh was met with a parry so forceful it caused the noble to stagger back, the color draining from his face. Now it was Drystan's turn.

Rather than end it quickly, Drystan decided to make an example of him. His strikes came fast and hard, not at Benesh himself, but directly at the blade. The crowd watched with growing awe as he delivered blow after blow—methodical, powerful, and surgical.

Crack.

Crack.

CRACK.

With a final thunderous clash—

Clang!

Benesh's treasured sword flew from his hands, spinning through the air before embedding itself into the dirt. Drystan's vibroblade was already at the noble's throat.

Silence. Then an eruption of cheers.

Drystan stepped back, lowered his blade, and offered a final bow before calmly exiting the arena, letting the groundskeepers prepare for the next match.

Lord Grund gave a hearty chuckle, clearly entertained. Beside him, Omura rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes still on the field.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"An admirable confidence."

While Omura took his place at Grund's right side, Cora drifted to his left. The man from Atrisia was a surprise, but one they could navigate.

Their host lead them to a private viewing area high above the tournament grounds. Now that they were outside, the quiet elegance of Grund's manor gave way to fresh air and a cacophony of noisy partygoers. Certainly far from the demure, stately tea parties that court ladies usually attended.

After the announcer worked up the crowd to an even greater level of buzz, Ser Theo's first match was announced. There was a brief moment where she and Drystan caught one another's sight - and a subtle tilt of her head was given to his nod. Despite having observed his skill with a blade for herself, Cora was still a little anxious.

In short order, he'd proved her nerves to be unfounded, and the stunned onlookers to be wrong. The one armed-duelist proved as capable as any man, overwhelming Benesh with decisive, precise blows of his saber. In short order, the arrogant young noble was defeated.

Thank Ashla, Cora thought. Trying to weasel her false persona’s way out of marriage with House Rintay would've been frustrating.

Silence swept the arena before the crowd burst into violent cheers. If there was one thing that dueling fans loved, it was a surprise turn of events. A few rows down and across, Cora could see a trio of young women blushing, giggling to eachother as they whispered behind their fans.

"What do you think, My Lord?"

She turned her gaze up to von Grund, ever the curious and wide eyed maiden.

—

Cora excused herself from their host's entourage, making her way down to the arena's holding area where duelists rested, practiced their forms, or, in the case of a few popular knights, met with their fans.

"You did well," Cora nodded to Drystan. "How are you feeling? That's one ill advised marriage avoided, I suppose."

With her fan obscuring her lips, she let her gaze float over the fourteen remaining challengers. One gentleman found himself in the company of several starry-eyed noblewomen.

"Grund's champion is a man from Atrisia. I'd hazard that he won't be a pushover. Are you familiar with Jar'Kai?"

Drystan Creed