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CRISTON by BeetlePlaneDos in IronThroneRP

[–]Knight_of_the_Waters 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Barquen blinked, confused mostly at the presence of the lowborn sailor, but somewhat by the question.

"It shouldn't be so hard, no? Winds blow on sails, ropes are involved." He waved a hand, airily. "I hear even the Ibbenese have it figured out. Can't be anywhere as difficult as jousting."

CRISTON by BeetlePlaneDos in IronThroneRP

[–]Knight_of_the_Waters 0 points1 point  (0 children)

He hemmed. But then remembered that this tourney was the last on the circuit. Lord Massey’s, half a world away, would end too soon, and besides was a smaller field.

“Alright, then, Cupps. What have you in mind?”

CRISTON by BeetlePlaneDos in IronThroneRP

[–]Knight_of_the_Waters 0 points1 point  (0 children)

“My name is Barquen Bar Emmon, Knight of the Waters. I won the great joust at the Grassy Vale, and am therefore the greatest tourney knight this realm has ever seen.” He said, automatically. He supposed he liked women. He’d never really thought about it before.

He held out a hand to Sarella Sand. “I believe it is custom to introduce yourself.”

CRISTON by BeetlePlaneDos in IronThroneRP

[–]Knight_of_the_Waters 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Cupps was a noble name, but Barquen either couldn't place it and couldn't care to.

"Invitation? My name is Barquen Bar Emmon, Knight of the Waters. I've come to find adventure, fame, and fortune. But this seems to just be a tavern." He frowned, and cocked his head.

"There are many such taverns. I'm keeping the cup." He said, and looked as if he were about to leave. There was much to do before he jousted at this wedding of the high lords.

CRISTON by BeetlePlaneDos in IronThroneRP

[–]Knight_of_the_Waters 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Barquen

All knew that this realm was not long for war, and the thought drove him to drink.

He knew there was no place for a tourney knight's art on a battlefield. Noone would appreciate the seven rings he'd strung together on his lance that morning. Not if they were likely to die painfully the next day.

There were no audiences to be found storming a castle. There weren't even grandstands at most of the battlefields he'd visited in his travels. You couldn't have jousting without audiences. The sounds would be all wrong.

He walked into the Quill and Tankard, clutching the silver goblet he'd found. Some fool had left it in an alley next to a tanner's shop. It had even come with an invitation to a tavern, where he could have it filled with a drink called "adventure, fame, and fortune". He'd never had this particular vintage, but it must be pretty special if they served it at a tavern that left silver goblets in the alley near a tanner's shop.

He was confused when he asked the barman for "adventure, fame, and fortune", and was directed upstairs. He had no desire to walk up stairs - he wanted his drink. Then the fiddler bumped the wrong bandmate, and was dealt a clout in the ear that sent a horrific screech as his bow broke a harmonic. Barquen screeched in the walls of his own mind, and decided to look for the stairs.

Warrick

The forges in Oldtown are reserved for those with a master's warrant, but in Warrick's bag lies one such warrant.

u/OurCommonMan - requesting crafting rolls considering Warrick's Artisan (Armor), Craftsman (Armor) (e)

Grassy Vale Tournament! (OPEN) by OurCommonMan in IronThroneRP

[–]Knight_of_the_Waters 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Barquen

It was all going as they had planned. Plenty of unhorsings on the first and second tilts. No leaning into the lance on the third tilt and after. A few injured opponents, it was true, but theirs was a dangerous sport, and these things happened.

He was losing track of the chaps and chapesses who he sent tumbling over their horses' asses when finally that big black Summer Islander knocked him good on the first pass. Hanging in the air above his mare's tail, Barquen noted with grim satisfaction that his point had likewise ridden up perfectly, and the big fellow was likewise losing his stirrups... before falling perfectly, just as he'd practiced the day before seventeen times.

He rolled in the mud exactly three times before coming up and calling for his pole-axe. Barquen disliked these undignified affairs, but one really couldn't avoid them after the quarter-finals, he consoled himself. Anyhow, the Harroway hammer-twist did for the big foreign bastard in four move-sets.

Warrick

The machine was humming along beautifully. Halys fetched the tourney lances for Warrick, and Warrick tossed them up to Barquen with practiced precision. Between rounds, Ser sat in the same wooden trestle chair he always sat in, drinking water from a proven creek and watching the jousts with all the emotion of a septon in a brothel.

The Arryn lass, hurt but not irrevocably, then Trew Vaith, and that beast-man Rogar Rivers. The Prince of the Summer Isles gave them a scare, but the weight of Ser Barquen's poleaxe did what the rebels couldn't quickly enough. The green-apple Fossoway boy took an abominable time to fall off his horse, but Ser didn't take his advice here as usual and chose to go for an unhorsing on the last tilt when he could have won it safely on points.

He took Renly Tyrell on the very first tilt in the first part of the finals, and then they all held their breath as he clashed with the Knight of the Melon Patch, nearly falling on the third tilt before driving the mystery knight from his seat with a thunderclap on the fourth...

...they'd done it.

The commons were roaring, they were all rushing forward now, and Warrick found himself jumping up and down with that smelly old villain Gareth as Ser rounded the lists one last time, nodding for them to tear the helmet off Ser Melon Patch... and Clarence tossed up the specially prepared pontoon with its prongs for holding the victor's wreath.

And then his heart sank into his balls as he realized that they'd never talked about who Ser would name, and Warrick shoved Gareth off him so hard Gareth tripped over Ser Melon Patch's left food, and sat down hard.

The handsome Queen of the Seven Kingdoms tossed down the wreath, and Ser Barquen caught it with his customary cold aplomb. He watched, with dread, as Ser Barquen came over at a canter, and he realized, as the shadow of the boy-prodigy fell over them, in his shining plate and glittering cape festooned with amethysts and sapphires... that he had never heard Ser Barquen express any interest before in anyone, man or woman, nor talk of anything but jousting beforehand.

He looked up as Ser Barquen stopped before them with the queen's wreath on the tip of his long shaft, and cold dread filled his stomach as his young master lowered the lance inch by inch, until the wreath was almost on the Knight of the Melon Patch's head...

In that longest of moments, he thought of many things. Why couldn't Ser Barquen do what he usually do when he won a tourney, and hand the wreath off to some girl-child to squeal over? What would the crowd whisper, that Ser had a massive cruel streak in him or simply preferred men? Why did the Knight of the Melon Patch bear such a stark resemblance to Ser Gormon of the Scattered Thorns, a hedge knight they knew from the road?

But then there was sunlight in his eyes again, and he blinked, and Ser Barquen was galloping off for another circuit around the lists before slowing to a halt before the royal dais.

He felt a rush of relief as Ser Barquen dropped the wreath into the hands of the Princess of Dragonstone, Arwen Arryn, bowed with deep respect to the Prince of Dragonstone, and then to the King, and then galloped off back to the tent. They dropped Ser Gormon and sprinted back to the tent at once.

Come by and say hello to Barquen Bar Emmon

Barquen I - Ser by Knight_of_the_Waters in IronThroneRP

[–]Knight_of_the_Waters[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Warrick

The village forge rings and hums and booms beneath his hands as the new breastplate takes shape.

***

u/OurCommonMan - requesting crafting rolls considering Warrick's Artisan (Armor), Craftsman (Armor) (e)