Debra
"Hey, who said I was involved, Granny Lebout? I told the gods' honest truth." *He held up his hand in a mock oath.* "I did not in any way become romantically involved with that orc woman. She wrestled me, I won, she got mad and left. Nothing else to it." *The truth was exactly what he had said, but the persistent smile on his face might suggest otherwise. It was quite funny that sometimes when one lied, the truth came out, but when you were honest, no one believed you. It was all in the expression, he supposed.*

"Hey, careful there, that's a bit cocky of you. You remember Winrae's never done anything but beat your ass, right? Saying it like that makes me think you've been there before. Give the woman some respect here. She's got the edge on you." *He chuckled as Jeanne threw mud in the face of the Aasimar verbally. There was no way Winrae was taking that lying down.*

"Well, you could say that knocking some sense into mercs is why we do it." *Rikard nodded slowly.* "But honestly? I just like fighting. The feel of it, the bones crunching under the mace. It's not the greatest thing about me, but... I mean, can I stop myself from feeling that way? Best I can say is that I'm trying to actually use that for a good purpose."

*As for the dice game... He simply sat back and observed, waiting for the result.* "That... Is such a terrible bet, Jeanne. You lose either way."
Patricia
"Crass humor indeed." Just as Winrae was about to pull out a pair of die, the words that suggested the aasimar was afraid to duel, Jeanne of all people, crashed into Winrae's ears like a ton of bricks. Flickering her now increasingly glowing eyes the elven woman's way, she scoffed, nearly in disbelief at how Jeanne could insult her in such a way. While there was still that air of playfulness between the three of them, Jeanne had crossed a fine line with Winrae, one that the paladin believed she'd regret crossing to begin with. "Tell you what, Lebout. To Infernum with the die." Winrae placed the die back into her pouch before settling those fiery eyes back on Jeanne once more. Addressing Rikard, her eyes never left the elf's, and they both were blazing like meteor's as they burned through Jeanne's blue-green hues.

"Oh, don't worry Rikard, perhaps she's simply forgotten. Who knows, it could be the amount of times she's been beaten has affected her memory." While Winrae was still being somewhat playful, both Jeanne and Rikard would know very well to insult the Winged Stag was to ask very simply for a death sentence for most. She's practically killed tieflings over it on more than one occasion. While she's never try to kill either knights over something so trivial, she'd surely leave a mark, quite literally on anyone close to her who insulted her. Take Winrae's sister Essme for example, who dared defy her wishes only days before, resulting in them both clashing with one another.
.

Hearing the tail end of Jeanne's bet, Winrae rolled her eyes. "You do that anyways, Jeanne." The paladin finally let out a gentle chuckle, bringing down the level of intensity she portrayed moments before. Turning her eyes toward the newcomer, Winrae bowed her head respectfully. "Of course, Duke Telidos. Somehow you've managed to rope in some of Alynthi's best royal knights, so I'm sure you're in for quite the show, as well as your paying onlookers." The aasimar gently stretched her pure white wings, but not enough to bump anyone or any other table with the slightly cramped tavern. Her white eyes occasionally would bounce back to Jeanne, making it obvious those words of insult were still at the forefront of her mind.

"I do not fight to knock sense into people, you both know that. I fight for Kamara and Kamara alone, though coming across the occasional loudmouth and insuring he's loud no longer can be quite entertaining. Nothing beats the fools who try to run realizing I have wings, for me however." Winrae shrugged a bit, scratching her chin idly as she recalled one too many times bandits or fugitives trying to flee, only to be swooped down upon by the mighty aasimar. "Anyways, how goes the plans for the tournament, my lord? I do hope all's going smoothly."
James
"Sounded to me like you were involved, but if you say it's not true... Then, I guess it's not true." Jeanne shrugged it off, teasing the knight who she was so wary of. Foolish? Definitely. Stupidly dangerous? Also definitely. But it was in her nature to mock and—somewhat—bully others, often twisting their mannerisms on its head. Nonetheless, she was already in a world of danger with the aasimar, having gone a bit off the deep end in her attempts to get her to join. Jeanne, however, didn't dare to remember the many other times the two have dueled, a complete defeat by the Winged Stag that sat right beside her, fueled by desire to wipe Ane's smug face. She was about to eat her words.

Casting aside the die, Winrae agreed to join in on the tournament. A dangerous decision. "I've improved my swordplay since then, I can promise you that." Jeanne glanced as the barkeep approached, tankard in hand before setting it down in front of the young elf. A face full of joy flashed on her face, but quickly waned. She slid the mead into her hand, she took a swig, downing a significant portion in only a few moments out of desperation. Or was it to ward off her bad decisions for pissing off the aasamir? Either way, it didn't mater as the elf slammed the tankard onto the table, splashing mead on her hands.

"Needed a bit of that..." Jeanne murmured, wiping her wet lips with the back of her gloved hand.

Upon hearing Winrae, Jeanne slightly frowned. "Only sometimes..." With that, she took another swig from the tankard while conversation turned to the Duke. The thought of knocking some heads was tantalizing for the Alynthi knight. Though Jeanne tried to enjoy her mead, the occasional white eyes of Winrae made her smirk. Jeanne was going to get her ass handed to her, sure, but she'd enjoy the upset aasamir till then.

"And I fight for Alynthi and its people, but you can't lie... Some people are just outrageously obnoxious." Jeanne could recall hundreds of obnoxious events, mainly from mercenaries who followed their own sense of direction. Funny how the ex-mercenary was dissing on her own people. Nevertheless, her eyes turned to the duke, wondering the same as Winrae. Surely the tournament would be close to finished, right?
Eric
*The Duke, while freindly enough, had obviously not enjoyed the details of planning the tournament. He offered a quick thanks as he took his seat, before responding to Winrae's question* "The tournament? It's going smoothly enough, although my aides seem unable to perform the most simple tasks. I say find an architect to construct stands and stalls. Simple enough right? Go into town, and find an architect's shop. I even told him where several where. And he comes back asking questions about whether it should be oak or pine, whether we should have it on the left or the right side of the field, all while I'm trying to get some lunch. I've told him how I want it before who knows how many times, and he still asks." *He rubbed his forehead with frustration at the aid.* "Other than that it's going smoothly. I just need a break from all the logistics. And some food. The good news is that we should be finished here in about a week. How about you all? I hear plenty of competitive talk, so I trust you'll represent Alynthi well." 

*He sat back in his chair, sipping a mug of water and looking around for whoever was going to bring the meal he had asked for in advance. It shouldn't be to long, and with how busy the tavern was he wasn't surprised it was taking a while.* "You lot better be sure you're ready, because we got folk here from Dasvaz to Crasmere, and from Gantrick to Kishfire. Most of the Findarans are men I know, a few in my own retinue. All skilled and battle hardened. We have constant skirmishing with the Drogon to the west, and even though there hasn't been an attack in a few months, we have to stay vigilant even during a celebration like this. I'm sure you know what I mean."