Antonio
Sir Wendel
The Mizzen, Tonate Proper

Wendel stared down at Puck for a moment, searching his face, then grinned. "Ha! I *Ssought* You looked like a Melsi. Today goes to ze glory o' ze Great Hog, brozer!" 

The Raven Knight rose to his full height as the crowd continued to cheer after the announcer's declaration. He stood there for a few seconds, then grabbed his lance before he began walking to his horse, nonchalantly brushing off the dirt that was still clinging to his armor with his free hand. He made it to his horse, and after mounting, turned his horse to once again face Wendel.

Wendel flipped his visor again, and shouted, "I sure hope you didn't break a ving, little birt! You'll be vantin' to fly far, far avay after zis next clash!" The full drawl of his Taemish accent flourished in those words. Then, a shrill holler, the kind that the steppes-rangers always cried when they were riding into danger. He set his steed facing the right direction and straightened his back. "High time for a banqvet o' dirt, friend," He said, waiting for the horn to sound.

As the crowd cheered and the horn was lifted to the horn player's lips, the Raven Knight raised his lance and leaned forward in his saddle.

The horn blared, and the two started forward yet again. The horses began to pick up speed, and the lances were leveled. The Raven Knight appeared to be aiming again for Wendel's side. They drew closer. And closer. Closer

Again, Wendel did the twisting motion as he leaned his lance forward. This time, however, the aim of The Raven Knight's lance moved quickly away from Wendel's far side to point at the near side of his ribs. As he did this, he moved to the far side of his saddle, evading Wendel's lance once again as his own made direct contact with its target.

Wendel had felt like all the power of the earth was behind his lance in the heat of that moment. It was a brief illusion. He grunted painfully as his torso crunched at the Raven Knight's strike. It was a solid hit, and even though it didn't knock him off at once, he knew immediately that he was finished. His lance fell out of a limp hand and as his arms flopped, numb and tingling.

—

Eventually, as Blae galloped along, Wendel slumped right off of his saddle. His head crashed on top of the fence with a resounding *Bang* That sent the whole wooden edifice shuddering from end to end.

Cheers and applause eviscerated the short silence that had followed the strike. "Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner!" The announcer declared.

The Taemishman lay flat and motionless on the ground. 

As the cheering continued, The Raven Knight rode his horse to the end of the fence, and then dismounted. Taking off his helmet, he handed it along with his lance to two attendants. The masked man then began to walk over to where Wendel's body was sprawled on the ground. Attendants went over to rouse his opponent as he drew closer.
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Mizzen

Puck felt his heart stop as Wendel was hit, and he cringed outwardly as Wendel hit the fence, and he pushed everyone out of the way to run forward. 

Okay, let's make one thing clear. It's not like he *Cared*... Much. But. He was still an attendant for Wendel, and the fact that he was quite possibly dead made him feel a little uneasy. 

He was the first one there at his side, looking at the solid dent in the chest plate that the Raven Knight had made. He pulled at the straps of his plate to loosen it so he could breathe (if he was breathing at all). Puck had been in the aisles for a year or so, so his accent had diminished, but he was still Taemish, still Melsi, and Hog-damn it, he felt a pain in his chest, too. He was going to fight a lot because of this. If people thought that they could use it against him, blanket it over him thinking he was weak just because Wendel lost, they had another thing coming. He glanced back at the Raven Knight as he approached, and he bared his teeth, his eyes narrowing. 

It's not like the Raven Knight played dirty, he won square and fair, but if he thought he could gloat over the possible corpse of his opponent, Puck would bite him. 

Puck turned back to Wendel to pull off the helmet to make sure he could breathe. 

"Fuck, I thought you'd win." He murmured. "But I still want you to get up."
Harvey
Valkrin Farensun
Royal Balcony, The Mizzen

Valkrin didn't show any emotion in his face, but he felt somewhat bad for the kid from Taemar. He walked around the perimeter of the room, making it seem like he was checking on his guards, but in reality he was collecting his winnings from them. 

"That's why you don't bet on the fuck that runs his mouth the whole time." He'd whisper to each of them as he passed. 

It wasn't that gambling wasn't allowed between the guards, it's just it was discouraged in front of the visiting royals. On his way back to his original position, a guard called out to him. "D'ya fhink 'e's dead, sir?" The guard asked, staring at the boy on the ground. 

"For his sake he'd better be," Said Valkrin turning his attention to the scene, "Be the first joust of the day, *And* Deny the crowd a corpse? They'll likely stone him for the insult." He laughed at his own humor slightly too loud and hoped the kings hadn't heard him.
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim - The Mizzen

When Sir Welder hit the ground Clalypso's hand flew up to cover Lady Fleur's eyes to shield the girl from the violent show. But her face remained unfazed as she looked at the body laying on the ground. 
Unfortunately, her premonition had been right in the end. It wasn't the first time she experienced such a situation. Jousters died all the time during this kind of event, it was a risk that they were willing to take in the name of glory and money. 
A sigh escaped her lips. Bastien would surely scold her for showing, or better *Not showing* Any kind of reaction.
Emma
Ferdinand Chapoisson and Carac the Butcher
The Mizzen

Ferdinand chuckled, he had put a large sum of coin on the Raven Knight to win, and that had certainly paid off. It seemed like the boy was dead, oh well, these sorts of things happened in jousts, sometimes you're just out of your depth and pay the price. He turned over his shoulder to look at Carac
"Looks like the Raven Knight knows his way around a joust, eh?" He smiled, looking for any reaction from is hulking bodyguard. As usual, all he got was a grunt from Carac, who looked down at the unmoving form of Wendel.

Underneath his helm, Carac frowned. He wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed, he thought this kid might have more fight in him than this, that determination he saw before might just have been a trick of the light. Mostly, he just was upset the Raven Knight wasn't put on his ass. Maybe it was silly for him to think this way, but he always thought that the 'Legend' of the Raven Knight was exaggerated. He jousted for the amusement of the King for the gods sakes! He was more than likely some posh noble who liked dressing up in black armor and pretending to be something more than he was. But based on what lay before him, perhaps he was too quick to judge, he at least had a killer instinct.
Antonio
When Puck pulled Wendel's helmet off, his eyes were barely open, and his pale face was dumbstruck. Puck couldn't hear him breathing ...
 
—
Ser Wendel
The Mizzen, Tonate Proper

*"... Want you to get up."*

Puck's voice was a drop in the pond, clearing away its oily-black skin. The world opened up to Wendel, but the clouds seemed to be hovering up and down in the sky. Squinting, he shifted himself up onto his backside. Still, everything around him was warping, palpitating to the rhythm of a steady throb in his skull. He looked at Puck with wide, dazzled eyes.
Rhonda
Seneschal Silas Asgarov
The Pit of the Mizzen, Tonate Proper

No one had seen or heard the Seneschal leave the royal box. In one moment he had been reclined in his padded chaise lounge, a goblet of wine in his slender fingers as he chatted loudly with the serving staff. But when the Taemishman was knocked from his horse and appeared unresponsive, he was gone, with only the faint scent of his flowery perfume to mark his sudden absence. 

As the young Melsi got to his knees and began to shake the boy, the long shadow of the Seneschal stretched over him in the hot midday sun. From underneath the shadow of his wide paper parasol, he watched as his apprentice shook the dead body. It would be a useful learning experience, and from the look of the man, they'd have quite the job ahead of them. He was monstrously big, even after they stripped him from his suit of armor, they'd more than likely have to divide the body for easy moving and inspection. His eyes narrowed as Puck removed the man's helm. Good bone structure too. He would make for a good instructional skeleton. But then Puck was still on his knees, trying to shake the corpse awake. 

It was only when the crowd around them began to cheer that Silas realized the man's eyes had opened and his chest resumed its rising and falling. "Oh." He said, putting on a smile to hide is disappointment, "Yes, this is..." He pursed his lips and motioned for Puck to rejoin him at his side, "What a _marvelous_ recovery, Ser."
John
Puck
The Mizzen

Puck held onto Sir Wendel's shoulders as he brought him into an awkward hug, allowing the young man to lean on him as he patted his back. "Hey! It's alright, see? Taemish are tough." He had no clue why he was basically encouraging him, he hardly knew him, but his heart was pounding with relief as he kept patting his back hard enough to get his lungs working again. 

He pulled away to hold onto the big guy's shoulders, starting to smile a little bit. "We're stronger than that!" He said with a tone of success, as if he hadn't been brutally beaten in the joust. He glanced back at Silas with that smile and immediately dropped it, glancing back at Sir Wendel. "Get up, Steppes!" He encouraged.
Antonio
Ser Wendel
The Mizzen, Tonate Proper

For some reason, the Melsi boy was hugging him all a sudden—soothing him, even. He could hear a springy camaraderie in the youthful voice. He wasn't sure if he liked it; then again, after that blow to the head, he wasn't quite sure where he *Was*, either. There was a bad taste in his mouth, and though his vision was settling, he felt a sting in his eye socket. Reaching up with a ginger finger, he winced upon feeling the tenderness of a black eye. When he probed up over his brow, his finger made out the budding bruise interrupting the smooth of his forehead; it hurt like all shit, at any rate. He wasn't looking his finest, he knew ... Nor did he *Feel* His finest ...

Bollocks. He'd lost.

Not only had he lost, but he'd lost *Brutally* To a man who wouldn't even offer up his name to be tarnished. "Darn cheat," Wendel grumbled to the back of Puck's neck, his blond locks hanging down over a dingy visage. 

He knitted his brows at the sight of a shadow, one belonging to a figure with very strange upper proportions. A ambulant mushroom, perhaps? Lifting his gaze, he saw that the man wasn't swollen in the upper half, just that he was holding up some odd shading thing that warped his silhouette. He saw more slices of the man through the gaps in his tangled fringe: Willowy. Hair like pitch. Cut too neat; diamond-like. Beautiful face. Terrible eyes. Who was this man? And why was he talking to the boy?

The two were pushed out of his attention by a third: the masked man.

"A fine horse and armour for me, but no feathered cap for you." The mystery knight held out his gauntleted hand for Wendel to clasp. "You did well."

Wendel brushed a stray bit of hair out of his face. "Darn right it vas." He took the man's hand, gently shrugging off Puck and giving his half of an effort to get himself back on two feet. He stumbled a little once he was upright, nearly toppling onto the other man. After straightening the belt of his hauberk, he placed his hands on his hips and gave the knight a once-over. "Sank you, Ser. Hope'ly ze goot Kink'll be reasonable vis his price. But even if he empties my purse altogezer, still it vas an honour, Ser." He put his hand to his breast and gave a small bow.

"The honour was mine," The masked man replied. He took a few steps backwards, giving Wendel a single, bowing nod. "Until we meet again." 

With that, he turned away and began to walk back to his portcullis.

Wendel smiled for a moment, but it faded onceWendel brushed a stray bit of hair out of his face. "Darn right it vas." He took the man's hand, gently shrugging off Puck and giving his half of an effort to get himself back on two feet. He stumbled a little once he was upright, nearly toppling onto the other man. After straightening the belt of his hauberk, he placed his hands on his hips and gave the knight a once-over. "Sank you, Ser. Hope'ly ze King'll be reasonable vis his price. But even if he empties my purse altogezer, still it vas an honour, Ser." He put his hand to his breast and gave a small bow.

"The honour was mine," The masked man replied. He took a few steps backwards, giving Wendel a single, bowing nod. "Until we meet again." 

With that, he turned away and began to walk back to his portcullis.

"I've met nastier vinners," Said Wendel. He turned to Puck and sighed. "Vell, young man, I suppose you've earned yourself a drink. Come." He glanced once at Silas.
Rhonda
The Seneschal 
The Pit of the Mizzen, Tonate Proper

"Come, Puckgordon." The mage adjusted the parasol above him and turned off towards the innards of the Mizzen.
John
Puck
The Mizzen

Puck was glad that Sir Wendel was okay, and he was about to take him up on his offer as he hadn't really had someone to go for a drink with before, but his face fell when Silas commanded him.

He swallowed, straightening up. "I can't. But get yourself one." He dug into his pocket and gave him a coin. "Have a good one."

With that, he straightened his collar, following Silas into the Mizzen.
Antonio
Sir Wendel
The Mizzen, Tonate Proper

Wendel watched him go with a perked eyebrow, then gazed at the coin in his palm. "A'ight zen, boy. Have it yer vay." Looking around, he realized that he was without a squire. He was going to be back on this sand before the day was out, fighting his way through a proper, brutal melee. Perhaps he'd find a more favourable element in that than his experience so far.

Picking up his helmet and whistling Blae to his side, he led his horse by the reins back indoors. Walking into the shade, he knew he should have been thinking about the upcoming battle, but all he could think about was the boy and the man who'd just walked through here. Who'd that been? His father? How did Melsi lad even end up in this claggy city of the far South?