Spring Festival/Solo Tournament/506-05-23 Tournament Final - Solphin v. Cain
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| Final Match - Solphin v. Cain | |
|---|---|
| RL Date | 23 Nov 2008 |
| Players | Solphin Acaran, Cain Sothen |
| Location | Coliseum |
| Crossroads Time and Weather | |
| IC Date | 23 May 506 |
| Season | Spring |
Main Competition Field - Coliseum
The Coliseum is truly an impressive structure. Built on the ruins of the Coliseum that existed during the Time of Chaos, it is obvious just by looking at it where the old structure stops and the new begins. Techniques never known by human engineers created the foundation of the immense structure, solid stone seeming to have risen up from the earth to take the shape of an elongated oval. No mortar holds the bottom of this bowl-like arena together - it seems to have been dug from one single massive stone, and is as smooth to the touch as marble. Taupe in color, the stone seems more like hardened sand than actual rock, though its strength is verified by the fact that it has existed for five hundred years.
On top of the ancient structure is one of newer design, that is nonetheless several hundred years old. The bowl rises an impressive one hundred feet, the inner walls lined with rows of wooden bleachers that are stacked one upon the other, each one rising higher than the one below. The main tournament field is packed dirt, raked into concentric circles before and after every tournament or event. The Imperial Box is situated at the far end of the field, raised on a dais and covered with a blue and gold tarpaulin for shade. Scattered around the inside of the bowl are smaller boxes where vendors sell refreshments and, at tournaments, the favors of the participants.
A warm and dry night - a good night for a tournament final. With red and blue scattered across the stands, the Arbiter is making notes on his card as he steps forward towards the ring. "The tournament final will be beginning momentarily! If Master Cain Sothen and Lady Solphin Acaran will report to the tournament arena?"
From Observation Stands, Onto the bleachers comes not only the Baroness of Destine, but about ten other people. Each is dressed in blue from head to toe, including paint upon the face. It is like a really large Blue Man Group. They have the trusty large powder puffs with blue dyed flour. This time for the 'special' occassion they are dusting the ground where they walk in blue glitter. Yes, fear. For if you are poofed you shall have not only colored flour, but *glittered* blue flour.
The ocassional gusts slowly pick up to become strong winds.
Once more has the Guardian challenger eschewed the stands above to instead await and prepare below for the coming match, the warrior's frame a scene of marked calm as he sits back by one of the supporting posts beneath the stands near the entrance to the preparation room. His muddied, worn cloak and faded coat have already been cast off earlier, whilst the bastard sword he's borne into all but one of his bouts rests across his knees as he sits there legs folded and crossed. It may not be meditation, but it's something close; those chilled, pale blue eyes gaze off into nothing, unfocused as his hands lie clasped in his lap. And then the call comes. One more second, a bow of his head, and Cain flips the sword up into the air and stands smoothly to his feet - catching the handle in the one motion to bear the blade by his side. A last shrug of his shoulders and the mercenary turns to lope out like a wolf onto the field, once more not a single glance cast over his shoulder to the observing throng as he heads toward the arbiter.
A fine night indeed! Solphin's been here a while, truth be told. The scamp is taking her time warming up, taking laps around the field, stretching, a few minor acrobatic feats, really just keeping herself nice and toasty tonight as she waits. Still that ever present smile available and occasionally looking up to the stands, either looking for or looking for the absense of a soul. The appearance of that very large procession of blue draws that already brightened smile into a near brimming beacon of infectious humor. "Well I'll be damned..." The ever moving bundle of energy doesn't seem to get the same out of a 'peacetime meditation' that her competition does. Even as she walks with that lax amble that resembles a roguish man's saunter, she's rolling her shoulders, swinging her arms, keeping the blood flowing as she hums under her breath. Zorn and Thorn, faithful pains in the asses that they are, stand near the entrance. Zorn being a good packmule holding onto the Lady's staff.
"You both made it, excellent." the Arbiter offers with a nod to both contestants. "Again, this match is for seven rounds, the majority point winner will be declared the victor of the Spring Tournament." he comments. "No /interference/." A pointed look at Solphin, then up to the stands. Especially from drunk Fielders. "When you're ready, dip your weapons and prepare."
The stars glitter like diamonds in the deep sapphire blue of the night sky.
Whatever energy Cain bears with him, clearly it's of a different sort to his scamp rogue of an opponent. There's no jittery motion; barely even the bat of an eyelid or change of expression, truth be told, save for the most fleeting curve of his lip in what could be the hint of a bemused smile as he follows the path of the arbiter's gaze toward the gathered crowd at the comment concerning interference. Reserved is clearly a word that fits the Guardian'er, or at the least on these days of competition. He gives a last roll of his shoulders and a bow of his head in a nod of acknowledgement to Solphin as he looks back, and takes a pace away to prepare. "A fine night." The mercenary murmurs, with again the touch of a smile, the starlight glinting off his blade as he lowers it, ready.
The strong, steady winds become occasional gusts.
Solphin makes her way up toward the Arbiter, chuckling low under her breath at that pointed look, both of her hands going up in a gesture of innocence, dark eyes going wide. "She's the one that called time, Arbiter." Chuckling between her words. Though it did work out in her favor. "Besides, I doubt that the merc man here is going to be fooled by a bottle weilding Fielder." Inclining her head in an amicable sort of manner to Cain. A shrill whistle splits the air, a sound that most should be accustomed to if they've met her before "Zorn!" the guard taking a step forward and tossing the staff to his Lady, who catches it easily enough without any fancy acrobatics or spins, she turns and meanders to the bucket o' boffing to dip her staff.
"Yes yes. Remember, no kill blows, and there will be a ten minute time out if blood is drawn by either party." Waiting for the two to finish dipping their weapons and return to the ring, the Arbiter nods. "When you're ready, then... begin!"
From Observation Stands, The men in the 'Blue Man Group of Doom' start to the front of the observation deck. One bends his body into a G, followed by another that tries for an O. There is a space of moment and then an S, an O, an L, a P, an H, an I, and finally an N. They are using their bodies, which glint with glitter, to make the letters this time.
[ROLL] Cain rolls 1d20: 13
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 20
His weapon dipped in kind, the mercenary paces back to begin the final bout of this tourney. Save for that one look to the stands earlier, there's no more sidelong glances to distract him; and thusly, no sight of the contortionist group of fans his adversary would seem to command. The bastard sword is slipped skilfully in his hands, rolled about in a near twirl as his hands grasp more firmly 'round the handle, and with that final gesture does Cain begin forward to launch an attack and signal the real start of this bout. There's a flash and glint of reflected moon and starlight from his blade as it arcs across in one sweeping slash aimed to her side, boot springing from the ground as he darts forward toward Solphin.
From Observation Stands, The Blue Men Of Doom start to chant. "Solphin is our girl! She is more precious then a secret pearl! She'll kick your ass and take your name! You will never be the same! Solphin may be a scamp! She ain't no man's tramp! Goooooo Solphin!"
From Observation Stands, Standing up, Tobias reaches into his coat and withdraws.. a cowbell. Which he starts to ring in time with the chanting.
With the dipping of the weapons and Solphin waitin on her 'side' of the battle field, casually spinning her staff, then drifting into a fluid sort of motion, weight transfered between her feet, side to side, side to side. Still wearing that smile, quieted now as her eyes narrow, taking in the larger built man. She takes him in as a matter of stats and figures. Arm X 2, Leg X 2, Torso, Groin, Head...all being calculated away as she waits. And doesn't wait long! For once, the woman finds herself on the defensive as the merc starts headlong for her. She starts off at a slower dart, but stays in motion to clash just under midpoint. The slash at her side doesn't connect, but rather hisses past her as she drops to a roll past the guardian man, her staff gripped hard in both hands as she crouches, aiming a blow to his knees with her staff.
[ROLL] Cain rolls 1d20: 3
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 19
Watching the two combatants, the arbiter notes the near misses, and then as the staff connects, he raises a blue flag, his first use of the colorful things. "Point, Acaran, nil to one!"
From Observation Stands, They continue to cheer "To Solphin the support! We cheer Fenton because he didn't abort! To Solphin we cheer! Knowing others will fear! Solphin is our pick! Because she can handle her massive stick!"
Dealing with a quarterstaff in skilled hands is far different to approaching a combatant wielding a blade. For one, there's several ways either end can block or come back, and so it is that there's no move by the mercenary to wait on the outside and simply get picked off. So Cain presses forward with that slash, the sword wheeling about in his hands till it hisses past Solphin's tumbling frame, his eyes remaining set in that state of apparent calm - even as she ducks past him to swing that staff across. It strikes hard enough even as he seeks to spin out of the way that he drops sharply to one knee. Even so, the Guardian'er makes not a sound or hint of discomfort past a moment's expellation of breath, nor does he let the movement go to waste, shoulders twisting across as he aims another blow in an upward sweeping diagonal slash for her thigh on the moment he falls, afore pushing back to his feet.
From Observation Stands, The Blue Men start juggling the glittery poofs. Which means... glitter for all and for all a good night. Solphin's gaze doesn't light up as the man falls heavy to one knee, nor does she give any outward sounds of mirth or jovial intent as the now dusty woman takes to her fieet rightly to smoothly drop one end of her staff downward. The loud CRACK!! of that blunted boffer blade sounding against her staff as she arms over to block and recoil it.Using the force and momentum of the blade against her staff pushes her in to a spin. Spin that seems to assist in some way as Cain stands and the staff is braced against her rib cage on one end, the other aimed to crack straight into Cain's side, hoping to grab his arm in the process, bicept, right above the elbow.
The arbiter's eyes pass over the two combatants, and then another simple determination is made as that blue flag flutters in the breeze again. "Point, Acaran, nil to two!"
[ROLL] Cain rolls 1d20: 1
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 17
Whether he's unable to draw a bead on the swift maneuvers of his quarry or simply unused to dealing with the twirl of a staff in so quick a fashion, Cain's blade remains without a way through the defences of the Lady of Moria. Even as he pushes back up to his feet from the dust and caked mud of the earth he's no sooner to find his balance as that staff comes crashing back into him from Solphin's next blow, a low grunt escaping him this time as it's shoved into his side with a crack and she grabs for his arm. A rough jerk from his hands keeps his bastard sword borne away from his opponent, but the blow and her subsequent follow through are enough to keep the Guardian off balance as his early assault now falls defensive. Despite this he doesn't seek to give her too much of an opening - falling back with one staggered step while attempting to swing his blade across in a slash designed to create some distance and recover.
Matching defense for defense, able to see that castoff balance, the tedious grip she's set him on, Solphin's eyes darken a little. The light snuffed out for a few glancing moments as she connects with his arm and throws the merc off, gaze flickering to the weilded blade threatening to come crashing down upon her. Giving up on her previous plan, the staff gripped firm in both hands, she may not match his strength, but when your opponant has enough of it, well...you know. Adapt. She creates a barrier rather than to strike out again, raising both hands up quickly as he slashes across. No, she wasn't moving back. Not an inch of room. An attempt to connect the center of her staff with his wrist, forearm, even the hand itself and attempt to knock it away.
The flurry of blows keeps the Arbiter's attention off the madness in the stands as that blue flag flutters again. "Point, Acaran." he announces. "Nil to three."
[ROLL] Cain rolls 1d20: 19
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 5
The blur of the dancing staffwork before him is enough to carve out a fair task for the mercenary as he gives up another yard of the coliseum's earth; a cloud of dust kicked up by deft footwork aimed to bring him back and to balance once more. He may be at a disadvantage in this particular flurry, but Cain looks no more perturbed, face still calm and eyes set on each strike his opponent delivers as he wheels his bastard sword across to meet and parry those oncoming blows. A breeze whips that dust across, hair flicking past his face as he moves fluidly from defense to attack once again without pause for a breath. The wolfshead borne on the hilt of his weapon catches light in the illumination given to the field, a picture of a howl for all of a split second as he whips his whole body across in one long, one-handed slash aimed at cutting past Solphin's side and hopefully knocking her back a step or two from him.
Something's shifted in the force. Her attempt to knock away the man's blade met with resistance and indeed an actual failure in that realm. Surprise. Her expression is muted though but for a quick widening of her eyes as the blade remains firmly in hand, not to mention the the noted motions that draw the merc away from the smaller, questionable 'noblewoman'. Something about the wolfshead on the hilt of that blade catches her eyes. An omen. A sign. A pure strike of happenstance as her gaze is drawn to it out of distraction, concentration faultered a moment. Uncharacteristic of the woman, the arc of the blade attached to the hilt missed until the last moment. Which doesn't leave her enough time to propperly prepare. Her feet guide backwards, quick and scampering, but not quick enough. Even with the staff in hand to block away the blade, she catches a fair blow in the side. An exhale of breath and quick crumple of motion in that direction to absorb it. Indeed. She gives the man space!
You're expecting that blue flag, right? Instead, it's the red one that flutters. "Point, Sothen. One to three." the arbiter announces.
[ROLL] Cain rolls 1d20: 19
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 1
Space. Finally, he's swept that darting staff away from him, and the snarling wolf's blade scores him a point and distance as the dipped, blunted steel arcs across in that savage swing. But the warrior has learnt his lesson from that initial assault that cost him those first precious moments in the bout that necessitated a hard scrap of iron and wood in the dance of blow after blow in a bid to regain even just his footing. So Cain doesn't dive in - not yet. Not a pause of hesitation, for there's not a sign of such to linger behind that quietly unassuming gaze of his. No, it's more a shredded, shave of a second's moment to ensure he can discover another opening as he shifts his weight before darting forward, both hands grasping his sword's handle as he swings it around in a heavy stroke toward her shoulder. It's not the the only attack, for at the last moment he drives his shoulder forward in an attempt to batter outright into her, the hilt aimed at striking into Solphin hard and outright knock her down, if successful, or at the least catch her with the tip of the follow-through slash if not, should she dart back in time. It may be brutal, but this is Guardian.
One thing after another, perhaps it's the disturbance on the stands. Perhaps Ranis' bloodletting is working! Perhaps some evil mage is up there using his blood to wreck havok on her. Either way, as she recoils from that last blow, Solphin keeps on her guard, light on her toes as she shifts her weight from side to side. Watching the Guardian come at her again, the blade in both hands, gripped tight and bearing down with force, she plays chicken. Chicken with the train. Timing, timing, timing, her eyes electric as she waits and watches...last...possible...moment! Her feet move backwards and off to the side, kicking up dust that was once carefull raked. But damnit, woman, you've timed it all wrong. Underestimating Cain's speed, it's with a cringe that the blow connects with her shoulder, nerves screaming fire down her hand, which opens up reflexively. The other holds on as she spins away. HOLD ON! She holds onto the staff with that one hand, hand still tingling fire and whiskey as the man barrels into her, allowing less a full fledged run in than a shoulder bump that sends her somewhat off balanced, spinning that staff behind her back on the pure defensive as she skids backwards in the dirt. Locking herself in place a few strides away, center of gravity low and facing him sideways rather than straight on as she shakes sense into her other arm.
And that little red flag wavers in the breeze again. Perhaps Ranis's blood sacrifice did something? "Point, Sothen, two to three."
[ROLL] Cain rolls 1d20: 11
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 12
One mistake could cost the Guardian a point. One mistake, and the outcome of the championship decided. No mortal battle where a mistake could cost a life, yet also where the touch of a blade would matter little but for how much flesh it would rend or blood the edge might spill. But still one mistake all the same. Two successive strikes in a row and Cain continues that measured, staking assault. The sword is wielded fluidly in his hands now, smooth with each blow, and despite his less successful attempt to drive Solphin to the ground he remains on balance and ready as she skims away from his attack. For a moment he pauses there a good few yards away, just a hair out of reach, as though anticipating her to try and turn the tables by a surprise countering attack of her own. When one doesn't come so swiftly, the mercenary moves again. His sword is lowered by his side, then slashed across and upward in one sharp movement as he lunges in, a blow that would in more deadly a scenario be aimed at slicing from hip to shoulder.
Still that arm was a problem. Still tingling like something fierce, fingers wiggling rapidly behind her back, trying to shake life into them, no, it wasn't a battle to the death. Nor was it something too terribly important. A tournament. No promise of maiming or destruction upon the finish. No family held captive (But for Ranis. Damnit.) Nothing but a friendly fun fight, if there was such a thing. But that doesn't mean the woman couldn't get a little rough, too. SHe wasn't going to break under the weight of the man wailing on her. The scamp doesn't know how to snap under pressure (unless we're talking politics). The distance grants her a new vantage. All or nothing, tie or win. Be done with it. That pause allows a hush to fall over the field. Wind catching the sands, combed and disrupted as the two stare eachother down as long as Cain would allow it. Quirk. The androgyne's features twitch, chin lowered and eyes all on Cain, a brow twitches upward, the corner of her mouth twisting with a smile. Yes. A smile. Oh the joys of a good fight. A challenge. Waiting ever so patiently. Come to me, man. And come he does, the lethal blow. In another time and place. Lunging forward aiming to slice her in half. In another time and place. But for now, the one armed gypsy (In another time and place) waits, playing chicken once more. Timing, timing, timing. With that inch of a smile, she matches a rudimentary move for another, goal aimed to move with the blade, just a few inches in front at all times as she moves to the side and twists. Her staff braced against her back, with that twist, she braces it against her hip to smack against Cain's lower back. Not the ass! Just the lower back!
And the arbiter continues to watch. Blue cloth flutters in the air. The next round will be anticlimatic. "Point, Acaran. Two to Four."
[ROLL] Cain rolls 1d20: 11
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 13
From Observation Stands, Tobias rises up and shouts, "That's the way to do it, sweetheart!"
The more simplistic the cut and thrust, the more likely to be on the mark for one quick touch of the blade. Elaborate forms only go so far, and whilst the mercenary certainly has the smooth and fluid motion enough to prove skill with such, it's not for such a strike that he goes forward for now. And yet the nature of the staff against a blunted sword is found once again as the other end of the noble 'woman's' weapon swings around in that twist, even as the dipped edge of Cain's blade comes whistling past. His distance, again a hair out of reach - for his own strike. Hers, on the other hand, strikes into his lower back and hip sharply with another crack of wood, sending the Guardian across on another momentarily staggered step and a grunt. One mistake, and that's all it takes. He doesn't stop yet, for there's one more point to contend, and Guardians know not the manner of yielding. So again does his steel sweep out in another slice, a one handed strike as he aims to grasp hold of the staff of hers and lock it against him in the process, to keep her from battering away with another blow if at all possible.
Ah, the joys and the shames of using blunted weapons. Likely, in another time and place, Phinn would be a puddle under Cain's feet at this moment, but luckilly enough, even with one arm, she's bested. But, as she learned with her battle with Linette, no, Guardians do not yeild. (Unless you're Azun). So she keeps her wits about her. That is, she tries to back away and go on guard again. Until she tries to pull away and...umph! UMPH! A number of curses filter through her mind as she finds her staff clutched tightly to Cain's back with his hand and his blade coming at her again. Eyes flair wide a moment. What to do in this event? Naturally, she drops her weapon and lets him hold onto it. Jumping backwards, the blade snags on her loose vest, not tearing it away, but snagging well and leaving a hole in the lower portion, a glint of white bandaging beneath. The snag past, blade past, arm past, Solphin steps forward and...cuffs Cain on the shoulder. "Tag."
It has been an excellent match, and in those flurries of slashes and attacks, there can really only be one winner. And it's the Draughtian blue that flies this day, as the point is announced by the Arbiter. "Point, Acaran. Two to five - match and Tournament, Acaran. Excellent match."
From Observation Stands, a feminine voice shouts, "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SOLPHIN!"
From Observation Stands, a masculine voice shouts, "HELL YAH! GO SOLPHIN!"
Mya goes over to where Solphin's equipment is piled up. She puts down a small package, and then leaves.
In another time and place, perhaps, but for this night the tournament has gone down a different path. One that leaves the mercenary with an arm locked 'round the staff that is so abruptly disposed off by his adversary, and his blade whistling right past her - after effectively slicing, or rather tugging, past some of her vest. Even as Cain winds his bastard sword back for a back-handed blow with either pommel or the edge, it's too late, for the noble's stepped forward and simply cuffed him to the shoulder. There's a pause, then the flicker of a smirk crosses the Guardian's lips, any lingering tension seeped out from the panther-like poise of the warrior as the staff is delicately swept about and proferred to the winner of the bout. "Your weapon," He offers, a bow of his head once again in acknowledgement, as seems his custom as he also offers a forearm to clasp, "A good match."
Solphin simply lays in wait, standing in close proximity after that winning 'blow', her eyes locked on the mercs with a clear grin brimming in them. Even with the feeling in her arm not quite back, she was smiling. Like a cat poised with a mouse's tail hanging from it's mouth, she remains there, not bothering to flinch away from the coming blow. It was a large amount of trust she put in the man's restraint, but payed off in the end. Breaking gaze to take her staff with the hand that isn't still tingling, with a quick flip, it's held to the back of her arm, bowing her head. "It was. Thank you." Her note of agreement as she straightens, gaze flicking to the blade with a crooked smirk. "Remind me not to meet you in any dark alleys." dropping a roguish wink, the scamp decides to leave the words short and sweet. Her steps lead onward.
And with the victor decided, the prizes are brought forward. Two boxes, finely made are brough to the ring. "Lady Moria, as victor, you have the choice of boon. The ring or the blade." he offers to Solphin, as the gold is laid out for Solphin and Cain.. and last but not least, a fine young stallion from the Empress' own stables for Solphin.
A sailor with the burning chalice emblem comes up into the area looking for Timothy. Excusing himself for a moment, Timothy extricates himself from the Baroness and has a whispered conversation with the sailor. He grins. Then he laughs. "He said wh.." He pauses, looking around for a moment and then nods to the sailor, speaking to him quietly again. The sailor slips away and Timothy turns toward the Baroness. "If you'll excuse me, your excellency.. something has come up on the ship. I need to go and have a word with my executive officer." He gives her the almost courtly bow again and prepares to withdraw.
Solphin blinks as the prizes are brought on, her eyes going wide as she sidesteps in a kind of grapevine /away/ from them. A hand raises to the back of her neck. "Currents save me, what's that?" the scamp almost tiptoes nearer to the winnings, still half warry. "I had no idea there were--is that a /horse/!?" Solphin throws her head back with a sharp bark of a laugh. "What's this about a blade and a ring now? I'm sorry, I'm confused just what's going on?" ...you can't be serious. Huh.
Isolde gives a soft laugh to that as she nods towards Timothy. "Do tell her hello for me." Although, the next moment she is moving to intercept Solphin with a "Darling.." If she does manage to get her, Solphin is getting glittery hug. Because just like the clap, glitter is the gift that just keeps giving.
"You better not let your horse hurt Canis, Phinn." Andre walks up, ruffling Phinn's hair, "You know how sad I'd be." Pouty lips.
Katie comes down but waits over by the stands as prizes are being awarded.
Tobias waits, and as soon as Isolde and Andre are done with their greetings, the mutt wraps his arms around the scamp and dips her over, giving her an affectionate and full kiss, lingering there for a moment, before he sets her back up. "Congrats." he says, as Solphin passes Glitter on to him.
Cain does have some measure of restraint, this is true. Solphin's words and dropped wink find a wry smile alighting on the Guardian's otherwise stoic features, and he turns in kind to watch the procession of cheer-squad - glittery and non-glittery alike - come down from the stands to congratulate the winner. As for himself, he simply waits to hear the rest of the announcements from the arbiter, easing down to one knee to wipe his blade along the earth and scraps of flayed grass by the edge of the field in prelude to a proper clean, watching all the while. He doesn't appear troubled by the loss; it is, after all, a tournament, and the outcome holds no loss of life.
The Arbiter waits for the congratulations to be done. "Ah, the grand prize, were you not aware." Opening the boxes, one contains a fine dagger with three red rubies along the hilt, the other, a silver ring with an amber stone. "The dagger is a lucky blade, said to strike or defend when you most need it to. The ring can sustain you for up to five weeks without need of food, drink, and only minimal rest."
Solphin is swept up first by Isolde, meeting the hug with a little wince and laugh as she wrapped that staff arm around Isolde in a hug, her other arm still not quite regained all its feeling. ACK GLITTER HERPES! Ah well. She laughs freely, her humor returning easily. Murmuring something quiet to the woman before passing to the next, grinning to Andre and winking to him. "No promises, brother! Canis better not screw with my horse! Hah!" taking that ruffling with a smirk, eyes narrowing with it, snorting just once and tossing her head to the side. As Tobias comes up, she doesn't expect a thing as he grabs her up and bends the creature backward. Arms go flailing, staff dropped and eyes wide, a muffled eep of sound heard. Righted again, she staggers and blinks. "Oh. Hi!" laughing shortly and rubbing a hand through her hair. Flustered. Yep. She coughs and tries to retain her 'masculinity' after that, pointedly not looking at the others.
Solphin adds after getting that info from the Arbiter. "Hm. Choices choices." she looks to the trio who rushed to greet her, a shoulder shrugged as if to say 'what do you guys think?'
The Arbiter adds, "Master Sothen will get the boon you do not choose along with 20 gold. You are awarded 30 gold, and this unnamed horse from the Empress' own breeders. Their Majesties congratulations to you."
Andre shrugs looking towards Phinn with a faint smile, "It's your choice Phinn. You seem good with a blade, perhaps the ring would suit you better then?"
Katie gets tapped by a messenger and takes the note given to her. Immediatly the effects are seen as she starts to bounce about all over again smiling her head off. Only stopping enough to write something in return before slipping the lad a coin and sending him on his way.
"As often as you forget to eat." Tobias adds in with a smirk of his own. "But it sounds limited in it's charge. Never know when you need to stick a dagger in a good spot, though." he comments, smiling a little bashfully at Solphin as his arm twines with hers.
Isolde moves towards Solphin's gear as she's released and picks up a box, that is then handed off to someone else. She then moves to walk over to Cain and drops her voice to his ear.
Solphin rubs her fingers through her hair. "The ring would help with more than simply fighting." hold your tongue about how much you hate politics with the Baroness around. "I'm /so/ mundane these days, it's depressing." chuckling low under her breath. "But I'd have to /wear/ it, gawdy mess it is." She pauses to look back as Isolde moves around, smirking slightly with a shake of her head, she moves onward. "Fine fine, the blade would do better for the Merc man's line of work anyway." again, she inclines her head toward Cain...just as Isolde moves that way, a brow raises upward, a smile supressed as she looks to the Arbiter. "Give me the Fates awful ring, if you'd please. That should come standard with all nobility, I think."
Cain remains resting by the sidelines, watching the proceedings with something of a detached interest. The fighting is done; truly, the mercenary looks to have been here primarily for the bouts, no more or less, and likely such is almost to be expected of a Guardian. Even so, there's a vague glimmer of interest in the prizes, or more so in the young stallion - even if not his for the winning, as he looks over the horse that's been brought out. His side has been laid to rest by the wall of the coliseum he leans casually up against, arms folded across his chest, and he glances up as Isolde nears him for some words to his ear. Whatever it is, his expression barely shifts as he turns that cool gaze to her, a murmur given in reply.
The Arbiter nods, offering the ring and coin purse to Solphin, as Tobias arches a brow. "That is not my wedding ring." he says flatly to her, a smirk on his features, as the blade and smaller coin purse is delivered to Cain.
Isolde lowers her voice to Cain and then looks towards Solphin. Surely, she's not talking about the Lady Moria. She smiles slowly and dangerously as she converses easily. Andre winks towards Phinn, wrapping his arms behind his head, "And if the ring stop working? We can eat your horse!" He laughs, "No, we will use your horse to pull a cart. Then we can travel around the isle." He nods, "That's what horses are best for."
As the smaller coin purse and the blade are delivered to him, Cain murmurs a quiet thanks and takes them, leaving the Baroness of Destine beside him without apparent answer for a lingering moment as he briefly examines the dagger. Keen blue eyes cast over it, there's an approving nod as he tuckes them aside, then a lofted brow sidelong to Isolde as he slowly straightens form his lean up against the wall, half turning to her as he leans in to place another few quiet words by her ear.
Solphin chuckles to Andre's commentary, shooting him a look at the mention of eating her horse. A small hiss of a word under her breath, even as her eyes shined in merriment. No no no, no way she's looking in Isolde and Cain's direction. Accepting the purse and ring, she smirked toward Tobias. "Another ring? Ugh, please no. Honestly, I'm going to look like a two bit hustler with all these pieces of jewelery." Riiight, so says the gypsy. Mostly in jest as she bows her head to the Arbiter, hands full, she drops that purse inside her vest with a heavy clink "Have to split that up later..." mumbling to herself as she stoops to pick up her staff again. "I haven't the faintest where to keep a horse. There are stables around here, right?"
"The Empress will graciously allow the horse to stay in her stables, available for your use as you see fit, Lady Moria." the Arbiter offers, then smiles. "Congratulations, again." And with that, he starts on his way out.
"We passed by the stables on the way here, Solphin." Tobias points out to his betrothed with a small roll of his eyes and a mutter.
As things look a bit calmer around the Tournament winner now that prizes have been given out, Katie slowly makes her way over to where she stands with the others. Isolde lifts her brows to this as she leans into Cain to speak to him in softer tones. The gold of her hair shimmering in the lights as she smirks softly. Then she lets her eyes feast upon the man.
