The Hawk and Dove Tavern and Inn - Guest Room <The Hawk and Dove Tavern, Trademeet>

A rather simple sleeping chamber, sized for economy of space, with a pine-framed bed, polished oak wardrobe and an angled writing desk and chair. Oil lanterns provide light at night, while round glass windows allow daylight in during the day.

Marisa is, yes, in Thayndor's room. The teen is in a chair in the corner, cleaning her nails with the knife he gave her.

Thayndor Zahir sits on the bed, staring wordlessly down at the parchment in front of him: The proclamation of his status as wanted by the Crown. After the last in a torturously longseries of moments, he slowly, deliberately crumples the paper, and lets it fall to the ground next to the bed. "If I allow you to harbor me," he says, "not one of the former Deepers will be safe."

Dalayna opens the door carefully, then slips in carrying three steaming cups of tea.

"Aye," Marisa nods her agreement, "Ye's nae dun 'nough te git too bad o' a sent'nce, all told. If'n 't were nae fer de Duch'ss, I's woul' s'ggest ye's jes' turn yehself 'n. But de comb'nash'n o' pow'r 'n piss'd 's nae a good tin fer ye's 'ealth when ye's lock'd up." She glances up to the man, and while her face is stoney her eyes are a bit sad, "I's brough' meh d'sguise kit, if'n ye's 'nrest'd. Kin change ye's 'air, ye's skin tone 'n such. Kinnae cov'r de Mark, min', too dark. Kin ev'n give ye's sum 'elp changin' 'ow ye's be speakin'. It'd make 't easi'r te run an' 'ide fer ye's."

Thayndor Zahir shakes his head. "No," he says, decisively. "And as for Norran, I have faith enough in him now to adjudicate my sentence without taking Voreyn's ire for more than what it is. I have told you once and I will tell you only one more time, I will not run from Imperial law." He bridles a moment before rising, glancing sidelong at the incoming healer. "I'm sorry I cannot stay for tea," he says. "I must go."

Dalayna shakes her head. "There's naery a drop o' tea for ye m'Lord. I need t' take off yer ban'ages quickly. Though Iffen ye are goin' t' Norran an' th' cult, I approve. Tis one thin' t' run from th' Duchess an' give 'er time t' cool. Law's another all tol'."

"A'righ', a'righ'," Marisa says, holding her hands up before sheathing her knife, "I's a runn'r, 's 'ow me min' works. Nae like I's trying te make ye's run, jes' pr'sentin' de thought." The teen stands and pats Dalayna's shoulder lightly, before extending a hand to Thayndor, "'S been an' 'nrestin' 'xper'ence workin' fer ye's. Git 'n touch wit meh when 's all 'andl'd, aye?" Her expression gets oddly soft at this point, atypical for the blonde.

Thayndor Zahir inhales, tugging his doublet up and turning his back to Dalayna. "Be quick, please," he says, facing Marisa. "And, yes. I will find you, when this has been resolved. If I can."

Dalayna sets down two of the three cups, putting one of them by Marisa. The third she brings with as she quickly pulls off what turns out to be several yards of the wrapping, dumping it in a pile for now. She dips a bit of cloth into the third mug, and wipes away the last of the poultice from the day before from the wound on the shoulder, nodding at its condition, and then begins doing the same for the back wound.

The blonde nods to Thayndor, before glancing over at the healer's work. Risa appreciates the man's scars passively and turns back to her seat, seeming to have nothing else worth saying.

"Are we done?" Thayndor asks Dalayna, rolling his shoulder experimentally as she tends to his back. "That feels better."

Dalayna finishes wiping off the wound, then steps back, nodding. "Aye m'Lor'. Tis goo' as new. Ye know 'ow t' fin' m' shoul' ye e'er nee' 'ealin' 'gain. An' iffen ye arena sure, fin' an' ol' Deepe', they all'ays fin' me. Ligh' keep."

"Aye, Light watch o'er ye's, Thaynd'r," Marisa says softly, quirking a small yet unhappy little smile at him. "I's'll clean up ye's tin's an' put 'em 'n a safe spot fer when ye's gots ev'rehtin' settl'd."

Thayndor Zahir lowers his tunic, adjusting it, and nodding. He inhales again, slowly, and reaches for Dalayna's hand with one of his. The other looks for Marisa's. "Thank you," he says, then exhales slowly. "Thank you both. Were that I could reward your loyalty." If so permitted, he raises their hands, almost deferentially, before letting them fall and releasing them again. Then, after a long pause, he reaches for his cloak, and turns for the door.

"Don' need a r'ward," is Risa's only reply. Pale green eyes watch the nobleman go, before she lets out a sigh, pulls a green cloak from the wardrobe, and puts it on as she makes to shadow the man.

Upper Hall <The Hawk and Dove Tavern, Trademeet>

An elaborate rose-carved wooden staircase winds upward with a gentle curve onto the second story of the tavern house. The area is lit by several iron sconces that brightly light the hallway, casting a warm and tranquil glow.
The wooden walls are decorated with rather nice woolen tapestries that hang from the walls, depicting hunting scenes in deep reds and blues and greens.
On each side of the hall are wooden doors to the guests and proprietress' bedrooms.

A cloaked nobleman with his hood drawn over the majority of his face has /just/ reached the top of the stairs to the upper hall, followed closely by another noble but with less sophisticated clothing being Pardus, who doesn't seem to make any attempt to hide his appearance. Cassius stops at the stairs, glancing around the hall. "This might take awhile. Let's get started, Ranth," asides the man, making his way toward the first door. <re>

The rather scruffy and unruly looking noble who's addressed as Ranth nods follows behind Cassius. "Aye. We could always impersonate house keeping or something along those lines. Think you can impersonate a woman's voice?" he notes, trying hard to keep think perhaps a bit jovial given the circumstances.

Thayndor Zahir slips out of a guest room at the end of the hall at roughly the same time, shutting the door behind him. Seeing the two men, hearing the two men -- the end of their conversation, at the very least -- he stops, turns to face them. There's an idle moment; he blinks, but does not seem surprised. "Grand Master Norran," he says, bowing towards the pair, ready to move from room to room. "I had hoped I would be able to surrender to you in person. But I hadn't planned on surrendering to you in disguise." He looks left and right. "Or in a hallway. But I suppose this will have to do." He extends his hands down in front of his body, palms out. "I wish to surrender myself to Imperial law," he says. "You'll find I am unarmed."

And the door from which Thayndor exitted? Well, apparently Thayndor didn't close it as well as he thought, because it drifts back open a hair. Actually, it drifts open a little bit more than that and then closes back to a hair.

Cassius seems quite surprised himself, breathing a sigh as he reaches to lower his hood from his head. "A smart decision, Thayndor. Wish you would've done this immediately. It would've been far less trouble for anyone involved. Fort Hearthfire is to the southeast. You'll be confined there until this whole business is sorted out. I'm surprised you managed all this on your own, but I don't really think you did," replies Cassius, reaching a hand to open the front of his cloak a retrieve a short length of rope from his belt, walking to approach Thayndor. "Anything in the room? Now would be a bad time to lie. I made sure to keep a couple men to watch the backdoor and the windows, just in case you were here, though I'm surprised you were. Lomasa territory? In my favorite tavern, no less, a place not a few miles away from a Royal Prison. I'm impressed if you planned it this way, even if I'm a /little/ disappointed." As he walks to restrain Thayndor's hands if he'd let him, Norran gives a gesture to the room. "Ranth, go in the room and get his things if you could. Look about for anything suspicious."

"Aye." Ranth replies, dutifly moving past Cassius. He takes a moment to look over at Thayndor, not in any disrespectful way, but he offers a slight nod to him. "There is no dishonor in giving yourself up in a case such as this. You are doing the right thing." he states, then moving past them both to move into the room where Thayndor had come out from.

Draped in a heavy, white-dyed woolen cloak is a tall man in heavy armour. The garment's cowl is drawn over his face, and greatly conceals his noteworthy features. Upon the sight before him, the man hesitantly halts in mid-step. Unsure, his hand automatically rests upon the jewelled pommel of his sheathed sword.

"Why would you be surprised?" Thayndor asks, allowing Norran to take his hands. "I told Esvan Zahir I would be here, tonight, in case the Duchess wanted to end my misery. And I want to be clear of something: I got word of your proclamation just hours ago. Had you given me 'till the end of the day to surrender myself, you wouldn't have had to leave your Keep. And none of my people have wilfully or knowingly harbored a fugitive." He attempts to seek Norran's eyes. "Can we be clear about that, Grand Master Norran?"

A shadow moves slowly away from the crack in the door as Ranth approaches, and there can be heard sounds of movement. Just the shuffling of casual feet.

"The Light of truth will shine, Thayndor. If there's anyone in there, they'll be joining you. If you behave and if that turns out to be what happened, I'll let them go in a couple days. I give you my word. In the meantime, they should be concerned with cooperating or facing a /far/ worse fate than Hearthfire's cells." He works on tightly binding Thayndor's hands behind his back, drawing his dagger briefly to cut off the excess rope and casually toss it to Pardus before resheathing the dagger. Glancing around Thayndor toward Godric, Norran arches a brow. "This is the business of the Royal Order. I think I'm the last man you want to challenge, Friend."

Moving past the other two, seeming everything being quite under control, Ranth easily catching the length of rope. "Aye." he notes, his orders being quite clear. He pauses only for a moment seeing the flicker of movement from the crack in the door. He pushes the door open and disappeares inside.

"Ungrateful, scurrilous, cowardly, ignoble whelp!" suddenly roars the cloaked figure. In a brilliant flash of steel, the longsword is firmly drawn in both hands. Moving resolutely toward the preoccupied Grand Master, Godric heaves the weapon aloft and brings it down in a powerful arc against the nobleman. As the blade attempts to strike its target, Godric yells, "To the Shadow with you, ingrate! Burn for your sin!"

"THAYNDOR, GET DOWN!" booms Norran, his left hand reaching to swiftly draw the falchion, Angurvadal, from his sheathe. A blade of pure shimmering argentite comes forth, Norran pushing Thayndor to the side to intercept the blow and attempting to make a strike on Godric.

"I would not ask special treatment or mercy for myself," Thayndor replies to Norran. "But please consider, as you seek justice, that my people may act out of a misplaced sense of --" and he's interrupted as the Grand Master throws him against a wall. Recovering, he attempts to backpedal into the room, throwing open the door with his body in the process.

Godric's presumptive attack - successfully parried - sends him a few steps backward. He looks at the retreating figure of Thayndor. "Stay out of this affair, Count!" growls Godric. He looks squarely at Norran. "This affair is between my treacherous Cousin and I. It is a /family/ matter!" Undaunted, Godric lunges forward to deal another blow at Norran.

The noise catches Marisa's attention first, followed by Thayndor. Pale green eyes narrow and she sticks her head out the door. "Godr'c," the teen growls. "Keep Thaynd'r safe," she says to Pardus quickly, "I's 'eard ye's talkin' - I'll go quietleh af'r I's 'elpin' Norr'n, aye?" With that, the teen heads out of the room and draws her dagger, trying to sneak up on the two distracted men. Well, Godric specifically.

"What in the blazes!?" Pardus spins about at the sound of clashing metal, halfway through into the room. When Thayndor re-enters, he puts himself between the former-Zahir and the action going on in the all. A hand grabs onto Marisa before she can truely leave the room entirely. "No. Stay back. I will not let that crazed man harm either of you." he states, his voice focused. From the holder behind his back, the teen draws out his gothic axe. Its at that point that man tries to concentrate for a moment.

"Treachery? Yes! Clearly I was so wrong to deny such a chivalrous man who would attack his leige in stealth in his armor! Your treason has already earned you death, whether you defeat me or not! Cease and you may stop your woman's tears," replies Norran, the man grinning widely as he quite easily parries the blow, using the opening and his superior maneuverability to deliver a powerful slash to one of the open chinks in Godric's armor.

"No!" Thayndor exclaims, sadness in his command as the impending scuffle between the two retainers sends him spinning further into the room. "Stay out of this, both of you. You, young lord, will only get in Norran's way. And /you/ will only be making my situation worse by doing anything other than staying right where you are," he adds to Marisa.

"Death shall overtake one of us tonight, you childish brat! Treason! You brought this outcome upon the two of us with your unjust and disloyal decision!" Godric vehemently shouts the words, his sword raising in the air to parry Norran's attack. He rolls his wrist to bring the broadsword about and aims the sharp-edged weapon at Norran's unprotected forearm.

Risa pulls away from Pardus's grasp, but stops mid-step and looks back to Thayndor. The teen seems conflicted, looking from her boss to the fighting men and back as she's torn between loyalty and hatred. With a sigh, the blonde sheathes her dagger and leans against the doorway. "A'righ'," she says, "Don' wan' make 't worse, aye. But if'n Godr'c gits a luckeh shot an' Norr'n goes down, I's steppin' 'n te 'elp, aye." She pulls out her longbow in spite of the confined space, but not an arrow, merely watching the fight down the hall intently.

Pardus Lomasa wasn't exactly going to get involved, more like he was moving to guard the door. "Ma'am, you best stay out of way unless you are in the mind of being run through by clashing blades For the sake of Thayndor." the Knight firmly replies, even as she squirms out of his grip. He does manage a nod back toward Thayndor. "Am I no fool. It would be suicide to get in the way of Sir Norran's way. Espeically in such a confined space. But I will not let that man get to either of you should for some reason he best the Grand Master. Either way, his fate is sealed one way or another." He now fully moves to the doorway, to watch on, while making sure he's not going to get caught by some random failing sword.

Although Godric has the physical advantage: Size, armor, weaponry, the unarmored Lomasa Knight defends himself quite adeptly against the man's competent but unimaginitive blows. "So you say to the man who was responsible for keeping your nobility after Rowena threw you out! The entire family pushed for your removal, yet I alone defended you. And this is how you repay me. I'll return the favor, at least you'll be worth a good few minutes of fight! Don't hold back, Godric!" taunts Norran proudly. The longsword is deflected, the swordsman sidestepping his former kin in an attempt to land a blow between Godric's hauberk with no hesitation, remaining light on his feet.

His blow deflected, Godric staggers backward with the loud clang of metal in the air. As Norran speaks, Godric swears an oath and reaches to his waist and pulls out the flanged mace. It is tossed before him with a vow, "To the death, Cousin! Enough of this prittle-prattle!" His hands re-grip the hilt of his weapon, and it is raised before him in an attempt to thwart Norran's next attack. It comes at him quickly, and the former Knight attempts to deflect the steel with his own.

"I've been in more than one scrape alongside his Grace the Grand Master, over the years," says Thayndor, stepping back from the door, dispassionate. "I've yet to see or hear of him facing a pink-skinned foe what could pose him a real threat. Be at peace."

Godric grimaces as the blade cuts through a weak-point in his armour, drawing a thin line of red blood. His sword presses against Norran's blade, pushing the steel away from the scratch, before snaking his own forward to try and stab the Grand Master's unprotected belly.

The blonde nods to Pardus absently, "I's'll stay back, m'Lor'. Seen 'nough figh's te know when te move out o' de way, aye. 'N when te git 'nvolv'd 's well." Marisa stays out in the hall itself, still leaning against the doorframe and holding her bow as she keeps an eye on the fight. Her grip tightens slightly on her bow, and her other hand scratches at the back of her head and hovers there by the arrows.

"He the greatest swordsman in the land." Pardus notes, his eyes still focused on the ensuing battle. "And that Godric, he faces a world of pain should the Grand Master decide to not take his life." He looks back at the other two, then Marisa in general. "I will leave you unbound for now in the off chance that the fight comes to us. Do not make me regret that decison." That statement however makes his eyes glide to Thayndor, debating something mentally.

"I assure you, young lord, that it would take a great deal more than ropes to restrain me should it come to that. But, for what it's worth, I assure you that it won't." Thayndor smiles another small, sad, mirthless smile.

Although he puts up an admirable defense, Godric's attack surges due to a suddenly superior strike, just managing to slip past the Grand Master's defenses and land a decent blow on the man's side. A respectable gash is left there, crimson beginning to drip down the man's legs and flow to the floor. He flinches visibly, although he defense is not left unheeded as he quickly moves to the side. "Another lost tunic. You've gotten better *grunt* And here I thought using my primary hand was a bad idea. Here I come, Godric!" yells Norran, attempting to slip past Godric's side and deliver a blow with Angurvadal to the chink in the other man's shoulder.

The blow rattles against his armour, causing another slight scratch against his shoulder as the metal pauldron dents and bites in to his flesh. With a grimace, the former Baron hefts his weapon once more and delivers a steady chop toward the Earl's exposed flank. "Face me squarely, Cousin. No excuses!" he growls.

"Oy," Risa murmurs at seeing the Grand Master get injured. She frowns, concern clear on the girl's face. Whether it's for Norran safety or for the simple fact that Godric is doing well is anyone's guess. The blonde pulls out an arrow and holds it in the hand with the bow, parallel rather than in any position to fire.

"That actually what I wasn't thinking of." Pardus notes distantly, his face beginning to darker at the ensuing fight, but he doesn't elaborate on whatever that could've meant. He seems torn, wether to run to the windows to call for the guard, or let this matter be finally put to rest. "I will not let this be drug out for much longer." he mumbles, perhaps more to himself. If the Light loves him at all, the guards will show up after realizing how long the two of them have been gone.

"A wise decision, young lord," Thayndor says to Pardus with a nod. "If it was going to end well, it would have ended already. Call up your guards to restrain the crazy one."

Boots can be heard thundering on the stairs already, actually. "What's going on up here!" a man's alarmed voice shouts up from the bottom floor. "Sir! Do you need reinforcements?"

The two men put up a dazzling display of swordsmanship, at the least. Their defenses are largely adept, the blows almost faster than the eye can follow as metal clashes against metal. "Easy to say behind an inch of steel! I wonder how your uncle would react! Godric's blow is just barely asided, the smaller and quicker Lomasa lunging another powerful slash to Godric's side. In the midst of combat when the guards arrive, Norran manages to aside, "*wince* Although I'd rather not, I'm afraid my wife would never forgive me. Take his flank!"

Godric easily parries the attack, glowering at his opponent. "Call your lynchmen, yes? You do boast highly yet fail to deliver, Cousin!" Turning against the attack, Godric swings his blade in a hard slash directed at Norran's injured side.

The presence of guards catches Risa's attention and she nods to herself, putting her bow and the arrow away. "Dis coul' end fas' o' git realleh ugleh," she notes, "Eid'r way, I's nae part o' 't wit dat maneh folk 'ere." She glances over to Pardus briefly and offers a short friendly smile, for lack of anything else to do. And then pale green eyes go back to the action.

Watching the fight and not being able to do a damn thing about is literarly eating at Pardus, his gloved hand clenching tightly around his axe. He does return the nod to Marisa being respectful, even at a time like this. At the sound of the guards making their appearence, he does seem to ease, if only slightly.

The two guards appear at the top of the stairs, nondescript fellows in the uniforms and armor of House Lomasa guards. Wide-eyed at the sight before them, they advance only tentatively on Godric, drawing their swords. "The enemy is not the mage, Sir?"

"No matter how fun it may be, unlike you, I've somehow still something to live for. I'm not even wearing armor and you've only landed a single blow!" laughs Norran as his silks stain with his own blood, Godric's attack clumsier than previous and easily avoided by the Lomasa Knight. Perhaps seeing if he can end matters quickly, Norran suddenly rises from his usual low stance to deliver an upward slash of Angurvadal to the other man's face. "No, this armored fellow and I are merely having a friendly /dispute/!" growls Norran sarcastically, the last word enunciated as he strikes.

Not immediately threatened by the guards, Godric focuses his attention on Norran. He growls at the pair in Lomasa livery, challenging, "This is a matter between kin, men. The Earl and I have an honour debt to settle." Regardless of the technicalities of that sentence, the former Knight of the Silver Tankard raises his blade from its failed attack to ward off Norran's ensuing blow. Their swords pang loudly as Angurvadal strikes against his blade, tottering away to cut against his other pauldron. Grunting, Godric swings the weight of his blade with his body and attempts to chop Norran to itty, bitty pieces.

"Honor? You speak of -honor- attacking an unarmored oppnent from -behind-?" Pardus gapes, and its takes all of his willpower to not join the fight then and there, the teen practically trembling with rage. "You have none! A disgrace to the Silver Tankard and to the House, you honorless son of a bleeding whore!" he barks, the hate in his voice dripping out like acid. But still, he holds his ground. For the time being. The guards are startled into action with alacrity in the presence of real and visible danger to their leader, hustling. "Drop your sword!" the one in front orders Godric, both moving into position to take swipes at the former Lomasa with their short swords. "You can't win this!"

Godric's speed remains substandard to Norran's, the bleeding fellow not even slightly sapped of strength. He energetically dances between Godric's swings, heavy-handed attacks set aside by calculated counter-attacks and daring maneuvers. His strikes piling up, Norran's taunts grow immediately silent, emerald eyes shining with mirth. Laughter can almost be heard amidst the clashing and grunts, the shining brilliance of Angurvadal flashing through the air as the falchion is brought to strike at the joint on Godric's primary arm while the guards flank him.

The sudden rush of attackers is too much for Godric's prowess, and he finds himself wounded by two blows from his oppononents. Ignoring that the peril against him has increased triplefold, the former Baron persists in his bold offensive against Norran. The loud crashing of metal - blades against armour - echoes as he hollars and lunges forward, jutting the lethal edge of his blade toward Norran's chest.

Risa extends her arm, perhaps daringly, to settle it on Pardus's shoulder gently. "Easeh, m'Lor'. Godr'c 'n id'ot an' a loon. Nae sense 'n gittin' work'd up o'er wut 'e sees 'n 'is li'l worl', aye." She smirks, then, "Great 'nsult, dough. Ye jes' come up wit dat? Migh' use 't sumtime." In spite of her casual chatter, her eyes remain fixed on the fight.

"He deserves neither pity or mercy. For he has done to numerous people and caused more than enough pain, I'll smile when his day comes to pass" Pardus replies, looking serrated daggers at Godric. He does manage a small, ever so slight smirk. "Yes well, I learned a good deal in the Blades."

"A cutting remark, Pardus! I don't know how you'll face her at the next gala," compliments the Grand Master, seemingly joyful at his best strike of the night and holding a beaming expression of joy as if he'd just fell into a room with 10 unused courtesans. Godric's speed and technique are superior, but Norran's movements are getting hard to follow. Looking like it might just be the time for the giant to be overwhelmed by the combined forces of Norran and the guards, the Lomasa keeps on his side of the fight to crouch for a low blow to the thin defense between Godric's groin and thigh.

The guard whose sword pierced Godric's armor seems momentarily surprised at his luck, but after a blink strikes again towards the former nobleman's knees, calling, "Surrender to the law!" His more silent companion settles for a slash at the shoulder, a quick diagonal flash of blade.

In a dazzling display of martial prowess, Godric betrays every bit his Lomasa pedigree. His sword arcs and spins with swift movements, parrying away the deft and mediocre blows directed against him. Keeping his blood-shot and narrowed eyes upon Norran, the former Baron charges forward trying to stab the man in between the shoulderblade and the upper arm.

"Godr'c damn near took off meh arm a few months back," Marisa says to the teen noble casually, "Should'r still gits stiff from time te time, when 's raineh. Nae de firs' time we's clash'd, neid'r..." She glances over to Pardus, "E'en I's feelin' a li'l sorreh fer de poor bast'rd. 'E's los' ev'rehtin'. 'Is title, 'is min', prolleh 'is ladeh..." She shakes her head with a sigh, "Don' much blame 'im fer bein' rash an' angreh..."

"Enough of this." Pardus growls, hefting his axe in hand. "And that is no excuse." he notes to Marisa. "If he had acted like a real Knight, this would've never come to pass. It is apparent it will take more to bring this curr down. And I will watch no longer." and he begins to step forward to engage, clearly seeing how honor was tied with a lead weight thrown out the neartest window the moment this fight began. Making sure to stay out of Norran's range of his blade, he awaits the next clear and open oppurtunity to strike at law-breaker.

Yet another heavy blow avoided by Norran's consistant defense, the longsword slipping off of the false edge of Angurvadal to be directed away from Norran. "A waste of a swordsman, if only your honor was worth as much as your prowess," laments the Grand Master aloud, though his expression doesn't dim even slightly. The battleground of the two men begins to be soaked with the mixed blood of them both, Norran notably edging the fight away as to ensure his footing. Norran seems determined to put Godric down, attacking his exposed flank by trying to thrust Angurvadal through the other man's armpit.

Both guards fall back a step as they're parried, the second one looking faintly awed; however, they know their duty and so they return to the fray, blades lancing inward in a coordinated attack. One stabs for the left shoulder, one for the right, brutally trying to exploit any weakness in the armor they face.

Godric grimaces, again, as the blade strikes against his armour, cutting against his metal skin. Swearing an oath, he shouts, "By the Light!" and, hefting his sword high in both hands, brings it crashing down toward Norran - trying, one would assume, to unseam him from the knave to the chaps.

"Oh, fer-...," Marisa starts as Pardus heads in, rolling her eyes. She glances over to Thayndor as if to ask him a question, before just shaking her head and starting to chuckle. "Dis 's bloodeh r'dic'lous," she says, face in hand as she watches the fight.

Seeing an opening, Pardus takes it. But he doesn't swing from the side, doesn't want to take the risk. Instead, he winds up and heaves the gothic axes foward in a wide downward arc, going right for that injured shoulder of Godric's, striking just after Norran's blow. Perhaps he might be too preoccupied with the others at this point, however unlikely.

An excellently-executed attack by Godric is once again thwarted by a similarly excellently-executed defense, Norran matching him blow for blow as Godric's wounds begin to increase. The guards' attempts are mostly amounting to a distraction to Godric, while Norran continues to land his attacks consistantly to chip away at the other man's defenses. Metal clangs against metal, Angurvadal's serated edge crying forth as it's once again brought to bite into Godric's side.

"Sir," the loquacious guard calls uncertainly to Norran. "Sir, I don't know if we can do this!" His companion simply snorts, offers him a withering glare, and despite his lack of success swipes horizontally at Godric's back from behind. After a moment, the first guard follows suit, thrusting at the back of Godric's knee.

Godric is too preoccupied with the onslaught of new attackers, his sword moving swiftly from one to the other in a crazed attempt to parry their blows. Thus distracted, Norran is able to land his blow - cutting through the man's defences - to leave a dark red pool of blood in his wake. It begins to puddle against his armour. Not submitting, Godric turns to face Pardus, roaring, "This is not your fight!" the cry is answered with a swift slash of his blade at the man's torso, aiming the sharp steel at his unprotected chest.

The teen girl continues to watch the fight, a slight frown tugging at her lips. Marisa takes a half-step forward, as though considering joining the fray, but stops herself and instead calls, "Oy! Git out o' dere, Lor'!" Her hands start to twitch as the girl itches to get in there. The lack of room holds her back, though.

For all of his bravado, Pardus is not as skilled as Norran or Godric, or ever Chuck for that matter, the blade slashing across his chest. He stumbles back, hacking and gritting his teeth. "Against an abomination like you...this fight is more than just, lawbreaker!" he bites back, not the kind to relent. He composes him just enough before swinging his weapon again, this time at the man's thigh.

Too busy to attempt to defend Pardus, Norran's eyes focus on Godric's as he lets down his attacks to focus on another. Instead of watching Pardus's inevitable pain and hurt, Norran lunges quite literally at the opportunity and charges at Godric to aim Angurvadal's edge at the man's neck, bringing down his blade with as much force as he can muster.

The first guard's eyes widen at the horrific blow Pardus takes, but he nonetheless presses his attack, slicing hard at the joint of Godric's armor near the waist. The second guard remains apathetic, his sword hand still jabbing for a shoulder blow. Just another day at the office.

Godric is overwhelmed, outmaned, and quickly hacked and cut ruthlessly by Norran and one of the guardsmen. He shakes his head, through the fog and pain of battle, at the continued efforts by the young Lomasa. Stepping forward, staggering as he does, he brings his blade out to stab the man squarely in the stomach. "I warned you once!" he glowers as the weapon moves to skewer his relative.

Marisa tries to get into the fray to pull Pardus back, but between all the movement and sharp objects, the teen can't seem to get in well enough. Frustrated, the girl drops her backpack with a -thud- and tries again to yank the foolish house Knight out of the fray. "Git out!"

Getting stabbed is never a fun thing, Pardus won't recommend it. His eyes go wide as he crumples to the ground, axe falling from his hand and hacking a bit of blood out of his mouth. But, even as his conciousness begins to fade, he smiles this quite odd smile at Godric. And he does have enough energy to spit blood mingled saliva in his face, ever defiant. "Even if you kill me...your fate is already sealed. I'll be laughing beyond the grave having died with honor." And with that he slumps out on the floor.

"You shameless peasant!" growls Norran as Godric attacks a gravely wounded man, attacking furiously at the other man's undefended flank as he continues to seek to put him down for good as the crimson-tainted Angurvadal slices forth.

"Yeah!" The first guard cheers agreement with Norran, caught up in righteous fury as he slashes hard at Godric's back. The other guard, eminently more practical, edges around to help Marisa get Pardus out of the way.

Norran's blade cuts him savagely, and Godric staggers backward. As the other guard moves toward him, he rhythmatically raises his sword to deflect the blow. However, the primary wound is significant. He backs toward a wall, blood streaking the corridor, as his eyes narrow upon Norran. "You swaddle yourself in borrowed words and false honours, Norran. Grand Master, they call you? And yet you thrust an untrained and poorly equiped boy in to a fight, and skulk behind your guards, rather than face me directly. Let us end this!" Coughing furiously, he places all of his energy behind an attempt to wound the Grand Master.

Godric's blow doesn't even come near to touching Norran, the Lomasa Grand Master seemingly predicting the attack almost as soon as it seems to appear as a thought in his opponent's mind, if not sooner. His expression grows cold and purposeful, not even bothering to reply to Godric as he dances effortlessly around the swinging man to move closely into his defensive circle, Angurvadal appearing from Norran's side to swing fluidly up and toward Godric's neck.

The approaching guard there to help move Pardus removes the injured man from her priorities, a rather stone-faced Marisa instead stepping into the fray and drawing her knife. No words, no hesitation, merely a stab aimed at any weak point in Godric's armor she can manage to find in an attempt to end the madness.

Pardus Lomasa doesn't say much, being all knocked out looking dead an all.

"Strong words from a knave in armor fighting a man in silk!" the first guard yells at Godric, spitting at him before jabbing his sword directly for the man's battered armor- trying to make a hole instead of exploit one. The second guard finishes laying Pardus against a wall.

Even for his superb swordsmanship, fighting prowess, and courage, Godric is unable to withstand the last attack. He staggers backward, skewered by the guard's shortsword in his side and greviously bleeding from his chest where Norran's sword cut cleanly through his breastplate. Breathing heavily, he looks directly at Norran and says, blood pouring through his lips, "May the Light curse you and your offspring for fifteen generations. May unhappiness, betrayal, and villainy befall your lineage. May your children be plucked from you before their prime. I bring a thousand curses upon you, Norran Lomasa. With my last breath, I spit at thee!" And he does - a clump gob of bloody spittle flies from the former Knight's lips directly at Norran's looming face. Gripping his longsword in both hands, thankful for once for his long arms, Godric plunges the blade directly in his chest. With a sick, wet, rattling sound his breath echoes out of his ribs. And then silence.

Marisa merely sighs, shaking her head. "Light piteh ye, Godr'c," she mutters, sheathing her dagger. The teen removes her sheath, quiver and bow and sets them on the floor with the backpack, before leaning against the wall with arms crossed.

Norran's emerald gaze looking down on Godric with an expressionless face is the last thing the former Lomasa likely sees before passing out, his blood dripping down Angurvadal's blade into the mess now encompassing the hallway. "How droll," replies Norran, glancing over to Marisa and the guards. "Hurry and get the healers. I'll take them into this room," orders the Lomasa, wiping the blood off on his cloak and sheathing Angurvadal. The first thing he does before dragging Godric away is disarming him, before grabbing him and making his retreat into the room.

Marisa nods and heads downstairs to seek a healer. She doesn't speak, merely continuing to shake her head with that stoney expression.

Return to Season 7 (2008)