You sit on top of your horse, fully armored with shield in hand and wait. Not to far from you, stands your older brother William. He lays your lance across his shoulder, today the roles are reversed and he squires for you. Across the way is your opponents pavilion, he has yet to show himself. Due to special circumstances, he is running late. The longer you wait, the more the nerves start to work away at your mental fortitude. You cannot be blamed for this however, for there is much to be nervous about.It is the first joust of the finals, and an unexpectedly large crowd has come to spectate. It has been an uncharacteristically warm spring and the winter dragged its heels departing. An amateur tournament has given nobles and peasants alike all the excuse they needed to leave their homes. The green hills all around the glade are dotted with blankets and pavilions with more coming by the hour. The organizers have likewise done their best to grow the tournament area to meet the needs of the expanding viewership. Seating for the nobility, stalls for merchants, and of course, the pageantry. A great deal of flowing banners, whimsical instruments, and colorful drapery has been put out over time. Not that you are complaining about it, the truth is that it all makes you feel like a real knight. It is enough to stir your imagination. Transporting you at times to places like the far off grand arena in Midlan. Where a knight can win the kiss of a princess, and the cheers of crowds are deafening. Or so you are told.


"Steady yourself, looks like they are finally ready."