Thomas watched as his opponent took the field, a typical looking knight if Thomas had ever seen one. Thomas quickly mounted his horse. Thomas would be jousting without a shield, for he preferred simply wearing heavier armor, than having to use a shield, which he was grossly untrained with. One of Thomas' squires rushed up to him, to hand him his lance, but before Thomas took the lance in hand, he turned to face where King Bard II was sitting, and did the traditional Order of the Thistle salute. A closed right fist, over his heart. After a moment, Thomas took the lance in his hand, and grasped it tightly. Butterflies were in Thomas' stomach once more as he readied himself for the joust. He stared down the runway at his opponent, his normal happy and approachable attitude was now slowly being replaced by a more passionate and competitive one. The man down the runway from him was no longer a man, or a knight. He was an obstacle that Thomas had to cross. Thomas cradled the lance in his hand, as he awaited the signal for the beginning of the match.