[center][h2][color=a36209]Gwillim Gunnvaldr[/color][/h2][sub]Husband of [color=E3a777]Scyrvensrel Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr[/color] [@Amethyst] and [?] of [TBA] [@"?"]
Interacting with: [color=E3a777]Scyrven[/color] [@Amethyst][/sub][/center]
Wearing an armor akin to lamellar, but of a metallic construction. It would resist pummeling from both earth and fire magics in particular. Still few bothered to use their magic as anything more than a supporting ability, but Gwillim had other plans. He enjoyed watching his wife best the little fool, not that he'd have allowed the filth to take his wife as a matter of pride, but it was good to see that she had bested him of her own accord. Gwillim wrapped his arms around his victorious mate as she came off the field and held her tight, grinning and whispering to her a soothing sort of gloat over the little lordling and of her clear display of prowess with her weapon. He used his talent with water to help relax her muscles and cool her body after the fight, leaving her only a little tired from the exertion and ready to face the next fight when it came.

His own fight came up, and he reluctantly released Scyrvensrel after a lingering moment, to give his companions plenty to be jealous about. He grabbed his poleaxe and headed into the arena, finding his place and offering a simple military salute to the royals box. He astutely ignored the crowd, and watched his opponent as the fool played to the crowd's whims. Match start was signaled, and the drakken, a landless brute hoping to prove himself in todays tourney, charged Gwillim with shield raise to protect head and torso. The brute's axe was drawn back to swing on impact. He wore a chainmail hauberk and simple iron cap. Good gear for a landless brute. Gwillim side stepped the advance gracefully, shocking the crowd into titters and subdued jeering. The Brute stopped, before crashing into the arena wall, realizing his mistake a little late. He spun, swinging the axe in a lateral back hand. Gwillim was to far away for the axe to bite him, but his poleaxe had greater reach, and it's head flashed suddenly towards the brute's weapon shoulder. The sudden shift caught the brute off guard and he struggled to shift his own mass away from the attack. He only just avoided losing his arm, instead the sound of wood splintering could be heard through the arena as the brute's axe haft was cut clean in two. Stunned, the brute missed the follow up of the poleaxe's haft to helm with another resounding crack, as Gwillim spun the weapon around his dominant hand and continued the attack with out loosing any momentum. 

The brute fell to his knees, and the guards called the fight hurriedly as the realized that Gwillim's next strike would decapitate his unconscious foe. His blade stopped milimeters from the brute's neck, and Gwillim slowly withdrew a step, turning to offer the same simple salute to the royal's box, before marching smartly out of the Arena. He was a showman of his own style, he didn't cater to the crowds, but none could deny his skill. He'd not even gotten the chance to use his elements, the brute's attacks had been so rudimentary that Gwillim had withheld his arsenal of elemental attacks simply because the brute offered him no challenge, much to his disappointment. He returned to his wife's side, and slung an arm around her shoulders as he complained quietly.

[color=a36209]"That wasn't even a match, my cousins could put forth a better challenge than he did. I thought this tourney was of Drakka's best, not every street rat that could hold a blade... "[/color] 

[hider=Summary]Gwillim ignores the crowds as he faces a landless challenger that he disdains and trounces easily. He scorns his opponent in private conversation with his wife afterwards.[/hider]