[CENTER][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/520041678032207887/953483156286242846/6e8f2abf9a9e01374fb66fa0764c58d6.png[/img][/CENTER][hr]

[color=gray]"Oi, that's the kid. Good in school... shame about that spar..."

[center]"Wish I was the one to knock him on his arse."[/center]

[right]"There's no way they'll let him in, even if he is a noble..."[/right][/color]

Nathaniel didn't need training or a magic spell to tell that half the boys standing around him were stealing sideways glances at him. He could feel eyes wash over him, for any number of reasons. The nobles always liked gossip, and the purple-eyed outsider had given them plenty to work with. He had no friends among the upper class, and a single spar had managed to wipe any respect he might have had from the attendants of the various sword schools. Some of them looked on with pity. They could have been in the same boat. But others... they reveled in watching a high-born brat get knocked down a few pegs. But Nathaniel kept a faint smile on his lips while staring in the direction of the stage. As more and more trickled into the courtyard, the whispers grew more intense. And Nathaniel listened to every word he could catch.

Nathaniel's eyes wandered, in desperate need for distraction. It was hard to see anyone of note from near the front of the pack. His fellow nobles were rather unremarkable. Their forms were lacking, and maneuvers designed to deliver a killing blow as quickly as possible so they wouldn't have to think or react. Of course, some had enough training and motivation to potentially make the cut. Or, more accurately... some were just born special. Nathaniel's father had told the boy to keep an eye on the Brendorn child. The blonde-haired prodigy was well-skilled, from what he saw so far. However, Nathaniel couldn't help but let his smile falter as his eyes met their piercing gaze. He recognized that determination, but couldn't help but notice the hostility that was mixed in. A dangerous combination, for sure. But an even greater opportunity for competition, surely.

His eyes drifted towards those at the back of the gathering, on the fringe. He couldn’t make out any but the tallest. The tallest, it seemed, was a rather large man near the back. He seemed to be talking to someone he couldn’t quite make out. He vaguely recalled the figure only because of his size and competence in his sparring match. With some attention to form and technique, and a lot of power and weight behind swings, the imposing figure would make a fine combatant. Nathaniel’s eyes then narrowed in on another figure sitting up on a fencepost. His eyes narrowed as he recalled the figure and the rumors that had already begun swirling around them. An Alexandrian by the name of Dotl. Ambidextrous, quick, and graceful: Nathaniel couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. They didn’t quite stick the maneuver, and Nathaniel immediately recognized the painful misstep Dot made before the kick even landed. Situational awareness was a difficult skill to master. Nathaniel should know, of all people.

He focused his eyes back on the empty stage, lost in the memories of his introductory spar. He didn’t feel nervous, by any stretch of the imagination. He saw some of the knights in the crowd leaning in to pay attention. Perhaps they knew who his father was, or perhaps his own reputation preceded him. Either way, Nathaniel knew he had an opportunity to show what he was capable of. He had the opportunity to tear apart his competitor’s technique, and show that he knew what he was doing. After all, the poor kid he was facing could barely hold the sword in any proper manner. The grip was too loose, the stance too rigid. If he didn’t know any better, Nathaniel’s best guess was the poor kid hadn’t properly held a sword before that day. It was his moment to shine.

But… he didn’t shine or prove himself. Nathaniel got into a defensive stance, raising his weapon and widening his stance to allow for a quick sidestep and parry. The next second was a blur, primarily because he found himself unable to see. His eyes stung with an intense pain the boy hadn’t known before. This was immediately followed by a quick strike on the head, followed by loud footsteps before the adversary had tackled him to the ground. Nathaniel lost the grip on his sword in the sudden onslaught, and was still rubbing what turned out to be sand from his eyes when it was announced that he had lost. Nathaniel Lothwren had been bested by a commoner. And while any defeat always stung, what still boiled his blood at this assembly was the lack of respect. The tactics were beyond underhanded… they were barbaric. What kind of knight throws sand in their opponent’s face? What kind of knight throws their sword at an enemy so they are left defenseless? What kind of monster fights like that? Well, Nathaniel knew. The blonde-haired baker boy had dishonored Nathaniel and his family, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. Through gritted teeth hidden by a false smile, he whispered their name under his breath.

[b][color=ed1c24]”Julian Baker…”[/color][/b]