[center][img]https://vgtimes.ru/uploads/games_previews/63316/manor-lords_vgdb.jpg[/img][/Center]

Summerhall had been built around a fortified castle which had been extensively used by King Daeron in his youth. New wings had spread out from the core, converting the Marcher castle into a palatial residence – which together with the surrounding estates had been the king’s wedding gift at Maekar’s marriage to Lady Dyanna Dayne. Indeed, nestled in the luscious hills north of the Red Mountains, the vine-covered slopes make for an idyllic refuge. From its cypress lined paths and fecund fields went out a declaration. Wishing to celebrate the end of Summer and the end Daeron’s infancy (Maekar and Dyanna’s son), a grand tourney was to be held. A troupe of royalty and half-royalty were to attend, marking Summerhall’s Tourney as the event of the season. Not in the least because with so many opposing factions present there was bound to be drama.

The rules were simple: any knight may enter, provided they adhere to custom that if defeated his mount and suit of armour must be ransomed back from the victor. Fights may continue until either party yielded or was incapacitated. Altercations off the tourney fields were strictly forbidden and would result in heavy fines and disqualification. This was Ser Alyn Horpe’s duty, serving as Maekar’s castellan. The man’s temper had frayed due to the amount of contestants flooding Summerhall’s fields.

The ringing of hammers had been heard for weeks, as carpenters nailed together jousting barriers, raised lofty viewing stands, and erected fences, shacks and stables. Spectator boxes divided the tourney grounds into sections, rank and capital determining which competition one would witness. After the call had gone out, lords great and small had descended upon Summerhall. They brought with them a cavalcade of courtiers, servants, and footloose tagalongs. Errant knights, musicians, merchants, charlatans, artists, and artisans all came to ply their trade and sell their wares, as did whores and thieves and cutpurses. Like flies to dung they were drawn to the assembly of tourney participants and audience. 

Prince Maekar’s days were filled patrolling the hubbub and imposing order, leading knights and guards to and fro to dispense rough justice. The first man caught stealing had lost his hand, and been made to travel the tourney grounds with it dangling from his neck. He was soon followed by another, and then another. A man who had raped a serving girl had found himself in a similar situation, though the lifeless appendage had been his scrotum instead. When a mouthy murderer was brought in front of the Prince, the man in utter disregard of death had japed about what limb or piece would be removed for that. Maekar removed his tongue for the insolence and placed a noose around his neck. Prior to hanging the man, he dragged him behind his horse when he next did his rounds, until they reached the roadside gallows. Henceforth, incidents occurred few and far between.

In the meantime, over fourscore pavilions had sprouted from the green fields around Summerhall, like so many colourful blooms. Some were small, others large, and a very few were huge; cathedrals of cloth and canvas. Banners streamed over them in colours even brighter. In other times, the grounds served as a common grazing area but with the arrival of the Realm’s high and low society it had been transformed into bustling city of coloured canvas. Hundreds of merchants and peddlers had set up shop beside the road and the edge of the fields reserved for the highborn, selling furs and fruits, felts and belts, leatherware and pewterware and ironware and earthenware. Wares of every kind and origin. The smell of spices, food and drink tried its hardest to blunt the odorous fumes a mass of humanity produced. The Redwyne delegation with their famed vintages were particularly popular and seemed sure to make a killing.

No less than three lists for the hastilude there were. Two lesser ones for the knights and squires lacking reputation or reference, and the main range reserved for those who had proven themselves through blood or feat. There was also to be a major mêlée at the end, after the days of jousting were concluded. It remained to be seen which knights would enter after the toll of the lists and evening celebrations. In the morning, before the afternoon tilts, marksmen might try their arrows’ luck in the archery contest. The latter had been a hard requirement by Lady Dyanna, a consummate markswoman herself. Given that was how their relationship had first started (by her beating Maekar’s aim), not having it had not been an option. Indeed, the winner of the contest stood to win as much as the ten last standing in the mêlée. One of those rare grins flickered on Prince Maekar’s rugged face as he thought back fondly on how his lady wife had reacted to his suggestion she be the queen of love and beauty. Dyanna, three and twenty, had said with her customary sardonicism she was “an old woman and mother of two. Surely there are young pretty things needing such a title and acclaim.” Remembering, he almost dared chuckle at what might have happened had he commented thus. No, she had declared herself queen of bow and arrow instead.

[center][img]https://boundingintocomics.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/2022.08.23-03.04-boundingintocomics-6304ec90a48ef.jpg[/img][/Center]

[hider=TL;DR]Scenic description of the tourney grounds, rules and mention of Ser Alyn Horpe as the NPC running the day to day, whilst Maekar severs offensive limbs and tongues.[/hider]