[Flame]

{Human Form}

There was a decided air of gaiety in the atmosphere as the sun beat down on the grassy expanse of the plains, warming the dew-laden grasses as the blades bobbed and sparkled in the light breeze. Normally, the prairie-like region was blanketed by a layer of calm, quiet tranquility at this hour in the morning: Today though, was not one of those days. The sounds of music, chatter, and laughter filled the clear air, punctuated by an occasional outburst of cheering, many warm, tempting scents permeating the playful gusts which billowed across the flatlands. Multicolored tarps and exhibitions splayed across the emerald turf, peppered with flecks of color which were people, all dressed up in some form of medieval garb or another. Indeed, one could not have chosen a better day to hold a Renaissance Faire.

It was still early in the day, and the events had just begun. People continued to flood into the already-crowded grounds, each person outfitted in anything ranging from elegant to outlandish clothing. There was one main amphitheater where all of the main events would be held, and scattered around it in a wide, loose radius were multitudes of smaller stalls and booths. Already, a small crowd had gathered on the stands which encircled the large platform, where one of the first events of the day was already taking place. Two faceless figures, both decked in full suits of spotless white, visages hidden behind dark, wire masks, faced off on the stage, weapons poised to strike. Unlike the various try-it-yourself stands which offered chances to duel a friend with masks and blunted foils, this display was in deadly earnest. One of the challengers was sturdy, muscular-looking and well-built while his adversary was much more lean and wiry in build, smaller, but more agile in appearance. Both opponents wielded not the typical, lightweight foils usually used in fencing, but instead, they used the heavier but quicker sabres, which alone bespoke a skill level that easily trumped that of any other display of swordplay commonly found.

At the referee’s terse command, the show began. This obviously wasn’t a staged production, and neither opponent had faced the other before, so it was a few long moments of tense anticipation before one of them finally took the initiative to lunge in, aiming more to judge their adversary’s abilities than for an actual strike. In the blink of an eye, the dais had exploded in a flurry of motion, arms and blades flashing faster than the eye could follow, feet dancing in intricate patterns as the pair engaged and drew away, only to throw themselves back into furious combat. For a few gripping minutes, neither party could gain any advantage over the other, but it slowly became obvious as one of the challengers began to falter, their steps a little less energetic, their blocks a fraction of a second slower. Suddenly, with a swift prise de fer that twisted both blades in an elegant twirl, the weapon was wrenched clean from the flagging opponent’s hand to sail over his head, landing several feet away as it skittered to a stop on the far end of the stage. With that, the match was over, the remaining sabre resting lightly against the loser’s cloth-clad throat with a firm finality. With the completion of the formalities between the two opponents, they exited the platform, once again strangers.

Backstage, the victor took a brief moment to bask in her conquest before shedding her fencing apparel, donning a more event-appropriate garb which consisted of an elegant dress, tailored in the style of medieval nobility. It was much more cumbersome that she might have preferred or was used to, but the lady who had helped her to find a fitting dress for the occasion had insisted that this was the one for her. So, not in the mood to argue the point, and half-heartedly admitting that however ungainly it might be, it looked rather flattering on her, she had taken it. Her golden-blonde hair fell to the middle of her back, half restrained by a clip which kept the locks from falling in her face. Her features were completely unrecognizable from the expert swordswoman who had so recently dominated the stage: They were soft, gentle features set on pale cream skin, her bright, compassionate eyes a pale shade of sapphire, framed by the gold tresses which cascaded over her back and shoulders. It was almost as if she had undergone a metamorphosis, and to most of the unobservant, it was nearly impossible to associate her with the masked fencer.

For now, her obligations had been fulfilled, and she was free to wander about the expansive spread that was the Renaissance Faire. She had only been to one or two in her lifetime, and every time, it had been like a completely new experience to her. There was always something new to see and to do, and never enough time for it all. Although she appeared calm and collected on the surface, there was a bubbly excitement which sparkled in her eyes as she meandered through the stalls, a small smile lighting her delicate features. She knew the general direction in which she was headed: She had particularly wanted to see the falconry exhibition this year, as the beauty and grace of the supremely efficient hunters of the air had always captivated her. Who was to say that she couldn’t admire what lay all around her on her way there though?


{This is the dress which I imagined her in :3 Hehe, bit more lavish than I intended, but I fell in love with it <3}

[Kallile]

Human Form clothed much like this image from by-the-sword.com

The plains were lovely this time of year; a more perfect spot for a Renaissance Faire could surely not have been found. Still fairly young, the gentleman standing in the back of the crowd t watch the swordplay spectacle was not unfamiliar with these older methods of battle. He himself had a finely curved bow on his back and a small quiver of arrows looking made from scratch with feathers tediously cut and trimmed to for the fletching. They, by appearance, looked as though they would sail true.

As the event ended and the smaller of the competitors was decidedly the victor, the young gentle man gave an approving nod. This might have been his first Faire, but he was certainly not one to jump about in wild applause. Those where who would play with such things as sabres were not here for sheer amusement; though they did provide that. They, like himself, were preserving a dying art, and to that he gave only a nod. One artist to another.

He observed the area around him, taking in what was close by. It was nearing time for his event— but still a spare moment to seek out other masters of their craft to see what knowledge they had to offer. Sadly, there was little else other than a few metal workers who looked more like glorified peddlers. Steel blue eyes mellowed in disappointment, though his face remained placid and observant. He was the picture of inner serenity—calm eyes, a strong jaw line that held no tension to speak of, and defined cheek bones that gave him what many may deem a handsome appearance. His hair was a deep shade of natural red, though it gleamed much more darkly than the average ginger-headed person in the sunlight to appear in certain lighting almost black in hue. It was slightly longer, though the soft curls in it kept it from hindering his sight as it framed his face.

In the distance a horn sounded, and the young man turned to acknowledge it. He grinned, pulling a sage-colored hood over his head so it huge mysteriously about his face. He took to moving at a quick trot, traversing the crowd easily as he made his way to the open field with several straw targets straddled about. His bow was acknowledgement enough, and the judges waved him inside. There was, after all, only one competitor missing.

He stood in his place, on either side of him a was a far burlier man and at the far end a lovely young lady who looked barely the age of thirteen. He was far too busy to take much notice, strong at his cheek and the nock of the arrow held firmly in place on said string. The object was to get a hit in the smallest circle in as many targets as possible. Each archers arrow looked world apart from the others—their own personal trademarks. Another horn sounded, and the young man let the string fly from his fingers. He watched it fly true, already reaching for a second on his back. The man to his left was busy fumbling around to catch his second.

He shot the second, and reached for a third before a beautiful visage caught his attention around the hem of his hood. A noble woman, in appearance, and certainly in dress. He released the arrow and flinched, knowing already it was an imperfect shot. He quickly reset and sent another flying just as the horn was sounded.

The judges walked the yard, inspecting everything. They pulled out a single arrow, the fletching matching that of the hooded archer. He dipped his head in acceptance as the walked back, giving to each archer their respective arrowed. Three bullseye, one miss, they informed him. The man seemed disappointed by the imperfection, but found himself quickly scanning the crowd to the royal beauty that had stolen his attention.

[1]

((…And Fletcher completely ran away with my fingers on this one. oO; Forgive me if it sounds jumbled. ^^; ))

[Flame]

Serene blue eyes swept across the field, occasionally coming to rest briefly on a certain booth which happened to catch her interest, but her step never faltered as she maintained the steady, unhurried pace which slowly led her through the maze of stalls. She was tempted to stop at several different sites, but ushered herself on, knowing that if she did, she likely wouldn’t be able to get to her destination for several hours, at the least. It was easy to get caught up in all of the various kiosks and exhibitions and lose track of time, so she decided not to take that risk.

The loud, far-reaching bellow of a horn nearby did catch her attention though: After all, it was difficult to have a foghorn all but blown in one’s ear and simply not notice. It turned out that another event was just beginning, and a small crowd was already gathered around a wide stretch of open grass, framed on the far perimeter by several straw targets, each painted with a series of concentric circles. Arianna’s gait slowed by a fraction; half-tempted to watch the spectacle. The archery events were generally quite interesting to watch, especially to those who didn’t know how to wield a bow and arrow, which included the young woman herself. Finally, promising herself that this would be her only stop between here and the falconry exhibition, she relented, gliding over to mingle with the rest of the growing crowd with a practiced grace. At the moment, there were only two competitors on the field, a young girl and a brawny-looking man, both with bows strung and arrows notched, but held loosely. Judging by the empty space between them, there was supposed to be a third contestant, but apparently, they had yet to show, and the other two participants were beginning to look slightly antsy at having to wait.

A moment later, a figure entered the arena, his face shadowed by a green hood which hid his features. If his bow and quiver of arrows were any indication, this was the last competitor. Aria watched on with a mild interest as the trio primed their weapons, somewhat curious as to why this late arrival had chosen to mask his identity. Then, with another blast of the horn, they were off, each opponent shooting at their own rate, and at varying degrees of accuracy. The first man was mediocre – he managed one good shot, but fumbled the second, which obviously threw him off of his game. The girl fired with quite impressive alacrity, and would have been quite remarkable of a markswoman had she actually been able to hit more targets, rather than shooting most every which way. It was the newcomer who obviously took the show: Even as unfamiliar as she was with the art, Aria, as a swordswoman, could tell by the fluid ease with which he handled his weapon. When the event came to a close, the judges unsurprisingly announced the hooded man as the winner, and as the arrows were returned to their owners, Aria smiled lightly, joining in with polite applause.

Even before the competitors had left the field, the young woman had already slipped out of the crowd, determined to keep her word and not get caught up again by another distraction. The train of her gown trailing lightly on the grass, she continued towards the stretch of field nearby, where she could already see several leather-gloved people bearing hooded falcons and hawks lining up. If she hurried, she could still make it there in time to see the start of the competition.

[Kallile]

In an instant, the vision of beauty was gone. Fletcher scanned the audience from behind his hood with a small frown on his face. The hood was intended to keep him solely focused on the task at hand, not get distracted by a beauty of nobility. He had to chuckle at himself on that—calling her nobility at a simple Faire. But it was the game he had entered into, and thus he was going to play by the book. Shouldering his bow and carefully returning his handy work to the quill already there, he moved towards the crowd with the same singular intent he had meant to compete with.

Purely by chance did he catch the light golden train of her gown slip away into the crowd, and he began weaving through the crowd to follow after it. The grass was so stomped down already that it was hard to tell what was springing back from being stepped on hours ago and what had temporarily been waved down by some heavy fabric only a few seconds before.

It was the cry of avian predators that drew his attention to where he was going—a falconry show. A lovely array of hooded hawks and falcons were everywhere his eyes could see. So, this is where Fair Lady chose to travel, was it? He came to terms at that moment that she did have exquisite taste to fancy something of a trained bird. They were beautiful animals to watch work—an amazing feet by all accounts.

He slid the hood slowly away from his face, now far enough away from the archery range to stay clear of many congratulatory pats on the back and children asking if they could have one of the winning arrows. While he would deny none of something so simple, it wasn’t his cup of tea to deal with larger crowds swarming him. Why he had chosen to study a range weapon—much less personal that way.

The dress and flowing golden locks again caught his attention, and he moved to follow her. It seemed the falconry event was just about to start, and he would dare not bother her while she watched the spectacle. He stayed an extra train length back from her, enough to where he could keep and eye on her location and yet still blend in easily with the crowd behind her.

Careful eyes watched her and a horde of people dressed as peasants flocking and weaving about them. He pondered what he might say to her to grab her attention afterwards, and scoffed soundlessly at himself. Surely he wasn’t so hopeless that he was going to spend the rest of today chasing after this damsel. No, he decided as he glided through the peasants that separated them. He wasn’t.

He came up beside her, offering only a glance and a slight nod of his head. “M’lady, might I be so bold as to ask the pleasure of your company for the duration of this event?” He seemed quite at ease with the old forgotten formalities of speaking, as well as very aware that rejection could linger just in the wind.

[2]

[Flame]

Light blue eyes flicked from contestant to contestant, marveling quietly at the assortment of varying raptors which dotted the starting line. The birds ranged from the smallest of falcons to hulking eagles, their feathers an array of vivid colors in dusky hues of blacks, whites, creams, reds and grays. Several trainers off to the sides were giving their charges warm-up runs with lures attached to thin strings, and Aria watched as the agile predators dipped and wove on the air currents with seemingly impossibly fast twists and turns, navigating the skies with the practiced ease of a confident hunter. A cage near the center of the line held one single partridge, clearly the game fowl which had the honor (and extreme misfortune) to be the trophy bird. At the mark, the unfortunate creature would be release, only to be downed in its desperate break for freedom by the most adept falcon.

Aria had her sights set on a stunning white gyrfalcon that was perched, unhooded, on her master’s closed fist. As a swordswoman, she appreciated the fierce hunter’s glare which the bird possessed, its sleek, feathered form drawn up proudly as it surveyed its opponents with what seemed like a cool, undaunted gaze. The crowd seemed to be giving the young woman a wide enough berth that she had her own little bubble of space facing the field: Perhaps they were daunted by the regalia which she was decked in. Whatever the reason, the more modestly dressed people gave her her space, setting her somewhat apart from the crowd of milling “peasants” which had also come to watch the spectacle.

While she was admiring the contestants, Aria noticed someone slip in to occupy the empty space at her side. At first, she paid them no heed: After all, this was  a prime position to watch the event from. When she heard the stranger speak though, she discreetly checked around herself to see whom he was addressing, before coming to the conclusion that there wasn’t anyone in the immediate vicinity except for herself. Glancing over at her visitor with a mild, but politely curious gaze, her eyes took in the handsome, dark-haired features inquisitively. Her gaze didn’t linger but so long though: After all, it was rude to stare, but she was genuinely curious as to why this well-dressed man had come to seek her company. Something about him looked vaguely familiar, and it took her a moment to put her finger on it. Ah yes, if she wasn’t mistaken, this was the victor of the recent archery event. Her respect for the newcomer inched up a notch, as did her inquisitiveness towards whom he was and why he had chosen her company to keep. She had to admit, with a measure of amusement; he moved pretty quickly if he’d managed to avoid the adoring crowds and track her here to the far end of the field. She knew how difficult it could be to deal with doting admirers after a match, which partially explained the motives behind her own costume-change before she made her own appearance.

”The pleasure is mine, kind sir,” she replied graciously, her voice light as she returned the greeting with a small incline of her head, her gaze once again on the field. The individual contestants had lined up to begin, and each was unhooding their raptor in preparation for the event. Certainly, Aria was curious as to the nature of the visit which she had been paid, but decided that he likely hadn’t come to be interrogated. Questions could wait until after the exhibition had finished: After all, the falconry shows were always very brief by nature. Once every contestant was ready, the referee counted down from three before releasing the catch on the captive fowl’s cage, and with an explosion of wings and loose feathers, the game bird was off. Almost instantly, the small flock of raptors had rocketed off of their trainers’ fists, wings slicing the air with deadly efficiency as they breached the distance between themselves and their quarry in a matter of seconds. Dipping and dodging as it flew, the frantic partridge stood no chance against the faster, more aerodynamic hunters, and with a dive, an alarmed squawk, and a puff of downy feathers, the prize was overcome by the snowy white gyrfalcon. Together, hunter and prey collided into the grassy turf, the falcon clearly shielding her prey from the agitated shrieks of the remaining raptors as they slowly turned to light once again on their dejected owners’ gloved hands.

[Kallile]

Indeed, the partridge did stand no chance. The creature barely had a minute of freedom before the snowy raptor had it within her talons, plummeting with practice precision down towards the ground to pin and finish off her prize. Already the trainers at the line had let their shoulders slump—all except for one. The snowy creature on the ground gave a victorious pick or two at the feathers of her prey before taking to the air again. Her flight was short and low, dropping the partridge at her trainer’s feet before circling back and landing on the gloved arm awaiting her.

The creature held herself, if possible, with more pride than she had before the competition. Fletcher watched the pair revel in their victory, giving a satisfactory nod of his head. “A beautiful animal, to be sure. The trainer has raised her well.” The musing was all in idle chatter, he was thinking about the woman to his side.

The world was at no lack of charming, eloquent looking faces. Why was it that this one in particular had grabbed his eyes even from around the hem of his hood? She was not familiar by any means, nor was she anyone who seemed particularly special. Yet here he was despite all that; left wondering why it was she who had cost him a perfect score without meaning to. She who had grabbed his attention from the blue. If his eyes were so drawn, then why could not his mind be drawn as well?

“An admirable contest to behold, M’lady. A fine choice.” He said, gazing over at her with a charming smile. “Forgive me, for my rudeness in lacking by way of introductions. I am Fletcher, a man preserving the art of archery.”

[3]

((Sorry this post is lacking--it's been a long day. >< ))

[Flame]

”Indeed,” Aria replied with a small smile, her gaze still trained on the victors as they drank in the praise and admiration of the other onlookers. The lovely raptor was indeed very well-trained to have been able to outmaneuver her fellow competitors, and Aria had to give her trainer credit for doing so well with such a marvelous creature. As the crowds around the now-emptying field began to disperse, she finally turned back to her visitor, the small, warm smile still resting on her features as she once again trained a mildly curious gaze on the man. Now that she didn’t have anywhere urgent to be, she decided that it couldn’t hurt to take some time to converse with him, as she herself wondered why he might have singled her out of the crowd of other gaudily-dressed participants of the Faire.

”Ah yes, I congratulate you on the spectacular victory, while we’re on the subject,” she replied, her answering smile gracious as she dipped her head in acknowledgement of his achievement. Archery was an art which she had only tried once before, and without much luck: She hadn’t been overly concerned though…After all, it was a given that swordplay was her “thing”, and she was content with that. That didn’t mean she couldn’t still marvel at the skill level which others possessed, and the show which this man, Fletcher apparently, by name, had certainly been quite impressive, at least in her book. ”Quite a fitting name for one as adept as yourself in the art,” she added, sounding somewhat amused, but not rudely so. ”My name is Arianna, and by ways of art, my specialty is swordplay.” She paused briefly for a moment, wondering whether she might have been recognizable, even under the fencing armor and mask. ”To what might I honor this unexpected visit?” she finally inquired, sounding genuinely curious. She turned slightly to face him so as not to appear discourteous in talking to him in a sidelong fashion.


{It's alright ^^ I'm having one of those days as well x3}

[Kallile]

Though the comment was one he had not fully been expecting, Fletcher kept his composure and likewise the fire in his cheeks from spreading visibly. Spectacular was not the word he would have selected to describe his performance today, but it is what the lady so chose to use he would not contest it. He returned the dip of the head formally, watching her in idle admiration. For such noble dress, she was doing very well not to play the part of a noble witch and for that he was eternally grateful.

“Ah, an achievement which I feel could have been better won.” He returned, giving a good-natured chuckle to follow. His handsome smile remained on his face as she remarked about his name as well, showing he held no ill feelings about the matter. “Yes, the name came before the art. It was the study of what my name meant that lead me down the path I walk now. I find it to be quite the self-fulfilling destiny; if you care to partake in such ventures of the mind.”

He calm gaze on Arianna did not waver long, and when it did it was to watch a strangling falconer pass by with their rather annoyed looking raptors. “I did not happen to see you at the fencing exhibit just recently, you must have just missed it. Pity, really, it was a splendid show.” The answer to her unasked question was that, apparently, she could not be recognized. Coupled with Fletcher’s stance at the back of the crowd, he would have never dreamed that he was talking champion to champion with another master of their art.

“Miss Arianna, forgive if I sound unbecoming, but you were the one visage which betrayed my blinder and catch my attention. I imagine the woman who stole my attention long enough to cause me to forgo a perfect score was worth speaking with.” Despite how it might have sounded, there was no malice in his voice, but one of admiration as if she was the first to have swayed his attention so badly.

[4]

[Flame]

Arianna smiled amiably at her companion, amused by his modesty. ”That may be so, but there’s always room for improvement, even when one is an expert at their art.” She personally knew that there was no such thing as true “mastery” at anything, and that if one were to as much as slack off for a prolonged period of time, they would find that someone else had taken their mantle as being “the best”. Thus, fencing had been a part of her daily routine ever since she had started, back in the years of her adolescence. She did find his theory of a “self-fulfilling destiny” quite intriguing though: It hadn’t been something that she had ever seen in any other individual, which set him apart from the rest of the crowd in her mind.

At his mention of the fencing exhibit, she had to conceal a small smile. ”Indeed? That’s quite a shame,” she replied. ”Perhaps I ought to consider signing up for the event next year,” she added, with a small smile. ”Have you any tips for me regarding the defending champion?” Her blue eyes twinkled as she questioned her “informant”, curious as to how he would critique the victor without knowing that she was there in person or fearing the possibility of offending her. Like she said, there was always room for improvement, and to get advice from a fellow master, albeit of a different art, was invaluable.

When Fletcher explained his reasoning behind his imperfect score though, it was Aria’s turn to blush, her cheeks flushing slightly despite her previous composure. ”Oh, I do apologize profusely for the inadvertent distraction,” she said quickly, looking rather abashed. Had she known it had been her fault, she wouldn’t have stood in view of the contestants in the first place. ”And I’m quite certain that you flatter me,” she added, somehow managing to look both amused and embarrassed at the same time. ”Perhaps you mistook me for a different lady?”

[Kallile]

A small smile flickered over his face, and Fletcher nodded. There was indeed always room for improvement, but he had never imagined he would need to overcome a passing glance of a lovely woman to keep his score perfect. He had never before been so taken by just a glance, which only fuelled his curiosity about this lady before him. What was it about her that had so lured his attention?

His smile widened fully to show glimpses of teeth—the most open and honest look one could hope to achieve. He rose a hand slightly as if to quell her enthusiasm for his answer though she showed no outwards signs of such a thing. “I am no studier of swordsplay, I’m afraid I’ll have very little information to offer you. Should you face this years champion, you will need to remain on your toes as the champion is built more for speed than sheer strength. I assume that is of greater advantage in your art.”

“I am certain there was no lady such as yourself I could have mistaken you for. Spending much of my life developing a hunters’ eye assures me of this.” He stepped to the side, as if inviting the lady to walk with him. “I am glad you find it in flattering tastes, I would have said it no other way. Shall we continue this conversation on the move, M’lady? The day is still but a newborn and there is much left to experience.”

[5]

[Flame]

Aria nodded with a small smile at Fletcher’s reply. Well, at least he was honest about not knowing much, at least pertaining to swordplay, but he was quite correct in his assumption that speed and agility were two things greatly valued in the art. That, coupled with skill, made for a proficient swordsperson, and had she not had the advantage of greater endurance and a smaller build, she was certain that this morning’s victory would not have been as well won as it had, if won at all.

”Indeed, what you say is true. I shall keep that in mind, should I ever have to face this unknown opponent.” Her smile was warm, her eyes amused at the thought of facing herself as an opponent. ”I’m honored that you would hold me in such high esteem,” she replied to his comment, this time managing to keep her blush somewhat under control. She was still rather perplexed as to what about herself might possibly have drawn this stranger’s attention so strongly, but decided simply to go along with it. She had a feeling that there was a lot she could learn from this master of archery, and if nothing else, it would be nice to have a companion at the Faire.

”Certainly,” she replied, falling into step next to him, still concentrating on not falling over the hem of her long, trailing gown. Now she could see why women were thought to have been “delicate” and “fragile” back in the times of the Renaissance. After all, who could do anything in this kind of garb? As they walked, they fell into an easy, unhurried gait, Aria’s eyes wandering to observe the booths around them briefly as they passed. ”So, I take it that this is your first Faire, if I’m not mistaken?” she inquired, her sapphire gaze flicking over to rest on Fletcher once again.

[Kallile]

Fletcher smiled pleasantly, adapting his gait to match her own as they made their way back into what was apparently the main marketplace of the Faire. Fletcher allowed himself to become the move mobile of the two, dodging softly or carefully clearing the path so that Aria had to do as little weaving as possible. "You would be correct in that, Lady Arianna. Just recently have I felt adept enough to test my skills in archery against those who are in attendance for far longer than my own life-span."

He paused his pace, allowing a very vertically challenged court jester to run rampantly in front of them, pursued by what appeared to be an executioner. A small, following crowd cheered, clapped and laughed as they watched the spectacle and moved on about their merry way.

"You, however, seem very well-versed in the working of the Faire. Might I ask if there's anything that I simply must see to make my experience complete?" He asked, kindly gesturing to a small crowd to ask them to make way. A few eyes drifted to Aria, and they moved somewhat obediently at the asking. "I certainly wouldn't want to miss anything spectacular on my first venture."

[6]

[Flame]

Aria’s gaze followed Fletcher, which was an interesting feat, seeing as he was maneuvering through the crowds to discreetly keep the path clear for her. She appreciated the gesture, since she had quickly found that trying to move around in a gown like hers was considerably more difficult than it looked, especially with the trailing train. She had to marvel at how the women that live centuries ago managed it on a daily basis. She supposed it had to do with constant practice from a young age. ”Well, it appears to me that you’ve been ‘adept’ enough for quite some time now, to have so thoroughly conquered the opposition,” she commented with a smile in response to his remark. ”Archery is one of those arts which I never did get the hang of…I’d love to take the time to learn it someday though.”

The young woman looked thoughtful as she walked, pondering on her companion’s last question. There were so many things to see and do at the Faire, and despite the fact that it was still morning, there was no way any person could get through them all in one day. ”Well,” she finally said, ”If this is your first Faire, then you must see the jousting. It’s spectacular, especially considering the fact that they do it the ‘old-fashioned’ way.” She paused, mentally organizing her list. ”The gardens are lovely as well, and if you’re into the more mystical, the tarot card readings can be quite interesting. The food is definitely something you don’t want to miss out on though.” She glanced at the booths scattered throughout the grounds, touting their wares which ranged from hand-crafted goods to vintage ales. ”There’s just so much to do here and only so much time to do it in.” She grinned at him. ”Better get a head-start…the clock’s ticking.”