Thread: Dominant Paladin, Innocent Bard (PsionicCuttlefish & SweetandSour)

Tyler Orvioville sighed glumly as he sat down in the comfortable cushioned observation chair--the luxury didn't do much to help his mood, with what was going on. The young man was uncomfortable with all the hype and spectacle going on, knowing what it was all for. His father, Lord Orvioville, ruler of the local province, had organized a tourney for knights and warriors. There was an arena, and a crowd, and a bunch of contestants had turned out, as Lord Orvioville had promised an 'honorable prize'. The prize being the honor of taking on a free squire, a nobleman's son! ...Tyler himself. The problem was, Tyler was not a warrior. Many elves were, there was no shortage of great and strong elf heroes, but Tyler wasn't one of them, to his father's eternal disappointment. Tyler himself was tall, but thin--no muscle or bulk to speak of whatsoever, obvious even with the noble's robes he was wearing. His light-brown shoulder-length hair was nicely groomed with his very long pointed ears poking out the sides, and his face had the typical elven angular quality to it, although it was softer and a little less pronounced than average on him. There had been a decent turnout for the tournament, a number of elven paladins and knights had showed up, as well some humans and even a few dwarf knights, as this was an elf-majority but mixed-race province...yet, the roster included, rather strangely, an orc. A female orc paladin, who somehow had already fought to the final round of the tournament, which was about to start. She was squaring off against a hulking elf armored gladiator-style. Tyler didn't know who was going to win, but...it wasn't going to matter either way...he'd be miserable no matter who had to take him on. Tyler looked sideways at his father, sitting in the most lavish chair in the observation booth, leaned forward with his elbows resting on the railing and his hands steepled together as he observed the final match of the tournament. The Lord Orvioville had darker hair with wisps of grey streaks, yet he wore only elbow-length robes that showed he still had much of the hard muscles from the days of his prime. And as Tyler wasn't following in his father's footsteps, things had been rather difficult. All Tyler wanted to do was...sing. He had also picked up some self-taught musical magic, but most of all, Tyler wanted to entertain, to sing for the people, not fight. Lord Orvioville thought that bardic pursuits were beneath his son, and so had attempted repeatedly to foist Tyler off onto a warrior who'd toughen him up. Yet, every knight and paladin who Lord Orvioville had tried negotiating with in increasingly elaborate and misdirecting ways had walked out on seeing Tyler, and knowing right away that he would be more of a liability than a help. Which led to the current scheme. Organize a tournament, promise an unspecified honor prize, and then when the winner was presented with their prize, a new squire, they'd have to accept or look publically dishonored. And...oh, the final match had finished. Tyler honestly hadn't been paying much attention. He looked down to see that...the orc woman was the victor? Tyler sat back again as Lord Orvioville rose to officially recognize the winner of the tournament. Huh. Tyler wondered how she was going to cleverly duck under his father's scheme.