CLOSED STARTER ━━ day three of the celebrations. apart from the crowd before the bouts have begun, as the stableboys ready the horses of knight & liege alike. for ruling lord juran baratheon @illuminvtes
[ ... ] "YOUR REPUTATION PROCEEDS YOU, LORD BARATHEON." when rosemund speaks, it's born of truth ⸺ she offers no false tongue, no ability to hold a lie beneath it until it becomes a pearl of flattery. though it might be said any of them destined to brush up against the gods earned notoriety, the lord juran had obtained his stature in the truest form: at the tip of a blade. "i've yet to take a full turn about the lists and have already heard two conversations remarking upon your absence from today's competition."
he is well enough identified, despite the lack of knowing between them. even without his house colours, there's the look of a stormbringer about him.
"i am afraid i have never been one for tourneys, though perhaps this is owed to my inability to participate in them. i find them a poor imitation of the games of war they are modelled after." arms tucked into the lengths of her sleeves, rosemund strides idly to the bar which separates them from the horses, baring with her the grace of wild things. she leans against the wooden bannister, observing both the creatures paraded in front and the infrastructure they're made to prance within. "in these mounts i could previse a winner, but i know less of the tells of men and their breeding." something salty rolls in the corner of her mouth. not a lie, this, but a jest. "tell me, what is it i should look for in the marks of a champion?" the length of a lord's gait, perhaps ⸺ or the shine of his coat?