as written by Script
The third day of the Aurellae was well underway. Though attendance was a little less than expected, owing to the deaths the day before, many considered the sparring tournament to be one of the highlights of the festival. To see the church's finest in action was a rare treat for the civilian populace - or at least, to see them in action without there being some sort of disaster. At least here, the crowds were just as thick as ever - the stands were packed, the front rows lined with supportive families and church officials.
As with the other tournaments, the day had begun with the younger bracket. Several matches had already taken place, pitting proselytes against fencers from the Lacroix Academy, and other hopefuls of all varieties from across the city. In the majority of cases, the proselytes came out the victors. The benefits of training from such a young age were plainly apparent - for all that it came with a significant trade-off.
"Next up we have Inarin Nuvellon, proselyte of the monastic order, against Auden Blanc, student of St. Sirene's School."
A low murmur ran through the crowd as the participants in the next match were announced, prompting Florianne to purse her lips from her position in the stands. The Nuvellon name had been in the headlines enough lately that even those who normally paid no mind to Lutetia's old families knew it. She could make out the couple next to her whispering their surprise that Inarin was taking part in the tournament, 'considering'.
In truth, Inarin hadn't signed up to the tournament until after the events of the previous week. When Florianne had questioned it, the only answer he'd been able to provide had been that he felt he couldn't afford to shy away from such things any more. Still, if nothing else, preparing for his match today had kept his mind occupied. She only hoped that he would not regret his decision. It would be the first time that she had seen her younger nephew in action, and if she was honest, she wasn't sure what to expect.
As the two fighters took their place in the ring, she paused in her thoughts to raise a hand and wave to him, letting out a raucous cheer that somewhat startled the couple from before.
___
Florianne's yell reached Inarin's ears, and he turned to face her with a smile of acknowledgement, reddening slightly (though thankfully it was difficult to tell beneath the helmet). She certainly possessed a powerful set of lungs, though it was the first time he'd heard her put them to such use.
He watched with a grin as she settled back into her seat, adjusting her dress and clearing her throat, before he turned his attention back to his opponent.
Auden was a tall boy, a good head taller than he was, and fairly well built. As Inarin recalled, St. Sirene's was a high school out in Merveilleux, but he knew little about it beyond that. As the two met in the center of the ring to shake hands, Inarin flashed a warm smile to him.
"Good luck," he offered politely, bowing his head slightly.
Auden, who had been surveying his opponent with a dubious frown, quickly flashed a smile in return. "Ah, you too, mate."
Just from watching Auden as they each stepped back to take their positions for the match's start, Inarin could tell that the slightly older boy hadn't received the same training that he had. His stance was off, his feet ever so slightly too close together, and his weapon held both too close to centre and angled too far down.
Inarin raised his own weapon, an arming sword designed to be wielded both one and two-handed, settling himself into a textbook-perfect plow stance, sword angled upwards from his hip to point towards Auden's chest.
"You know the rules," the referee stated as he stepped back. "It's a freeform spar till I deem a fatal or crippling blow to have been dealt. No strikes to the face, and remember that this is a spar - hitting your opponent harder doesn't mean you win more. Discipline and control are as important as strength and technique."
Both boys nodded in acknowledgement, and so the referee raised his hand. "Alright... en garde!"
____
Off to the side of the ring, a few of the other participants in the tournament were gathered in a sectioned off area. Some tents had been erected for them to don or doff their armour, and there were a few benches where they could rest and watch the other matches. It wasn't a particularly formal arrangement, but it was a festival - such was to be expected.
As Inarin and Auden's fight began, Aurelion watched with a furrowed brow, watching his brother's footwork intently. "Good," he murmured as Inarin went on the attack, "good form. Well executed, but... a little predictable."
"Your brother is..." Beside him, Noah was also observing the fight. He hesitated before continuing, and Aurelion glanced his way.
"Better than you were expecting?" He interjected, raising an eyebrow.
"... well, yes. By his appearance, I would not have thought... but I suppose I am a hypocrite in that assumption. I am not so intimidating myself."
"I'm afraid so, my friend." Aurelion smirked as he turned his attention back to the spar. "Everyone assumes In's got no fight in him. Even he does. But when it comes down to it, he's a lot better than he thinks he is. His biggest problem is that everything he does is by the book. Executed almost flawlessly, but anyone who's studied sword forms would be able to predict him easily. He just needs to spend more time practicing, till he can act more intuitively. He thinks a little too much."
Noah nodded, observing what Aurelion described in practice. Auden seemed to be getting into a rhythm of parrying or avoiding Inarin's attacks, though the proselyte still held the advantage for the time being. He moved with calculated precision, each step and strike placed down like a piece on a chessboard. Auden's every move had an answer, and if there was one thing that Inarin was good at, it was getting the answer right.
But as Aurelion had observed, there were moments where he over-thought. He left gaps, exploitable by a more capable swordsman, where he took a split second to decide on the appropriate form to take or swing to make. Thankfully, Auden was not that swordsman. Though he was holding Inarin off, he wasn't familiar enough with formal sword forms to formulate a strategy on the fly to turn Inarin's apparent predictability against him.
It seemed that it wouldn't be long before the young proselyte landed a deciding blow.
____
"He's actually..."
"...pretty good, huh?"
In the stands, Al and Val exchanged a glance, raising their eyebrows. "Never would've thought the little guy had it in him," Al remarked, grinning. "I guess even the adorable little proselytes are adorable little killing machines."
"He's certainly full of surprises," Val noted. "But I think we figured that out when he threw himself, unarmed, into the path of a mad werewolf."
"Yeah... that took a certain amount of balls. Or a certain lack of survival instincts," Al remarked dryly. "But I guess we can give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was both."
"Did you see who he's up against if he wins, though?" Val frowned.
"Captain Closet Case, right?"
"Assuming the brute wins his match, then yes. I'm not sure... how that's going to go down." Either Izaic would be thrown so off of his game that there'd be an upset, or... things were likely to go fairly poorly for Inarin.
"What I'd give to be a fly on the wall when he finds out... Wonder if he's already here? We should keep an eye out for him, I'm sure we can find ways to mess with him without getting caught." Al grinned, nudging Val. "Reckon you can get a smooch from the kid while the big guy's watching?"
"It's not outside the realms of possibility..." Valére smirked. "But we'll have to see", he noted in a pointedly non-committal fashion. He was growing less fond of the idea of messing with Inarin to get back at Izaic by the day. Still, if In enjoyed himself... he'd just have to be careful not to mislead him.
While the twins continued to muse on potential plans to cause trouble, the spar went on.