Граф Орлов
Having listened to the menu, Ruven noted that even foreign wine was served here. You won't find that in every tavern. It's a bit expensive, though, not for ordinary people... And the rich selection of food also pleased him; he wouldn't have to snack on moldy bread here.
A large mug of good dark beer is just what you need on a March day. It only slightly intoxicates, but noticeably increases strength. The chicken is bony and lacks culinary finesse, but it's still a whole roasted bird, a large piece of meat that isn't rotten or raw – most people only see something like this during a holiday. A generous slice of bread accompanied the chicken, so Ruven is now full until tomorrow.
+30 HP until the end of the day.
Permanent effect - misfortune.
After noon...
Gathering his thoughts, Ruven got up from the bench. People were dispersing; it was time for him to go too.
Passing by a small group listening to a preacher loudly speaking about human vices and the blessings of the Almighty, he glanced at the speaker for a moment, as if considering whether to stop and listen.
But saving his soul could wait; right now, it was time to learn more about the tournament and the Stronghold. So, without lingering any longer, he left the square and headed there.
The Stronghold is what Tirren started with long ago. The lord of these lands built a donjon and a wall around it, the settlement grew, and it was surrounded by a new wall, and then again, until finally, the city, where merchants, workers, and all those who profit from them began to flock in large numbers, expanded faster than foundations could be laid. The wall surrounding the city was last rebuilt, and Tirren took on the form that it presented to Ruven. Now, the Stronghold – that very concentric circle of stone walls that gave rise to the city – is the home of all Tirrenian knights. The wealthiest and most noble can have residences in the corresponding quarter, but most of them spend much of their time here: training, dining, praying, and receiving the latest news and orders when needed.
The guards let Ruven pass without unnecessary questions. A page, a boy of about thirteen, leads him to the commandant, asking for his name and giving a brief instruction:
"The Commandant of the Stronghold, Count Rudolf du Sartori, ordered me to personally introduce people like you to him. I presume your family's nobility is significantly less, so don't forget to bow."
The contempt in the young man's words is purely formal. He probably doesn't like either his job or Ruven himself, or rather, both.
The named count is in the middle inner courtyard, where an arena for foot combat has been set up, and Ruven notices that the knights have already begun their duels.
"Count du Sartori," the page gives his lord a somewhat crooked bow – whether due to illness, clumsiness, or simply carelessness. "Ruven Aiketir, a warrior from Fendrin, has arrived."
"Good. Return to your duties," the count says slowly and quietly – there is no need for this given his status. "Well, Ruven, we've introduced ourselves, now let's see what kind of person you are. How do you rate yourself as a warrior? Are you ready to fight?"
Fragment, you rarely show up, and battles, especially with strong builds, are long. Write down approximately a plan - when to auto-attack and when to retreat while provoking a free attack.
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