Ista Weyr - Gather Meadow
Rough and amorphous, this clearing has been constructed to give optimum space while still keeping it relatively sheltered from the plateau and weyr beyond. The treeline has been trimmed back to give a clear view of the skies above, but daintily-cared-for saplings have been planted here and there throughout, one day promising plenty of shade. Pebble pathways wind amongst them from the forest's edge and have been formed betwixt skeletal stalls that are almost completely occupied on market and gather days.
Each path eventually leads to a huge, circular patch of gravel. Tables and food carts ring its edge, wine and alcohol predictably given a few of the choice spots. A large, recently-erected stage has replaced the gazebo at the far end, for the duration of the Summer Games. Tables are situated nearby, and a large wooden platform seems perfect for dancing. Otherwise, grassy meadowland prevails.
The area has been recently renovated, with wood and weaver crafts working together to setup arches and pillars along the entire perimeter of the clearing - they are flying the colors of Ista Weyr, as well as those of all its beholden areas. One of the most prominent is the device of Ista Hold, set proudly beside the smoking mountain insignia of its weyr. An inner ring of poles bear the standards of all the attending weyrs, and their holds, amongst them most notably are the colors of Fort, Telgar, and High Reaches.

With the gather still going strong, Ista Weyr has seen more visitors these past sevendays than it has in turns. The time has come, bets have been taken, and a lot of vendors are making a pretty mark off the event. Over on the far side of the meadow, the mud pit has been re-filled, and there is a growing crowd eager to watch - and quite a few hoping to make their name as champions. Some, of course, are taking this competition more seriously than others, with the honor of their homes at stake - or maybe just their pride. As afternoon sneaks closer to evening, the day's humidity eases off somewhat, with only a few wispy clouds scattering across the sky. The gather grounds are buzzing with activity, and amongst them, Cenlia is making her way to the stands, to help cheer on those battling for Ista - and those who come to challenge the winners from the last round! Nziekilth is at her usual spot on the bowl rim, soaking in the sun and rumbling greetings to arriving dragons, while a slew of drudges are setting up troughs of likewarm water and buckets, as well as towels, for those daring to take to the ring. There are, of course, a few healers on standby, though the slick mud is glistening - and should at least provide a soft landing spot at least!

Alyane should've known this would happen. After thinking she'd escaped the mud wrestling contest after the first match, she now realizes that she has to defend her title. She seems less than thrilled about it. She's here in the same relatively modest one-piece swimsuit she wore for her initial round, hair left loose rather than tied in her usual twin runnertails. She waits near the edge of the mud pit, her arms crossed over her chest as she hops from foot to foot, working off a little nervous energy.

Who is battling for Ista? Tyr is! Although the brownrider might just be fighting more for the fun of it than any actual honor at stake. Because let's face it, rolling about in the mud while trying to shove another person's face in it is just plain fun. The brownrider grins a little as he makes his way down to the ringed off mud pit, fingers pushing back through his hair briefly. Easing of the humidity isn't lost on him, after all, and there's a bit of appreciation in the timing of the event. He looks eager enough though, moving to settle near the stands for the time being, that same grin plastered to his face.

Moyrel, the aging Masterharper of Pern, makes her way up to the stands, her ascent assisted with the cane in her left hand. She plunks herself down in a seat and gestures to the pit as she says to Cenlia, "Final round right? It's been a fantastic Weyrgames event so far."

One particular guest has been in the markets for most of the day prior to this event, but Th'ero is slowly making his way over to the mud pit now and prepared to defend his title for Fort Weyr. The Weyrleader has even dressed himself in sturdier but casual clothing in preparation for this. No sense muddying good clothes, right? "Looks like a good crowd. Wonder who'll sign up this time," he mutters, voice slightly accented to one beside him (or to himself… which may be worrisome). He'll spot Cenlia and lift his hand to wave to the Istan Weyrwoman, his mouth quirking into a crooked smirk. "Another good day for mud wrestling, isn't it Weyrwoman?" he calls out as he approaches, dipping his head in polite greeting to some as he seeks to join the assembling crowd. Where or where to sign up?

Kimmila isn't really here to compete, but if someone called her name she wouldn't run and hide. Mostly she's here to support her weyrmate and watch him get muddy, because it's sexy when he does that. Slipping her arm through his, she grins. "Hopefully other men who look good with their shirts off," she teases. "Hi, Cenlia," the bluerider calls, "fancy a match? Loser drinks rum." Wink. Looking around again, she smiles at anyone who happens to glance her way.

Inri is just watching this time. No, really, she lost fair and square and strangely enough has no quabble with that. Doing it once is one thing; doing it twice quite another. She's socializing with a few of Fort's other riders, as apparently they came in a group (there is one thing true always about Inri: she has lots of friends). But she does break off from the group eventually to meander over toward leadership-and-company, flanked by little brother Se'ras as she (invites herself to) join(s) Th'ero and Kimmila. "Hi folks," she says cheerfully, wrinkling her nose in a smile at Kimm.

Cenlia acquires a bottle of something chilled and a seat with a good view of the ring, the weyrwoman grinning from ear to ear as the crowd continues to gather. There's a, "Good luck!" called to Alyane in passing, the goldrider peering through the crowd looking for faces. And the one she notices almost immediately is Tyr's, probably having been keeping an eye out, the brownrider getting a, "Give 'em a good show, yeah?" in greeting, "For twenty marks on ya if ya win." So, no pressure! Ahem. "Good to see you, Masterherper," there's a head-bob for Moyrel as the other woman makes her way to the stands, Cen nodding a, "Yeah, is lookin' to be a good match - shells, even m' brats've been talking 'bout who might win this go. Any harpers gonna challene today?" Spotting Th'ero and Kimmila, abd Inri too, she'll raise a hand to them, "A good day fer gettin' dirty, definitely - good luck to Fort, yeah? Got a lotta marks riding on which one'll win," with a laughed, "Yer on!" to the bluerider, Cen's grin tilting crookedly, "I been practicing." Cenlia herself is in a loose shirt with a sarong around her hips, probably wearing some kind of swimsuit underneath. Maybe she really might have been intending to take a go after all!

And there some assistant headwomen are making their way through the crowd for sign-ups too! For those who want to compete!

Moyrel stashes the cane under her seat. "Likewise," she says to the Weyrwoman. Then, rubbing her hands expectantly, "It looks like we have an Istan here defending a title. Needless to say, I'm supporting the home team here. Let's have a good show all the same."

Tyr barks out a laugh, waving a hand up toward Cenlia. "Oh /sure/. Tell me that right before, eh? No pressure or nothin'." The brownrider does move on though, heading right on over to the sign ups with the same cheerful swish across the sheet as he has at the other events he's taken part in.

Alyane blinks, a little surprised to see the Weyrwoman offering her encouragement. She smiles a little in response. "Thank you." She calls out before her attention is back on the mud pit. A frown remains set on her face as she eyes the muddy mess, wondering how it came to this. Every so often she glances to the headwomen with the signup sheet, curious to see who she might be competing against.

Gerazal gives a wave to the crowd as he goes to sign up after he won last time against one of Ista's own rider. He smiles at the others, "Hello and good luck to everyone." He says as he goes to sign up and he looks at the mud, 'Ooh the mud looks extra slippery today."

Th'ero will give Kimmila a look before gently nudging her in the side, only to blink and then chuckle deep in his throat when her "challenge" to Cenlia is actually accepted by the Weyrwoman. "Ah, now that's going to be a match to watch! Wouldn't you agree, Inri?" he drawls, turning his head just a bit to flash a broader smile towards the junior goldrider. Nyalle would be horrified no doubt, but she is absent again from this event and the Fortian Weyrleader intends to enter too and face whomever is (un)lucky enough to be slotted against him. "And how've you been?" Th'ero asks curiously of Inri. "Just watchin' this round? And good luck to Ista too!" Th'ero calls back to Cenlia, that smile now edging towards a grin. "How much has been wagered in marks now?" Not that he's going to bet! Nope. Not him, but it's good to know the odds? Spotting the assistant Headwoman, he'll wave her over and promptly write down his name and then offer it to Kimmila, if she's to make good on her challenge to Cenlia.

Kimmila turns to flash Inri a grin. "Hey, Inri! Nyalle making you compete again?" she asks dryly. "I'm shocked she didn't come herself and get her skirts dirty." Smirking at Cenlia, Kimmila tips off a jaunty salute. "Make her pick a light rum?" she mutters to Th'ero. If there is such a thing! Taking the board, she writes down her name with Cenlia's, winking at the Senior and looking around again.

"Just watching," Inri confirms, almost but not quite laughing at the mental image of Nyalle mudwrestling. That's mean. (It's just also unusual and kind of funny.) "I've got no title to defend and no interest in trying to get back up the list — though I'll have some of the rum, and that is a match I look forward to watching," she confesses. And then starts glancing about to see where in fact she can claim herself a drink.

"Glad to hear it," Cenlia grins at Moyrel, nodding in agreement with the Masterharper, "Aye, wish I'd decided dive in m'self the last time. But figured we'd go easy on 'em at first," that last said somewhat jokingly. "This time, is all or nuthin' - 'cept I'm kinda better with a shovel than at wrestling," she tacks on, tugging at some stray locks of hair, most of which at least are still tied back in a bun. "It's encouragement!" is called back to Tyr, the weyrwoman giving him a big, toothy smile. Just look at all that encouragement. "Will buy ya a drink if ya win!" she does offer to the brownrider, "Yer choice of Ista's best!" a pause, and a glance at the Fortians, "Shells, I fergot to bet on m'self." Probably a good thing, cough. As for how much is riding on the Fort/Isa match, Cen calls over an all too cheerful, "I put down twenty marks, so far," to Th'ero, though with the way Cen is eyeing some of the vendors, it might jump up some before the event is over. As Kimmila signs up, Cen can't help but grin, though that grin soon disappears as the assistant headwoman, having collected names of contestants and returned to the side of the pit, is suddenly calling out both her and the bluerider's names. "What?" Cen squawks, shooting the assistant a suspicious look. But the crowd has already started cheering, already excited about the competition, nearly drowning out the assistant headwoman's words as all those rules for disqualification and such things are listed off.

Alyane seems quietly relieved not to have to participate in the first round. Of course, that just means she has to wait around longer for her own round to begin, which is a downside in and of itself. She back away from the pit, offering a "Good luck!" to the next competitors.

Moyrel gives a grin toward Cenlia. "Really? I might have done this sort of thing when I was young, if I'd been able to muster the courage. As 'tis now, what can a creaky septuagenarian harper do?" After Cenlia's other remarks she puts in, "Twenty marks? Confiden, are you? I have a mark riding on Alyane myself. Like I said, home team and all that. Go Ista! Rah, Rah, Rah!" She punches the air in anticipation.

"I don't think such a think exists," Th'ero informs Kimmila with a lopsided smirk, only to glance up at Inri again and exhale a little as he glances from her to his weyrmate. "You both know that Nyalle is… prefers other events over this. No fault in that." Plenty of fault! He's not about to argue it though, half of the reason being he's distracted by Cenlia's reply. "Twenty marks!?" he exclaims, shocked. He didn't think betting would be so high! Not that he has long to think on that either, as the first names are being called up and Th'ero is quick to laugh. "Well, Wingmate! Looks like you get to start this event off!" he muses, slipping his arm around her to hug her briefly (but fiercely!) to his side before letting her go. "Show 'em how it's done!" he adds with a smile that is now rapidly broadening to a wry grin.

Kimmila's response is much the same as Cenlia's. "Already? I haven't even had an ale!" she calls in laughing protest. "Wish me luck," she says to her fellow Fortians as she's moving forward, shrugging out of her clothes down to her simple black one piece swimsuit. "Hey, Harper Hall is in Fort's territory!" the bluerider hollers to Moyrel, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"No, my dear Weyrwoman, /that/ is encouragement!" Telling Tyr he gets a free drink? Score! He finishes the signing up process though, then moves off to the side of the mud pit with a laugh, smirking a little bit at the names being called. "Haha, maybe I'll buy /you/ a drink!'
Gerazal aws softly, "Rats I guess I won't get to wrestle now, maybe later." He goes to sit to watch and study the two men wrestling, this will be the second chance to study Th'ero's technique.

There's a laughed, "Shells, hope V'lad's not watching this round, would be sharding embarrassing if I end up on my backside too," though Cenlia will quirk a brow at Moyrel. "Septu-wha? Hah, I can definitely see ya doin' this kinda thing as a kid - betcha were a fun 'brat when you was little." Grinning, she will sheepishly admit, "Gotta support m' riders - been trainin' fer the games fer sevendays!" Even if mud wrestling wasn't /quite/ on the training roster, cough. Cenlia does make her way down to the mud pit, head-bob to Alyane as she goes by, Cen leaving her drink on her seat, and tugging off that shirt and sarong to dump beside it. Underneath, she has on a practical one-piece swimsuit and swimshorts, though hers is black trimmed in dark orange. "But she's still Ista's official weyrharper," Cenlia laughs, grinning at Kimmila, pausing to quirk a brow at Tyr. "Will hold ya to that!" she promises the brownrider, "Gonna win this one fer Ista!" She hopes. "Ready?" is said to Kimmila, Cen hopping into the mud pit and managing, though awkwardly, to keep her feet. She sinks her toes in, keeping low, and watching the other rider with a grin. Dun dun duun.

Moyrel nods to Kimmila and gives a thumb-up. "Ahoy. Yes, it is, Harper and Healer Halls both." Then: "I probably should have put down a mark or so on a Fortian as well." To Cenlia in particular, "Septuagenarian. It means seven decades old. I might have done this when I was younger, but the truth is that my rodeo accident put me off actual participation in competitive sporting events for a couple decades."

Alyane is clearly rather stunned to see Cenlia participating in this contest, but the surprise leaves her quickly. "… Ista is quite a place." She murmurs to nobody in particular. She blinks, surprised to hear her name coming from the Masterharper. "… On me?" She sounds sort of stunned.

Th'ero laughs to Kimmila's protests, "I'll have an ale waiting for you, Wingmate." he calls to her and then signals 'good luck' before she enters the ring. The Fortian Weyrleader will flash another quick grin to Cenlia, "Suppose you're right about the support." he admits and then begins to move to stand close by to the roped sidelines to get one of the better views of this match. There's a nod to Tyr and he'll smile, while giving the brownrider a curious look. "Signed up too?" he'll ask curiously, only to overhear Alyane and chuckle. "That it is, that it is… I'll be remembering my time here I think for several Turns to come." Or not, depending on how much rum he consumes. Which may be very little, given the lesson he learned.

Kimmila squelches into the mud with a wrinkle of her nose. Yes, she signed up for this, but it still feels /weird/. Squaring off against Ista's Senior, the bluerider pulls no punches and immediately lunges forward, trying to get her arms around the woman's middle and take them both down into the mud.

Tyr stuffs his hands in his pockets to watch, grin still there as he watches things..get started. Oh yes, it /will/ be entertaining to watch. His head tilts however, looking over at Th'ero as the Fortian Weyrleader comes nearer, nodding vaguely. "Oh yeah. I tell you, this is the best event we've /ever/ had at these sorts of things."

Moyrel nods to Alyane and gives a thumb-up. "On you, yes. Now go and kick some boo-tay."

Cenlia unfortunately misses Moyrel's explanation, the weyrwoman keeping a careful eye on her opponent. But that doesn't stop the 'ACK!' from escaping as she's lunged at, Cen instinctively trying to duck, but remembering at the last second, possibly, that this is supposed to be a /wrestling/ match. So she'll totally meet Kimmila halfway, the goldrider abruptly dropping to her knees to try to get the other off-balance, and going for the bluerider's legs. Cen's used to fighting dirty, but she might not have been kidding about being more able with a shovel. At least she isn't afraid to dive into the mud! Trying to use the slippery, oil-soaked stuff to her advantage, Cen doesn't bother with keeping her feet, letting her knees and toes work for her to brace against the goop below, instead focusing on attempting to be slippery as a seasnake, to try to grapple the other into the mud.

Alyane just blinks at Moyrel with continued confusion. "But I…" Whatever protest she was going to give is cut off, as she finds herself distracted by the match in progress. It is rather hard to ignore such a thing, after all. And who knows? Maybe she can pick up some pointers on technique.

Gerazal cheers as the mudwrestling continues and he claps. "Woots! Go Cenlia!" He calls out cheering the Senior Weyrwoman on.

Moyrel watches the match, an Istan versus a Fortian. Now she seems suddenly undecided as she has lifelong ties to both sides, or at least the places represented. In the end though she gives a cheer for the victor, her old comrade Weyrwoman Cenlia.

"We never expected the mud wrestling to take off as it did in Fort," Th'ero admits to Tyr with a crooked smirk. "But it's almost a tradition now for any of the Gathers or festivals within the Weyr." As the match begins with Kimmila and Cenlia, he calls out. "Get 'er, Kimmila!" No need to ask who he is rooting for! He'll toss in encouragement and support, matching his voice to some of the others who shout out. Now, if only he had some ale!

Kimmila goes down, as intended, grappling and grabbing and twisting, and laughing. Because it's hilarious. When Cenlia manages to pin her down, there's a moment of rather childish pouting (she HATES to lose) before she's struggling up and laughing. "Alright, alright…probably for the best anyway. Nyalle would have my head if I'd beaten you…" Or…maybe not. "Rum for me then?" she asks teasingly.

Given the way it's taken off in Ista, it's a good bet that THIS Fortian tradition will be well-appreciated for turns to come - mudwrestling, a time-honored competition in the name of weyr pride! Or at least, Cenlia will probably toast to that later, and she might even manage to say it with a straight face! By the time she manages to actually pin Kimmila, Cen is covered almost head to toe in the oily gloop, and is laughing nearly too much to stand herself, but get to her feet she does. "Hah, hope ya weren't goin' easy on me just fer that!" Cen grins at the bluerider, offering Kimmila a hand up, that pout replied to with a, "'Course! Since yer buyin'!" though with a head cant Cen will call to Tyr, "Hope yer serious 'bout that drink, 'cause I'm in need of some rum." Though it might have to wait- as Cen starts to head out of the pit, the next names called are actually Tyr and Th'ero! Maybe someone just likes the idea of their weyrleadership flailing around in the mud.

"See? Good things still come outta Fort. I Impressed there, after all." Tyr laughs a bit, but returns his attention to the match before letting out a loud whistle and cheer when Cenlia wins it. "Alright! I don't mind buyin' you a drink for /that/ performance!" All for the honor of Ista! He takes a glance over at the Fortian Weyrleader though, grinning a little as their names are called. "Well, looks like we're it then." The brownrider winks, then ducks the rope lining off the mud pit.

T'eo has not been seen much. In light of the games there are rumors that the Weyrleader of Ista has been at the mercy of his midlife crisis-having dragon. Up way too early to cater to the bronze's choice of activities and eating far less than he'd like for similar reasons, T'eo is looking more his age than ever. Even the dragon turns that come for riders are not seemingly presenting themselves. Yet here he is, walking through the crowd with a nod and vague half-smile here and there. He walks up to the pit just in time to see Cenlia crawling out of it. There's thet brow raising. Yeah, no words really come with it. Just… a look. It takes Cenlia in head to toe, covered as she is.

Gerazal woots and claps for Cenlia as she wins, 'All right go Cenlia." He snickers a little bit, "I wonder what it'd be like to see Fi wrestling down in there."

Th'ero winces when Kimmila is pinned down by Cenlia and then exhales heavily. He may even be swearing a bit under his breath. Not so much because of the loss, but knowing how his weyrmate is about losing. "… going to need a lot more ale." he mutters, only to glance sharply to Tyr. "You Impressed in Fort? Which clutch?" he asks, curiously. Only… now his name is being called? Along with Tyr's! Blinking, he can't help but laugh dryly. "So it does, doesn't it?" he drawls, while slipping off his tunic, wearing only the sleeveless the under tunic beneath now. Rolling his shoulders, Th'ero then ducks under the ropes and steps into the ring, placing his feet carefully as he steps out and turns to face his opponent. Lowered into a ready stance, he'll grin. "Whenever you're ready!" he taunts.

Kimmila snorts, shaking her head as she and Cenlia stagger to their feet. "I never take it easy on /anyone/," she assures her. Exiting the ring, she goes to rinse off. "Drinks, yes. Just…I need my pants." Her marks are in there! "After this round?" she adds, as she hears Th'ero's name. "Kick his butt!" she hollers. "/Great/ things come out of Fort," she boasts. Though…she impressed in Western. Cough.

Alyane joins in those congratulating the winner, applauding and shouting a "Congratulations!" Not that it completely removes her anxieties about her upcoming round. She's beginning to wonder if maybe she should track down some of that rum everyone seems to be enjoying. She wrings her hands.

Moyrel leans forward toward the pit as the next pair get ready to square off. Again an Istan and a Fortian, as far as she can tell, and again the indecision on her part.

Tyr shrugs both shoulders. Or maybe he's just loosening them up! "Some twenty turns ago, I think?" An age ago! Thankfully it doesn't make the brownrider an old man. Not in his thirties, anyway. He laughs though, grinning broadly as he settles into the mud, moving both his feet a few times to get a better feel for it. There's a few bounces then, before he's off, lunging at the Fortian Weyrleader with a laugh.

Cenlia will wipe the mud from her face at least, though her attempt only manages to smear the stuff in her hair instead. Not that she seems all that bothered by it, at the moment. "Good luck!" is called cheerfully to Tyr as she passes by him, Cen reminding the brownrider, "Got Ista's finest waitin' fer ya if you win this!" Also she has twenty marks riding on that match - but she doesn't repeat that now. She'll just have to /hope/ luck and skill remain in Ista's favor. Looking like a true mudgrub, the senior weyrwoman is grinning almost sheepishly as she spots her weyrleader through the crowd. "'Least I won, yeah?" she asks, maaybe fidgeting ever so slightly under that /look/ she's getting. She'll just, erm, hurry up and head over to the troughs to dump a bucket of water over her head. Alyane's hand-wringing isn't missed, Cen saying as she goes by, "Dun worry, this stuff ain't too bad." And hey, it's probably good nice for the skin! "Aye, kick his butt!" she'll agree with Kimmila, though this is to the Istan rider, Cen grabbing a towel and turning to watch the match as she heads back toward T'eo, and tries not to drip too much.
It's great for the skin. Kimmila smirks at Cenlia as she takes a towel too, trying to flip it at the Istan Senior in a playful gesture. She'll meander back towards the pit to watch, cheering her weyrmate on.

T'eo clearly doesn't have the energy for much of a telling off. He sighs heavily, shrugs his shoulders and moves closer to the edge of the ring. Of course Cenlia's brazen "kick his butt" comment gets a head shake. He eyes her as she walks up. "Where's V'lad?" Isn't he supposed to be preventing this sort of thing? "I thought he was supposed to be down here? He glances up as Tyr lunges towards Fort's Weyrleader. There's the smallest nose wrinkle as mud goes splurging about.

Gerazal looks over at T'eo as he hears V'lad, "Oh V'lad I pinned him last time. I'm Gerazal an apprentice from Eastern." He says before he looks back at the mud ring. He doesn't cheer as he just watches for the moment.

No time for casual conversation now! Th'ero will have to save any curious questions for Tyr for a later time because the brownrider is now lunging at him and with a bark of laughter, he's charging forwards to meet him! No dancing dancing around or agile movements! He's going to fight and grapple down dirty and gritty. It won't take long either for Th'ero (and possibly Tyr too) to be covered in mud, as the Fortian Weyrleader attempts to gain the upper hand and at times almost falls to the Istan brownrider only to work his way free and the match resumes!

Alyane is quite curious about the games in progress, staying near the ring to keep one eye on the proceedings. And yet, a little distracted nagging keeps her from focusing fully on the match. She edges in the direction of Moyrel, speaking quietly. "Uhm, Masterharper?"

Oh yes, it is a /very/ dirty match. What with the mud..though Tyr's own fighting tactics aren't exactly of the terribly gentlemanly sort. There's rolling around, and a bit of tumbling involved as he manages to get Th'ero down, and the man just keeps on managing to get back up! Fingers slip and slide a bit as they grapple, but eventually the brownrider does end up on top, holding the Fortian Weyrleader down long enough to be declared winner! He lets go with a bit of a whoop, dropping back into the mud, laughing.

Kimmila watches in stunned confusion when Th'ero loses. He…loses? Th'ero? /Her/ Th'ero? Legend of Fort? But… Huff. "Where can we buy drinks?" Kimmila asks. "I need two rums /and/ two ales…one of the ales needs to be dark as sin, too."

Moyrel cheers again as another Istan wins. Maybe her Fortian ties will see a future win. She stands up, grabbing her cane, as if to come down closer to the pit, and then she is addressed, and she turns her attention woard Alyane. "Oh. Um, yes?"

There can only be one winner and Th'ero will make Tyr fight and struggle for that title, right down to the very last bitter second. When the Istan Wingrider is declared the winner, the Fortian Weyrleader will get up slowly, a little shocked himself to have lost but not so put out. "Damn good fighter," he says with a vague and crooked grin, reaching out to offer Tyr his hand. Soon enough he's laughing too in low chuckles, not even seeming to care that he's covered head to toe in mud and that his hair is plastered rather comically to his head. "Good match. Looks like I've some practicing to do…" Or is that explaining to do? Either way, he'll begin to slide and shuffle his way over to the edge of the ring and duck back under the ropes.

Cenlia acks again, though this time more laughingly, narrowly dodging Kimmila's towel, but grinning at the other woman. "Shells, ya may be from Fort, but ya act like an Istan," she comments jokingly, though given that Cen herself is from Fort's coverage area, that might not be saying much! "I say, we all head to a pub after this," she suggests to the bluerider, pausing to add, "Er, hotsprings, /then/ a pub." Because mud is totally dripping down the end of Cen's nose right now. Clearing her throat she will have enough decency to at least look incredibly sheepish as T'eo asks about V'lad, agreeing quickly with Gerazal's explanation, but not managing to keep the wryness from her tone, "Got his bu- er, weren't too happy 'bout losin' the last round. So I had Zeek give 'im the day off." Cough. She just won't mention that V'lad resorted to throwing mud at her head the last time - even the weyr's political janitor has only so much he can take in a day, really. She can't keep the gri ncontained, though, no matter /how/ sheepish she might be, letting out a, "Yeah!" as Tyr prevails finally, the weyrwoman calling an, "Owe ya a drink fer that!" though she will say to Th'ero, "Was a good match - shells, thought it was gonna be close there."

Alyane keeps her eyes on the match, though she glances at Moyrel every so often. "I'm sorry, it's just going to drive me crazy if I don't ask. Why did you bet on me?" She looks at her feet for a moment. "I just… sort of feel like I have no idea what I'm doing." She kicks her feet a little.

Kimmila snorts at Cenlia, draping her towel over her shoulders. "You're not getting me into an Istan pub ever again." Pause. "At least not for a turn." Then she's off to meet Th'ero. "Great couple of Fortian fighters we are," she mutters, and though she's smiling, she's also sulking. "I think there's drinks over here."

Moyrel says to Alyane, "Well, for one, you're representing Ista for one, and Ista as much as Fort is my home. In addition to my greater title I still serve as a nonriding Weyrsinger of Ista. For another thing, you're a trader, aren't you? I'd've ended up following in my family's footsteps as a trader myself had I not become a harper. You represent the common people, and that's a good thing." Then she leans on her cane, facing down toward the others still gathered around the pit and calls down to the Weyrwoman, saying, "A party at the pub would be just the thing to top off the days activities. I think we're all going to need a drink."

Tyr takes that offered hand, pulling himself up to begin the slog out of the mud as well. "Definitely good, hah! Didn't think I was gonna win there." Cenlia gets a quick, muddy wave at least, nodding as he tugs at the muddy pants clinging to his legs.'s gloppy. "Both owe each other a drink? Guess we should just buy our own!" Once out of the mud, the brownrider drops again, sitting right down on dry land with a thump. He'll just stay here!

T'eo's brows raise (they seem to be doing a lot of this) at the apprentice. V'lad was taken down by an apprentice? He nods wearily to the Easterner. "Congratulations, then. Not an easy feat." Or so he'd hoped. Ah well. At Cenlia's explanation he can't hide the vague look of exasperation. "Very well." There's a cheer around him as Tyr wins. The Weyrleader's sleep deprived state seems to put him a few seconds behind everyone and he claps belatedly.

"What this about drinks?" Th'ero asks as he tries to (unsuccessfully) wipe the worst of the mud from his hair and head and shake off the rest, which may have him apologizing when he sends some of it spattering out towards unsuspecting people. Whoops? He'll wander over to find one of those buckets of water and promptly use it to rinse as much of himself clean as possible. Maybe a trip to the hot springs wouldn't hurt? "Wingmate," he greets Kimmila as he picks up a towel, only to give her a look for the muttering. Whether she wants to or not, she'll be pulled against his side as he chuckles. "Ah, don't let it get to you! It's an upset, but… home advantage, is what I'm calling it. Besides… about time someone else got the title! We'll earn it back, you'll see." THAT's the fun of it!

Cenlia tsks, though somewhat laughingly, "Definitely a Fortian," to Kimmila, though the goldrider is grinning still. "Now /there's/ the Istan spirit," this is grinned back at Moyrel, Cen offering the Masterharper a salute, "Meet ya at the Sable Sands fer drinks after the last match?" A grin for the brownrider, though, has Cen telling Tyr, "Nah, that ain't any fun. Pick me a mystery drink 'stead," challenge suggested with a wink. Even beside her poor, sleep-deprived weyrleader, she can't help a bit of the mischief. But there is a browquirk for T'eo, however, sideways-eyeing the man a second, "Ya look terrible, y'know. Dun gotta have make you take the day off too?" though she probably wouldn't try that, especially not when her and Alyane's names are being called to re-enter the match. "Aw bugger," the weyrwoman had maybe forgotten she'd have to jump back in there again, but leaving her towel on the sidelines, she'll head into the ring once again, telling Alyane, "Ya ready?" She'll just try not to look T'eo's way there. Sooo not looking.

Kimmila is pulled, and she doesn't protest, looping her arm around his waist in return and smirking up at him. "Just wait until the snowball fights come winter." Just WAIT. "Over there I think, maybe?" Random drink stall, activate! "Cen! Drinks over here waiting for you when you're done getting beaten!" Because Alyane has to win, right?

Gerazal nods, "It wasn't, we wrestled around for a bit before I was able to beat him." He cheers for the winner and helooks over at Alyane, "Good luck." He says to her and he'll cheer for Alyane, "Go on Alyane you can get her!"

Moyrel reciprocates the salute and says to Cenlia, "Yeah, some good Istan rum would be just the thing. A good way to end a day of good clean fun—or, erm, not so clean fun, but a day of fun all the same."

Alyane thinks for a moment about Moyrel's words, shuffling her feet. A small smile appears on her face. "… Thank you." Her eyes narrow, now showing a flash of resolve that was missing before. "I /am/ doing that, aren't I? Representing the common folk. I didn't do so well in the archery contest, but… I can't let them down here!" Now that she's announced as the next competitor she approaches the mud pit with renewed enthusiasm, giving Cenlia a decisive nod as she approaches the pit. "Ready when you are, Weyrwoman."

T'eo could use some rum. Yep. But then he'd fall asleep. When did he get so old feeling? "Well that's good to know." He says absently to the apprentice. "Hate to think he went down easy," Said of V'ad of course. "Would have to reassign him." Thats only half joking at this point. As Cenlia's called to go up against the trader T'eo'd seen the other day when he was hallucinating firelizards he just gives a small barely audible groan. "Was someone talking about rum?" He asks the apprentice hopefully.

Th'ero laughs softly, "Already planning vengeance, Wingmate?" he teases Kimmila, hugging her to his side again one last time before his hold on her eases just enough that they can walk easily side by side. He's just about to lead her over to the drinks when the names of the next contestants have him pausing. "Wait a moment. Isn't that the girl who beat Inri the last time?" he asks Kimmila, tipping his head towards the ring where Alyane is now stepping in to face Cenlia. His expression is bemused. "If it is and the girl wins, she'll have a title of her own. Defeater of… goldriders? Nah, no ring to it." he mutters, only to overhear 'rum' being mentioned. That'll have him spotting T'eo and with a crooked smile he'll answer the Istan Weyrleader. "We may've been? Or I know Kimmila here was mentioning drinks of some sort. Though I'd hate to miss this match…"

"Istan rum it is!" is called to Moyrel, Cen raising her hand to grin at Kimmila and Th'ero too, before sinking her toes into the slick mud and eyeing her opponent. It's too bad the weyrwoman misses T'eo asking about rum, though - he definitely needs soem sleep! But Cenlia doesn't waste any time, giving Alyane a nod and then diving at the other woman! Raawr! And diving low, probably hoping to try to catch the trader offguard and off-balance. Of course, the same tactics may not work twice - especially since everyone's already seen the first match! Cen is at least still a bit slippery from the previous round, and having found a method of bracing herself that seemed to work, she drops immediately to her knees, trying to grapple Alyane down into the mud, and hopefully attempting to pin her - so much for having cleaned off earlier, because Cen totally isn't worried about getting muddy again!

Kimmila smirks. "Aren't I always?" she teases Th'ero, halting when he does. "Ah…yeah. Trader, I think?" She laughs. "Goldslayer?" Totally stole that. "Drinks? Hey," T'eo, "yeah, over there, but…it's so hard to get away from the pits long enough."

Moyrel sits back down, setting the cane across her lap, and leans forward to watch this match. Istan versus Istan this time, but it seems she has unwittingly bet against the Weyrwoman of Ista. Nevertheless, though she holds prestige herself, the old harper has supports the common folk. She cheers vehemently as the match progresses, but alas, in the end loses her wager. She stands back up and approaches the pit. "Congratulations, Weyrwoman." To Alyane: "You did your best. No worries."

T'eo seems to only be able to take so much of this. He actually seems to zone out, not hearing when Th'ero speaks to him. It's when Kimmila does that he sort of shakes himself. "Uh… what? Sorry?" But it seems this is the final straw of effort. "Drinks… yes…" He glances at the pit where Cenlia is getting covered in mud again. Yeah, she's got this. Or something. " I think… that's a great idea right now." And he just… wanders off? No real good bye or anything. Just diappears into the crowd.

Alyane narrows her eyes. Eye of the tiger! She's going to give it her all. Now she has a purpose to struggle. She dives at Cenlia with all her might! Which… turns out to actually be very little might. Oh dear. She slips on the oily mud and ends up flat on her back, squirming around in an undignified manner as her swimsuit and hair end up horribly stained and muddy. How humiliating.

"Trader?" Th'ero echoes back to Kimmila and there's a certain note to his voice when he says it but he's quick to laugh again and shake his head. "Goldslayer? Sounds a bit harsh, don't you think?" he teases. Drinks will have to wait! The match between Cenlia and Alyane is heating up and the Fortian Weyrleader wants to see it to its end. And what an end! "Ahh, pity. Still… besting one goldrider," And a Fortian one! "… still counts for something?"

Gerazal cheers for Alyane even as she gets all muddy. "Go Alyane don't give up don't let her pin you." He claps his hands.

Kimmila shrugs, "The mud is harsh," she smirks, glancing back at the drink stand and wiping herself off a bit more with the towel.

Alas, Cenlia will not be slain this day! Though it probably helps that the goldrider is as scrappy as she is fiesty. Okay, maybe few people would actually describe her as that to her face, but still! She totally misses T'eo wandering off in a daze, but likely she'll have some rider go track him down later, to make sure he's not dropped unconscious somewhere. Ahem. Though when Alyane gets pinned, Cen isn't any better off, just as muddy (all over again!) and looking like a mudgrub once more. "Good match," she does laughingly say as she gets back to her feet, offering the trader a hand up, "Shells, not this calls fer a drink," to which presumably her opponents are invited. But right now, there's the more pressing matter of being totally dripping with mud, Cen grinning as she heads out of the pit, calling to a few others to join er in the pub before making a trundlebug line for the hotsprings! She'll catch up with the rest of the competition later!

"Quite harsh but that's half the fun, Wingmate. The unpredictability! Now, I only hope that in sparring, I'll do a little better than I did this time." Th'ero muses and when he sees that Kimmila is still eying that drink stand, he'll laugh and begin to lead her there. "Alright, alright. A drink to go and then we really should go clean off. And then perhaps we'll catch up with Cenlia and the others." Though this time he'll be far more cautious with how much he drinks! He promised a certain goldrider he'd behave (a little).

Alyane just lays there sulking in the pit for a moment after her defeat. She has disappointed all the traderfolk of Pern. She has disappointed herself. But let it not be said she is not a good sport. "… Well done." She says to Cenlia before hoisting herself to her wobbly, muddy feet and slouching out of the pit.