On the road.

The weather continues to get colder as autumn progresses into winter. Finally, atop a hill, the view reveals a large fare pitched in a broad, flat field. Banners and pennants of all colours flutter in the breeze and equally bright coloured tents are pitched. Your masters modest tent is rather drab by comparison and for the first time, you get a sense of Ulfrics standing amongst his peers.

"Go to the master of the lists and tell him Sir Ulfric registers for the melee" commands the knight. He looks at you and sees your uncertainty "You'll find him in the centre of the camp with a lot of heraldic banners. Mine is a silver wolf on a field of blue". He throws you a small coin purse "See if you can find some provisions too, and DON'T lose it this time" he adds.

"Yes sir" you say dutifuly, securing the coins to your belt and hiding them in a fold of your tunic.

You manage to find the master of the lists without too much trouble. Just as Ulfric described, boards are hung with flags bearing the coat of arms of the contestants. You register ulfric and see his flag raised up onto the board. A young man, only a little older than yourself, wanders by and looks up at the boards: "Ulfric trying his luck again, eh?" he asks. Something about his tone suggests condescension.

"Yeah, he is" you say, defensively, not appreciating someone doubting your master. The young man chuckles, amused by your response.

"You're Ulfric's squire I take it? You don't look the type. Maybe a ****?" he says dismissively. His tone and demeanour suggests a more noble upbringing. He wears a neat tunic with a black dragon emblazoned across it. You assume he's a proper squire.

"Is your master in the melee?" you enquire.

"No. The melee is for the less prestigious competitors. My master is in the joust, a truly noble sport." he says, his condescension beginning to grate on your nerves. He looks you over and laughs. "My god, Ulfric really must be hard up if you're all he can afford. Still, I can't help but feel sorry for him. He's a good fighter, to be sure, but he'll never win this contest.

"How can you be so sure?" you ask, by this point your blood is boiling. You punch the squires stupid nose if you weren't certain he'd immediately break your arm.

The squire grins. "You're really loyal to him aren't you? Well, perhaps there's something I can do to help. It wont affect my masters contest after all. Of course, that depends on what you're willing to do to get my help." he adds suggestively.