[Suzerain of Sheol]

Before tensions can flare at the foreigner's barb, Ogier the Dane calmly responds, chuckling in good humor. "We are not so warlike as our northern brothers, my friend, here in the heart of holy France. 'tis mere sport, as you say. I'd not want to stand in arms against either of man down there, though, I tell thee true."

He passes a keen-eyed glance to his sovereign.Or mayhap we might oblige the ambassador a duel with Sir Fierbras this even, in true northman fashion? He does so enjoy taking steel to heathens."

The massive man barks a laugh, and Charlemagne joins in, albeit distracted by the thundering of hooves. Below, the two knight-lords charge down the tilt at each other, lances poised, and meet in a shattering crash. Splinters fly as Bors' lance shatters against the square of his opponent's shield, and sends the Paladin careening backwards over his horse.

Much to the astonishment of all watching, Fierbras flips garishly in mid-air and lands soundly on his feet, bowing first to the audience, then to Sir Bors, and then deeply to Charlemagne before departing to his tent. Raucous cheer follows him out.