Tourney

Huginn: Party per fess, sable and azure, a tower arcane proper, impaled by a sword afire.

Muninn: The arms of the Guardian, he who swore at Nimrod's face and broke his wine-bowl in twain.

H: I see an eagle armed, thirteen arrows and a branch of thirteen fruit, all proper. This one is young, barely at twelvescore years it stands, but its beak is agape, bloody, and spittle flares like white fire from its shrieking.

M: The Guardian stands?

H: The Guardian stands on Persia, as he did before. But I do not see the Silver and Azure; Michael of the Host stands aside.

M: He opposed Michael, you know, once upon a time, and contended fiercely. This time, he might win, and we will have more work, and worse.