Difference between revisions of "Swordsmanship in the Barracks - RPLOG"
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=Log= | =Log= | ||
| − | <div></div> | + | <div></div><br> <br>A crowd has gathered in the Sweetwater Barracks, lining a room that has been padded in the center, with bare spots occupied by training dummies and peculiar mechanisms. A line of fighters stands at the edge of the padding, mostly guardsmen and locals, but a few noticable faces here and there ensure this will be an event worth seeing. A crow urges everyone to quiet down as a few vendors seize the chance to showcase swords of various shapes and sizes.<br> <br>Sally arrives, guiding Wulf along, "We'll make a decent showing for the unit perhaps," she says along the way, "Be rude to not make any showing at all regardless. Have to show we're here."<br> <br>Orso steps into the barracks. It's presumably built to accomodate the larger folks that are around, so he probably doesn't have to duck much to get inside. He's no dragon after all! He quickly moves to the side to keep from blocking the entrance for anybody that follows, then studying the crowd and those nearby. His eyes fall on Sally and Wulf (and Sveta, if she's with them), and he gives them a friendly nod, rumbling out, "Greetings. Looks like a nice turnout doesn't it?"<br> <br>A little lizard weaves his way through the legs of the crowd, trying to get a spot where he can see. He has to flick his tail away from a few people to avoid it being stepped on, but eventually he manages to make it to the front of the crowd where he crouches down next to the area, eager to watch the fights.<br> <br>Sveta stalks into the crowd, having just been shooed from her bench at the craft school for the umpteenth time. The noise of the crowd by the barracks had piqued her curiosity, one thing led to another, and now...well, to compete or not to compete...that is the question. If it was even open to the public, that is...hearing Orso speak, she gives the bear a glance over, followed by a cursory nod. "Yes, yes. Hard to deny that."<br> <br>The crow cries out "Are there anymore eligable swordsmen? All who wish to apply need only step to join the others." he says, gesturing to the side of one royal born hippo. A few crowns are dropped as a young deer buys what they believe to be a rather fine sword.<br> <br>Oh! Sword specific? The white fox captain seems to be changing her mind, rubbing her chin lightly and looking at the others who have come. She moves off to the side a little with a grin, flashing white teeth.<br> <br>Orso watches the lizard move towards the arena, but stays more towards the back himself. His attention returns to Sveta, and he offers the irritable looking Goshawk a lage hand. It would probably engulf hers if she takes it. "Orso. Nice to meet you." He considers the crow. "Hmmn...I'm only of middling talent with a sword, really. Still. It could be interesting to see how I fare." He glances over Sally when she draws nearer, smiling, and offers her his hand as well, repeating the introduction.<br> <br>Shliek doesn't appear very interested in fighting, not yet. He does watch the crowd from his front row spot right next to the arena, eagerly awaiting some action to view.<br> <br>Sveta considers the offer, then takes Orso's hand, allowing it to encompass her talons. "So, you're planning to compete? Ah, where are my manners? I'm Sveta, and nice to meet you, too. Well, I suppose I should have a go at it myself - it'll be a bit of fun, if nothing else. Shall we?" She casts a glance at the royal born hippo, then turns back to Orso.<br> <br>Orso nods his head to Sveta, "I'm thinking about it. Sveta. Nice name." He considers the hippo, then nods to the Goshawk, motioning in the direction of the crow. "Ladies first." He gives her a broad grin as he says it, the expression splitting his broad face and muzzle. Then he follows behind her, assuming she heads that direction. "I wonder what form it's going to take. Tournament you think?'<br> <br>The crow nods to Miss Sally. "I'm afraid we won't be holding open weapon calls for almost four weeks." he says before hurrying Orso and Sveta to the line of warriors. As he does so he whistles loudly, and then says "And now we shall begin, Sir Pewter, step forward." With that a moderately sized elephant tromps forward, taking up a zweihandler. He lunges at one of the dummies, gashing it's chest open before cleaving it's arm off in an upsweep. He finishes by lopping it's head off and then proceeds to a second dummy. Upon reaching it he smacks it across the face and then destroys it's stand. Progressing forward the swordsman performs a downward lunge at a single stationary pot. As it is struck a spurt of blood pools at it's base. It appears he has struck something within the pot as it was lashing out at him. With that he places the blade upon his back and looks to the crowd before bowing.<br> <br>Shliek seems visibly awed by the antics of the elephant. It is, however unclear whether or not he's awed by the elephant's swordsmanship or his size.<br> <br>Sveta eyes the elephant's performance, keenly studying the warrior's performance with her eyes but declining to voice her thoughts on the matter. Her feathers ruffle a little, but her face remains quite calm and straight despite the crowd's cheering.<br> <br>Orso watches the elephants display, quirking one thick brow. He glances down at Sveta, and murmers to her, "I wonder what they're using for judging criteria." He shifts in place, crossing his arms, and waits for his turn to go hack him some dummies. <br> <br>The crowd cheers and asks for more, Sir Pewter steps away from the padding and the crow approaches Orso. "How about you?" he asks as he gesture to the field, which is already being prepped with new dummies and an odd box. Rogna and Pewter exchange nods as Pewter returns to the line-up.<br> <br>Orso considers Sir Pewter, then smiles and shrugs. "Sure." He starts for the dummies, reaching up and drawing the zweihander on his back. He rolls his shoulders, loosening his muscles, then grips it in both hands. Taking a breath, he steps into a hard swing of the blade, angled to take one dummy through the neck and right shoulder, sending head and arm tumbling to the ground. He immedietly moves to the second, delivering a series of relatively quicker swings carving off chunks of the dummy before severing it around waist height. Then he goes to the last one, and grips his weapon tighter, raising it high over his head and bringing it down with a shout, splitting the head of it and embedding it deeper into the torso. Tugging the weapon free, he inclines his head to the judge, then with his turn presumably over, starts back to the line. He winks at Sveta, "Your turn, birdy."<br> <br>Shliek shrinks back alightly away from the duelling mat, unwilling to take an accidental blow should someone's swing go awry. His hands feel over the hilts of his daggers, strapped to either side of his belt.<br> <br>The box lets loose a low growl and springs into the air, letting loose a noxious fluid all over Orso. THe creature sprouts tiny legs and appears to be ready to do it again.<br> <br>Sveta scowls and points over Orso's shoulder just before the wave of noxious fluid hits the bear. "Not so fast, there, friend! Behind-" her words are cut short as the fluid hits, droplets of the filthy substance spraying through the air.<br> <br>Orso flinches, scowling as he twists his neck to try and see the stuff soakign his back. "What in the world is THIS?" <br> <br>The box does not stop it's assault, tiny teeth gnawing at Orso's ankles. "You appear to be unprepared, how will you deal with this?" the crow asks Orso.<br> <br>Orso frowns, and draws his sword again. He shakes off the box, taking several quick steps away, then waits for it to approach him again before bringing the weapon down from over his head in an overhanded chop like the one he split the dumy with, trying to cleave the spewing box.<br> <br>The box rips in half effortlessly, getting one last shot of foul liquid in at Orso's face as it dies.<br> <br>Sveta has been watching the scene all this while, and shakes her head a little as the poor bear gets a stream of that foul stuff - whatever it is - to the face. Reaching into her leather jerkin, she pulls out an old rag, tattered but clean, and awaits Orso's return so she can offer it to him.<br> <br>Orso curses softly under his breath as he rejoins Sveta, accepting the rag and beginning to wipe his face off. "Here's some advice. Destroy the box first." It probably takes a fair bit of scrubbing to get most of it off. Then he sighs. "Well. Good luck with your turn, birdy."<br> <br>The stage is reset, dummies shifted out and a sphere placed into the center of the room. The crow nods and waves Sveta over.<br> <br>"Thank you." Either Orso's familiarity's lost on her, or she doesn't mind - either way, she gives the bear a dip of her head as she passes him on her way out. "Keep the rag." With that, the goshawk's out on stage - with careful deliberation, she steps up to the dummies and gives them each a small bow as if they were actual beings, then draws a long, slender rapier from her belt. Lacking Orso's raw strength, Sveta unleashes a flurry of blows onto the dummies in turn. Her graceful folk nature becomes evident as the dummies rapidly begin to leak stuffing, small puffs of straw rising from each blow. It's not long before the dummies succumb to the abuse, quite literally deflating from the numerous cuts they've suffered. Seeing that her job is done, Sveta throws the dummies a small salute, then turns her attention to the sphere. Mindful of Orso's encounter, she keeps her distance, eyeing the strange artifice carefully as she gives it a prod with the tip of her blade.<br> <br>The orb does not respond well to the prodding, and begins to roll up the blade with amazing balance.<br> <br>Sveta scowls furiously as the orb rolls up the length of her weapon, the goshawk's gaze pinned on the offending object like a particularly stubborn screw. She flips her weapon over half-heartedly, as if not quite expecting that to fully work, and seems almost prepared to let go of her blade to stop the orb from reaching her, if need be.<br> <br>The orb does not waver, instead rotating to stay on the blade until it reaches the hilt. As the rapier is dropped it leaps up at Sveta's face.<br> <br>Orso crosses his arms, watchiing the rapid bladework of the graceful Goshawk as she deflates the various dummies. He then watches closely as she prosd at the orb. When it starts to roll up her weapon, his brows raise slightly. He doesn't move to help with it being a competition, but he tenses slightly as though he feels the urge to do so.<br> <br>Sveta is caught quite off-guard by the orb's sudden movements, letting out a surprised cry as the orb leaps up at her. She takes a step back with her talons shielding her face, wings beating at the air as she tries to keep her balance.<br> <br>The orb catches in Sveta's talons, almost forceably and goes still. The crow motions for applause and hands the avian her blade, taking the orb from her. "We will now have a special demonstration from Roy the guardsman, on how to use a sword and body shield at the same time." With that the mat is again reset and a beaver steps forward. He speaks of proper usage and the advantages of using such a style before demonstrating the proper technique. The crowd watches intently as Sveta is given a chance to regain her composure.<br> <br>Orso shakes his head slightly, and waits for the Goshawk to rejoin him. "Well. I think I'd hav preferred that to the spitting one." He wrings out the rag she had given him, twisting around to try and scrub on what's on his back. "Still. Very impressive bladework. I don't think I'd want to fight you, Sveta." He gives the smaller avian a friendly smile as he says it. <br> <br>Sveta gives Orso a small bow as she sheathes her rapier. "Thank you. I suppose I did get off easy there." She watches the bear's attempts to dry off his back for a little while longer, then sags her shoulders and holds out a hand for the rag. "Please, allow me. You'll need someone's help to reach every spot on that thick back of yours."<br> <br>Orso pauses, then considers Sveta. Finally he sighs, and settles down onto his rump, offering her back the rag. "Okay. So. Are you part of any groups, Sveta?" He's still listeing to the lectureing beaver, but splitting his attention between him and the avian. His legs cross, and he leans forward slightly to offer a better reach to his back. <br> <br>As the guardsman finishes a few more come up, showing how a group would handle the situation. They come away from the spectacle rubbing there eyes, to keep from crying, a small smoke bomb having gone off in their faces. With this the only person left being Rogna the hippo is called forward. Three dummies are placed on the padding and another small pot. Rogna draws his dual swords and takes a fighting stance before moving forward on the first dummy, with a few strokes meant to keep attacks at bay he positions himself so the left of the dummy and lops one, then rotating, the other arm before offering a headbutt to it. Returning to his initial stance he jjabs at the chest of the second dummy before stepping behind it and beheading it with both blades. Finally approaching the third dummy he thrusts into it's neck and levers upward, popping it's head off. Rogna turns to the pot and stomps the padding, unsettling the pot barely. Getting no response he stomps it in before turning, just in time to see one of the pads has risen up from the floor and is flying at him. He uses one sword to skewer the projectile and then the other to cut it apart before he looks over the crowd and returns a nod from Pewter.<br> <br>Sveta bows slightly once more as Orso's gesture, then sets to work with the rag, mopping up the worst of the foul liquid from the bear's back in an efficient, no-nonsense manner. "Groups? Can't say I am. My word isn't mine to give, not until I graduate from my apprenticeship with the craft school, anyway. Someone needs to do the field testing, you see. When I was first asked to perform that task, I didn't quite have the mind to go about it so horribly that I wasn't asked to shoulder it again." She looks up at Rogna's performance, then clicks her beak. "Seems like we've both been outclassed."<br> <br>The crow waves to the crowd. "Our judges are confering as we speak, but it is clearly a contest between Sir Pewter and Sir Rogna. Thank you all for coming and we will inform you of the result when the time comes to. Don't forget we will be looking for all style weapons tournament fighters in the following weeks, I hope you all had fun." The crow waves everyone off as they leave.[[Category:RPLogs]] |
Latest revision as of 19:16, 8 October 2012
Participants
Date
8/10/475
Log
A crowd has gathered in the Sweetwater Barracks, lining a room that has been padded in the center, with bare spots occupied by training dummies and peculiar mechanisms. A line of fighters stands at the edge of the padding, mostly guardsmen and locals, but a few noticable faces here and there ensure this will be an event worth seeing. A crow urges everyone to quiet down as a few vendors seize the chance to showcase swords of various shapes and sizes.
Sally arrives, guiding Wulf along, "We'll make a decent showing for the unit perhaps," she says along the way, "Be rude to not make any showing at all regardless. Have to show we're here."
Orso steps into the barracks. It's presumably built to accomodate the larger folks that are around, so he probably doesn't have to duck much to get inside. He's no dragon after all! He quickly moves to the side to keep from blocking the entrance for anybody that follows, then studying the crowd and those nearby. His eyes fall on Sally and Wulf (and Sveta, if she's with them), and he gives them a friendly nod, rumbling out, "Greetings. Looks like a nice turnout doesn't it?"
A little lizard weaves his way through the legs of the crowd, trying to get a spot where he can see. He has to flick his tail away from a few people to avoid it being stepped on, but eventually he manages to make it to the front of the crowd where he crouches down next to the area, eager to watch the fights.
Sveta stalks into the crowd, having just been shooed from her bench at the craft school for the umpteenth time. The noise of the crowd by the barracks had piqued her curiosity, one thing led to another, and now...well, to compete or not to compete...that is the question. If it was even open to the public, that is...hearing Orso speak, she gives the bear a glance over, followed by a cursory nod. "Yes, yes. Hard to deny that."
The crow cries out "Are there anymore eligable swordsmen? All who wish to apply need only step to join the others." he says, gesturing to the side of one royal born hippo. A few crowns are dropped as a young deer buys what they believe to be a rather fine sword.
Oh! Sword specific? The white fox captain seems to be changing her mind, rubbing her chin lightly and looking at the others who have come. She moves off to the side a little with a grin, flashing white teeth.
Orso watches the lizard move towards the arena, but stays more towards the back himself. His attention returns to Sveta, and he offers the irritable looking Goshawk a lage hand. It would probably engulf hers if she takes it. "Orso. Nice to meet you." He considers the crow. "Hmmn...I'm only of middling talent with a sword, really. Still. It could be interesting to see how I fare." He glances over Sally when she draws nearer, smiling, and offers her his hand as well, repeating the introduction.
Shliek doesn't appear very interested in fighting, not yet. He does watch the crowd from his front row spot right next to the arena, eagerly awaiting some action to view.
Sveta considers the offer, then takes Orso's hand, allowing it to encompass her talons. "So, you're planning to compete? Ah, where are my manners? I'm Sveta, and nice to meet you, too. Well, I suppose I should have a go at it myself - it'll be a bit of fun, if nothing else. Shall we?" She casts a glance at the royal born hippo, then turns back to Orso.
Orso nods his head to Sveta, "I'm thinking about it. Sveta. Nice name." He considers the hippo, then nods to the Goshawk, motioning in the direction of the crow. "Ladies first." He gives her a broad grin as he says it, the expression splitting his broad face and muzzle. Then he follows behind her, assuming she heads that direction. "I wonder what form it's going to take. Tournament you think?'
The crow nods to Miss Sally. "I'm afraid we won't be holding open weapon calls for almost four weeks." he says before hurrying Orso and Sveta to the line of warriors. As he does so he whistles loudly, and then says "And now we shall begin, Sir Pewter, step forward." With that a moderately sized elephant tromps forward, taking up a zweihandler. He lunges at one of the dummies, gashing it's chest open before cleaving it's arm off in an upsweep. He finishes by lopping it's head off and then proceeds to a second dummy. Upon reaching it he smacks it across the face and then destroys it's stand. Progressing forward the swordsman performs a downward lunge at a single stationary pot. As it is struck a spurt of blood pools at it's base. It appears he has struck something within the pot as it was lashing out at him. With that he places the blade upon his back and looks to the crowd before bowing.
Shliek seems visibly awed by the antics of the elephant. It is, however unclear whether or not he's awed by the elephant's swordsmanship or his size.
Sveta eyes the elephant's performance, keenly studying the warrior's performance with her eyes but declining to voice her thoughts on the matter. Her feathers ruffle a little, but her face remains quite calm and straight despite the crowd's cheering.
Orso watches the elephants display, quirking one thick brow. He glances down at Sveta, and murmers to her, "I wonder what they're using for judging criteria." He shifts in place, crossing his arms, and waits for his turn to go hack him some dummies.
The crowd cheers and asks for more, Sir Pewter steps away from the padding and the crow approaches Orso. "How about you?" he asks as he gesture to the field, which is already being prepped with new dummies and an odd box. Rogna and Pewter exchange nods as Pewter returns to the line-up.
Orso considers Sir Pewter, then smiles and shrugs. "Sure." He starts for the dummies, reaching up and drawing the zweihander on his back. He rolls his shoulders, loosening his muscles, then grips it in both hands. Taking a breath, he steps into a hard swing of the blade, angled to take one dummy through the neck and right shoulder, sending head and arm tumbling to the ground. He immedietly moves to the second, delivering a series of relatively quicker swings carving off chunks of the dummy before severing it around waist height. Then he goes to the last one, and grips his weapon tighter, raising it high over his head and bringing it down with a shout, splitting the head of it and embedding it deeper into the torso. Tugging the weapon free, he inclines his head to the judge, then with his turn presumably over, starts back to the line. He winks at Sveta, "Your turn, birdy."
Shliek shrinks back alightly away from the duelling mat, unwilling to take an accidental blow should someone's swing go awry. His hands feel over the hilts of his daggers, strapped to either side of his belt.
The box lets loose a low growl and springs into the air, letting loose a noxious fluid all over Orso. THe creature sprouts tiny legs and appears to be ready to do it again.
Sveta scowls and points over Orso's shoulder just before the wave of noxious fluid hits the bear. "Not so fast, there, friend! Behind-" her words are cut short as the fluid hits, droplets of the filthy substance spraying through the air.
Orso flinches, scowling as he twists his neck to try and see the stuff soakign his back. "What in the world is THIS?"
The box does not stop it's assault, tiny teeth gnawing at Orso's ankles. "You appear to be unprepared, how will you deal with this?" the crow asks Orso.
Orso frowns, and draws his sword again. He shakes off the box, taking several quick steps away, then waits for it to approach him again before bringing the weapon down from over his head in an overhanded chop like the one he split the dumy with, trying to cleave the spewing box.
The box rips in half effortlessly, getting one last shot of foul liquid in at Orso's face as it dies.
Sveta has been watching the scene all this while, and shakes her head a little as the poor bear gets a stream of that foul stuff - whatever it is - to the face. Reaching into her leather jerkin, she pulls out an old rag, tattered but clean, and awaits Orso's return so she can offer it to him.
Orso curses softly under his breath as he rejoins Sveta, accepting the rag and beginning to wipe his face off. "Here's some advice. Destroy the box first." It probably takes a fair bit of scrubbing to get most of it off. Then he sighs. "Well. Good luck with your turn, birdy."
The stage is reset, dummies shifted out and a sphere placed into the center of the room. The crow nods and waves Sveta over.
"Thank you." Either Orso's familiarity's lost on her, or she doesn't mind - either way, she gives the bear a dip of her head as she passes him on her way out. "Keep the rag." With that, the goshawk's out on stage - with careful deliberation, she steps up to the dummies and gives them each a small bow as if they were actual beings, then draws a long, slender rapier from her belt. Lacking Orso's raw strength, Sveta unleashes a flurry of blows onto the dummies in turn. Her graceful folk nature becomes evident as the dummies rapidly begin to leak stuffing, small puffs of straw rising from each blow. It's not long before the dummies succumb to the abuse, quite literally deflating from the numerous cuts they've suffered. Seeing that her job is done, Sveta throws the dummies a small salute, then turns her attention to the sphere. Mindful of Orso's encounter, she keeps her distance, eyeing the strange artifice carefully as she gives it a prod with the tip of her blade.
The orb does not respond well to the prodding, and begins to roll up the blade with amazing balance.
Sveta scowls furiously as the orb rolls up the length of her weapon, the goshawk's gaze pinned on the offending object like a particularly stubborn screw. She flips her weapon over half-heartedly, as if not quite expecting that to fully work, and seems almost prepared to let go of her blade to stop the orb from reaching her, if need be.
The orb does not waver, instead rotating to stay on the blade until it reaches the hilt. As the rapier is dropped it leaps up at Sveta's face.
Orso crosses his arms, watchiing the rapid bladework of the graceful Goshawk as she deflates the various dummies. He then watches closely as she prosd at the orb. When it starts to roll up her weapon, his brows raise slightly. He doesn't move to help with it being a competition, but he tenses slightly as though he feels the urge to do so.
Sveta is caught quite off-guard by the orb's sudden movements, letting out a surprised cry as the orb leaps up at her. She takes a step back with her talons shielding her face, wings beating at the air as she tries to keep her balance.
The orb catches in Sveta's talons, almost forceably and goes still. The crow motions for applause and hands the avian her blade, taking the orb from her. "We will now have a special demonstration from Roy the guardsman, on how to use a sword and body shield at the same time." With that the mat is again reset and a beaver steps forward. He speaks of proper usage and the advantages of using such a style before demonstrating the proper technique. The crowd watches intently as Sveta is given a chance to regain her composure.
Orso shakes his head slightly, and waits for the Goshawk to rejoin him. "Well. I think I'd hav preferred that to the spitting one." He wrings out the rag she had given him, twisting around to try and scrub on what's on his back. "Still. Very impressive bladework. I don't think I'd want to fight you, Sveta." He gives the smaller avian a friendly smile as he says it.
Sveta gives Orso a small bow as she sheathes her rapier. "Thank you. I suppose I did get off easy there." She watches the bear's attempts to dry off his back for a little while longer, then sags her shoulders and holds out a hand for the rag. "Please, allow me. You'll need someone's help to reach every spot on that thick back of yours."
Orso pauses, then considers Sveta. Finally he sighs, and settles down onto his rump, offering her back the rag. "Okay. So. Are you part of any groups, Sveta?" He's still listeing to the lectureing beaver, but splitting his attention between him and the avian. His legs cross, and he leans forward slightly to offer a better reach to his back.
As the guardsman finishes a few more come up, showing how a group would handle the situation. They come away from the spectacle rubbing there eyes, to keep from crying, a small smoke bomb having gone off in their faces. With this the only person left being Rogna the hippo is called forward. Three dummies are placed on the padding and another small pot. Rogna draws his dual swords and takes a fighting stance before moving forward on the first dummy, with a few strokes meant to keep attacks at bay he positions himself so the left of the dummy and lops one, then rotating, the other arm before offering a headbutt to it. Returning to his initial stance he jjabs at the chest of the second dummy before stepping behind it and beheading it with both blades. Finally approaching the third dummy he thrusts into it's neck and levers upward, popping it's head off. Rogna turns to the pot and stomps the padding, unsettling the pot barely. Getting no response he stomps it in before turning, just in time to see one of the pads has risen up from the floor and is flying at him. He uses one sword to skewer the projectile and then the other to cut it apart before he looks over the crowd and returns a nod from Pewter.
Sveta bows slightly once more as Orso's gesture, then sets to work with the rag, mopping up the worst of the foul liquid from the bear's back in an efficient, no-nonsense manner. "Groups? Can't say I am. My word isn't mine to give, not until I graduate from my apprenticeship with the craft school, anyway. Someone needs to do the field testing, you see. When I was first asked to perform that task, I didn't quite have the mind to go about it so horribly that I wasn't asked to shoulder it again." She looks up at Rogna's performance, then clicks her beak. "Seems like we've both been outclassed."
The crow waves to the crowd. "Our judges are confering as we speak, but it is clearly a contest between Sir Pewter and Sir Rogna. Thank you all for coming and we will inform you of the result when the time comes to. Don't forget we will be looking for all style weapons tournament fighters in the following weeks, I hope you all had fun." The crow waves everyone off as they leave.
