Swordsmanship in the Barracks - RPLOG
From Rusted Promises
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.
