The forest is quiet this morning, save for the the occasional bird call, some game rustling in the brush and, muffled by the fallen leaves, the steady clomp of hooves. The column of Kingswood men winds through the trees; scouts and foresters long since dispatched to aid in the search.
It was an hour after dawn when the Company was mobilized; word had come to the warden that two ladies of the court had been taken on a morning ride. And so the Kingswood men were to do what the Kingswood men do: find the whereabouts of the ladies Elrone Darklyn and Jyana Arryn, and bring them safely home.
The morning is quiet. The birds herald their arrival with their quiet call. And the steady clamping of hooves against the earth is heard. The Kingswood Company arrives in a steady pace, among them, Ser Orson Baratheon of Storm’s End and Officer of the Kingswood Company. His bow and quiver is slung across his back, and wearing light armor. There’s no time to bring a shield for Orson. He just wanted his bow, arrows and sword. His normally kind eyes are now narrowed in thought.
He would find these ladies, Jyana of House Arryn and Elrone Darklyn. Elrone is Ser Jan’s betrothed. Orson felt some type of compulsion to this mission and he was part of the Kingswood. He will see this done to the end.
Jan Marbrand rides near the head of the Kingswood column, the company’s warden, Ser Farin Prester, not having been able to make the event. In his dulled yet functional chain armor, he bears a much grimmer and more serious look than he usually wears at such events. His fingers twitch along the hilt of his sword as his eyes scan the trees for any sign of movement.
“Typical Massey,” he mumbles under his breath to Ryckon, beside him near the front of the column. “No need to use /real/ maidens for this. I don’t care if it’s just a competition - it’s not safe.” Clearing his throat, he addresses the rest of the company, “Men of the Kingswood! You all know your jobs, now just do them. Let’s make quick work of this nonsense.”
Simply one of a number of the Kingswood men, little known and knowing few well himself, Alain keeps his gaze to scanning the forest line. A steady hand on the reins, a sure seat, and a sour face mark his mood. Determined, yet annoyed. “Bloody mummer’s farce, this is,” he can be heard to mutter, albeit quietly, on the heels of Jan’s command.
Close to the Baratheon officer rides an older man who has served the company for years now. Thorgan’s friendly face is framed by short grey hair and a curly beard that gives him a warm grandfather appearance. His hard and stonecold eyes prove otherwise….As does the worn out hilt of his sword. A set of throwing knives dangle at his belt next to the blunt sword he’s wearing as well for the occasion. For now, the man keeps silence, scanning the area with a focussed glare.
“Signed up to keep the Kingswood safe, not go to fight pretty like some bloody blueblood,” Erran complains, half-serious, as he rode along with his brothers-in-arms. He was never a comely lad, and the advance of age - he celebrated his fourty-first nameday getting drunk off a questionable brew in Flea Bottom a few days ago - had not done anything to improve it. His hair is gray and receding fast. He has an honest look, though; kind eyes, oft smiling, he looks like some little girl’s favorite uncle. He’s dressed in bits of armor cobbled together, bits of plate and mail and boiled leather. His weapon is just as plain as he; a simple mace, unadorned, of black iron.
Even before the scouts return, raucous laughter cuts the stillness. It would seem the hunt is at an end.
The trail winds between the trees and comes to a water’s edge. This is no rushing river, no rival to the Blackwater Rush—but it is a tributary of it: shallow, but quickly flowing and cold. Loose rocks hide beneath the surface, to twist an unwary ankle or to cause a man to slip. The path continues beyond the water, rising steeply up the far bank before leveling.
It is upon this rise that the Crackclaw men are drawn up. They are not in battle order. Indeed, they seem to be at their leisure. Here they talk together, there they dice. They laugh often, and a few even prod two bundled shapes—though not much more than a tuft of orange on the one, and yellow on the other, can be seen. Aside from the dresses, of course. Those fine garments stand out amidst the rough-looking warriors.
The Blackhand, dressed in dirty riding leathers and displaying his badge of office, rests against a deadfall which has been pulled across the path. He is seemingly alone, guarding the approach and chewing on an apple. His cold eyes follow the first of the Kingswood men as they come into view.
“Far enough!” Ammon calls to the advancing host, his voice carrying over those of his men. Perhaps it is enough to call them to attention. Or perhaps not. “You’ve brought the ransoms, I take it?” Massey is focused on Jan, the rest of the Kingswood Company be damned. “We won’t be needing all of it now. They’ve been soiled.” If he is jesting, there’s no sign of it; Ammon’s eyes show no mirth. His left hand, the ruined one, taps absently upon his sword’s hilt.
Behind Ammon, amidst the raucous men—amidst and yet aloof, alone in the shadow of a squat tree—sits a tall, hard-faced man clad all in black. The others laugh and jape and dice but none approach him; all his attention is given to a small block of wood he is whittling. And a poor job he is doing too; it’s impossible to make out what he trying to make, but he keeps patiently at it anyway. Beside him against the tee trunk rest a shield and a sheathed sword with the swordbelt wrapped around the scabbard.
At Ammon’s call, he looks up briefly in that direction; dappled sunlight gilds a dark eye and the sharp angle of a cheekbone. Then, he returns to his whittling.
Ryckon shrugs to Jan without making eye contact, keeping an eye on the treeline. “Easy to say when one of them is yours. Anyway, who would you have us used? Men-at-arms dressed up, dummies, whores? Practice for if the real thing should happen, at least.” He is dressed in the same mix of leather and mail as many of the rest of the men. He catches sight of the Crackclaw men (as soon as they call out) and fixes his eyes on their leader, rolling them after his comment. “That is a little much, I agree.”
Lennos, one of the simple men long in service to the Warden of Crackclaw point, laughs near the feminine shapes who are carefully bundled against the chill weather, making some sort of lewd gesture to a companion involving the thrust of a hip and curios placement of fingers. A faint bruise mars his cheek, likely a result of the last clash between companies.
The man glances up at the sound of Ammon’s voice, but does little other than casually reach for the blunted weapon at his side, and use that to assist the joke instead. A great wit, apparently, is Lennos.
Next to the whittling man in black is a younger man, his honeyed hair lit up in autumn sunlight. He too is clad all in black, though a bee brooch is worn as a clasp, and his handsome face has been smeared with mud - the best he can do to fit the part of some impious villain. His shield is beside him up against a willow - three golden beehives on black. A Beesbury. But his blunted longsword is at the ready, held in his hand. In his other, a small leather bound copy of the Seven Pointed Star. At the sound of Ammon’s voice, the book is shut and put away, and he leans on the tree, waiting. He looks through the leaves of the willow, watching the train move.
A dull frown pulls at Alain’s sour face. Clearly lacking the wits of some in that yonder company, this is the look of a man buying into the would-be staging of the Blackhand’s deadpan delivery. “Always knew he was a dark-hearted one,” and the man spits to punctuate the point. His gaze darts to Jan as he resettles his weight in that saddle, readying for the imminent call to action.
Jan’s eyes scan around the scene, settling, in turns, on the poked and prodded figures in dresses, at the dark figure whittling behind Ammon, at the crude jesting of the Cracklaw men. He furrows his brow in a mix of anger and confusion. “Oh, shut up, Ammon. We’re here to put an end to this farce,” Jan says, unsheathing his blunted sword with a certain menace. But even if it is a farce, his face still burns red when he sees Lennos’s antics. “Animals! Men of the Kingswood, it’s time to put them down. Again. CHARGE!”
Out of the forest comes the sound of riders, the hooves sounding on the forest’s floor. Most of the riders wear no sigil, only brown cloth over what metal armor they have. Many of the men-at-arms wear leather with some chain, but there is one knight who has elected to keep his sigil. This sigil does not harm his hiding as it is a brown field with the five fanned arrows of House Hunter. Ser Eon leads this assault, roaring a battle cry as they crash into the Kingswoodsmen.
Seeing Ryckon, a wicked grin appears under the Hunter knight’s helm. Cocking his arm backn he swings his sword at the Westerling knight.
Eon attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
He is a young lad, and green, the one whose father named him Andrik. He has joined the Crackclaw Company for so many reasons, and yet the main emotion writ plain upon his features is fear. Not excitement, not bravado. Simply fear, and this a mock battle at that!
But Andrik charges, near to the notary of the Crackclaw Company, his blunted spear raised high as he closes with an elderly man of the Kingswood Company; a unknown man named Thorgan.
And atop the rise, as a third of his strength streams into the rear and flank of the Kingswood Company, Ammon Blackhand draws his sword and dons his helm and shield. There are no flowery words for his men, unlike his counterpart down the hill. Ammon simply shouts, “Weapons!” and turns to face the charge from behind the deadfall.
Andrik attacks Thorgan with his spear…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Following behind the Hunter knight is a man with a young face, yet eyes that speak to a lack of privilege in his raising and a hardness about him that may well serve him as a man of Ser Dagur’s company even if he is relatively green. His horse thunders along, with a blunted morningstar, almost a mace with a few extra nubs, strongly held in the hand that does not bear the reins. Robb frowns as he charges, his expression serious and intent on the Kingswood men, as if he really does mean to down as many of them as possible. And it is Orson he makes for with his first great swing toward the Baratheon.
Robb attacks Orson with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Thorgan’s attention proved to be rewarding as he’s one of the first men aware of the ambush. The horse he’s sitting on is no warhorse a knight could acquire but the beast acts fast enough on the nudge of his rider’s knees like any other. Leaning forwards, Thorgan shuns away from the spear before lashing out with his sword.
Thorgan attacks Andrik with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
At that sound of thundering hooves—so recognisable to any man who ever been in battle—the black-clad man blows on the block of wood to blow away the shavings, considers his handiwork from a different angle, sighs and puts its away in the pouch at his belt along with the small, sharp knife. Turning, he grips the hilt of the sword leaning against the tree, pinning the scabbard to the trunk with his foot and drawing the blade; sunlight glints on its blunted edges. Picking up his shield as well and settling it on his other arm is a matter of moments.
And then, with a laconic, “With me,” to Arros, he strides across the small clearing even as the ambushers crash into the Kingswood company men, and the other Crackclaw Point men about him rush to their positions—not as unready as they had first appeared, then—to take his place on the right flank of the line, anchoring it.
The left hand going to the sword, the company behind him, the man making lewd gestures, the one reading the book. Orson was seeing all of it. He was quiet. His breathing was steady, as if he were about to fire a warning shot. He has half a mind to shoot one, his fingers getting itchy, but he restrains. “Remind me to put an arrow at that man’s forehead.” Orson declares to the elder knight next to him. This event has to be planned out and executed well. Orson restrains. Now was not the time. Well, it wasn’t exactly the time up until Jan charged. Loyally, Orson charges as well, not too far off Jan as he draws his sword.
He was starting to get closer and someone springs up into battle. He brings up his sword up and is shattered by the blow and staggers back. “Very well then, young man!” Orson asks as he shakes off the attack and looks at the young man before him with the morningstar. He brings up his sword down towards him, with intent.
Orson attacks Robb with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
With wits to match his master, Alain’s horse shies at the sudden onslaught of Crackclaw men. With a jerk of the reigns, the pock-marked man manages to pull his mount into line—and lunges the steed forward and past two pairs of already embattled men in his company to try and ford the small waterway.
Mounted on his black destrier, Ryckon charges toward where he sees the maidens bound and bundled, but on the way he is intercepted by Eon and struck hard. “Gah… trying to make up for last time, I assume, Hunter?” Without giving Eon a chance to answer, the Westerling swings his mace back at his opponent.
Ryckon attacks Eon with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
“Indeed coz,” Eon says after the harsh blow from the Westerling knight. Urging his horse to get his sword arm to a more favorable position, the Hunter knight bellows and swings down at Ryckon,”
Eon attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Robb grunts, but his shield meets Orson’s sword with equal force and does little other than stall his charge farther into the Kingswood line. He shoves back, his horse left tramping erratically, confused after the reins are dropped in favor of the shield. Too green to manage horse and shield and morningstar, Robb just leans and swings again, favoring power rather than tactic and skill.
Robb attacks Orson with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Orson is driven from the saddle!
Jan urges his horse across the water, sword raised high, his eyes focused on only one of the Cracklaw men now - Ammon, of course. Not long after, though, the ambush appears. “Well, shit,” he mutters as a handful of Kingswood men meet their unexpected first foes. On the other end of the river, he restarts his trudge up the hill and towards Ammon.
Ryckon manuevers his horse to the side, avoiding Eon’s blow, and then turns back to face him. “Perhaps you should do a better job, then. It’s looking much the same.” He rides forward to Eon and then past him, trying to bring his mace into the Hunter’s chest along the way.
Ryckon attacks Eon with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Battle!—and Andrik misses, his spear narrowly missing Thorgan. But he is not so lucky, and Thorgan’s sword takes Andrik in the lightly-armored ribs. He grimaces, grunts, breathes out, but swings his spear like a club in an effort to catch the Kingswood man in the helm.
Andrik attacks Thorgan with his spear…
...and has his blow intercepted by Thorgan’s shield.
Atop the rise, Ammon watches as battle is joined, as the Kingswood Company advances despite this—as Jan advances. It will be another few moments before Marbrand reaches the deadfall. Ammon places his sword upon the fallen tree for a moment, picks up a large rock, and tosses it at the advancing deputy warden. At this distance, the Blackhand will have his sword back to hand long before Jan reaches him.
Ammon attacks Jan with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Weathering another powerful blow from the Westerling knight, Eon scowls, “Perhaps.” Taking a little time to again reposition his horse, the Hunter knight cocks back his arm and attempts to strike the rider’s arm.
Eon attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
“Argh!” Ryckon moves to clutch his arm after the painful strike but stops himself before he can drop his mace or lose his balance and fall off the horse. He angrily mutters, “Point taken…” and then turns to ride back at Eon, propelling his mace into his shoulder.
Ryckon attacks Eon with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
As the first lines of each group clash, Lennos stands with a few others near the women, arms at the ready but merely a shielding line right now, waiting for the Kingswood men to break through. He says something with a smirk to one of his companions, and shoots a glance behind him, looking over those fancy gowns and warm ladies’ cloaks with hardly a care for propriety, laughing again even as he waits for a foe to pierce the line of Crackclaw men.
The right flank of the Crackclaw men defending that little waterway is relatively free—but only for a few moments. The pressure of the clash at the centre causes it to overflow in both directions. And as Alain veers towards the right, that tall, dark-haired man—wearing only a jerkin of hardened leather for protection—moves forward. There is nothing hasty about him, and yet, half-a-dozen strides take him exactly where he needs to be, swinging aside from Alain’s horse, then stepping back in towards its flank, his blade hissing up in a cut meant to slam against the mounted man’s ribs with enough force to unseat him.
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
The young Cracklaw lad might not know it yet but he’s fighting a lost fight. The seasoned warrior he is, Thorgan has his shield already in place and his lips turn into a dark smile as he feels the spear hitting wood instead of his helmet. A decent pull on the bridles has his horse turn quickly and again, horse and man leap forward, the sword coming down…
Thorgan attacks Andrik with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
So single-minded in his pursuit, Jan doesn’t see the rock Ammon has thrown until it strikes him at the forehead of his helm, then falls, brushing his horse’s neck on the way to the ground. Jan jolts in his saddle and the horse, spooked, bucks and sends Jan hurtling to the ground. “Seven hells,” Jan mutters, getting up gingerly after scrambling for his sword. “What are you lot training for here, Ammon? Behaving like bandits?” Jan hisses angrily before simply charging the man, no lessons having been learned, and bringing his sword down on Ammon’s shoulder.
Jan attacks Ammon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Eon takes another hard strike from the Westerling. His shoulder stung enough to make him almost drop his shield. Recovering well enough, he says nothing, but again roars and tries to strike down Ryckon.
Eon attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Ryckon is driven from the saddle!
“Aye,” the Beesbury squire says in response to Dagur, taking up his longsword and his shield in his other hand. His reach for his shield is languid, as there is finally a break in the boredom. He takes a position in the rear, the black paint on the shield matching the mud he’s smeared all on his face to act the part of the rogue. He moves about easily in his cloak and his armor of boiled leathers. Spotting his target he makes his way to Erran, and without a word raises his longsword to sting.
Arros attacks Erran with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
The boy is green. Orson could have slapped the reins on the horse and watched him fumble. He could have shoved the young man off the saddle and watched the horse trample his leg. These were things he could have done has he had only a shield and sword. Orson watches as the young man favors his shield over the reins.
Then, it happened. Robb simply leans towards Orson with a power swing and Orson receives a thorough unsaddling because of it. The mass weapon was too much to handle and Orson falls unceremoniously.R
Orson falls to the ground and the last sound he hears is his horse whinnying away from him and his thought before all goes black is to put an arrow in between the knight’s eyes.
There is enough sense in the Kingswood man to wheel his mount at just the right angle, thus leaving him unscathed by the Iron Serpents calculated swing. Alain’s sword comes round in a swinging arc, chopping down with its blunted edge in a bid for the shoulder of Dagur’s shield arm.
Alain attacks Dagur with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Erran only just manages to interpose his mace between the Beesbury boy’s sword and its intended target, but its no gentle blow yet, jarring his arm and near deadening it. He disengages his weapon and swings at the boy’s head, snarling harshly as he does so.
Erran attacks Arros with his mass weapon…
...and sees his blow go astray!
But the Iron Serpent is already moving even as Alain wheels his horse away from his blow—ducking under the other man’s blow in turn, letting it whistle over his head, coming up on the horse’s other flank. And again, exactly that same slashing cut at Alain’s ribs, backhanded this time.
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Alain’s shield.
Andrik lets out a startled cry, though he manages to catch Throgan’s sword upon his spear—but there is a crunching sound, and a cry, and the spear tumbles from useless fingers. Andrik favors his left wrist, which caught the brunt of Thorgan’s blow. But the lad will not be felled so easily. He launches himself upon the older man, attempting to pull him from the saddle.
Andrik attacks Thorgan with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Thorgan’s shield.
Ammon moves aside, though not far enough to miss the blow entirely. It does strike his shoulder, hard, but not hard enough. With a grunt, with a carefully placed foot upon the deadfall, Massey launches himself towards the deputy warden of the Kingswood; his sword flashes dully in the muted light.
Ammon attacks Jan with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Jan is driven from the saddle!
The Beesbury squire dances about Erran’s weapon, bending his knees to duck the blow of the mace. With sword and shield at the ready the Arros comes back in for another attack, this time his sword coming in to slice toward’s the older man’s head.
Arros attacks Erran with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Erran is rocked back in the saddle by Arros’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
The weight of Andrik pulls Thorgan out of the saddle but he manages to land best of both. First on his feet again, Thorgan simply takes out with his boot towards the lad’s face, planning to knock him out.
Thorgan attacks Andrik with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
Andrik is driven from the saddle!
Not only does Erran fail to strike the Beesbury, he’s unable to recover from the swing in time to block the squire’s answering blow, and it looks as though he’s going to lose his mount…but amazingly, he recovers. He strikes out again, aiming to crush the annoying little bee.
Erran attacks Arros with his mass weapon…
...and sees his blow go astray!
Not a man to yet make a name for himself, and yet Alain makes good show of his training yet again. Despite having to twist at an awkward angle to block it, the Saltcliffe’s maneuver favors the Kingswood man’s defensive side—the shield, then, takes the brunt of that strike. And the man’s sword? Thrusts out from just beside it. Blunted as it is, such a strike will prove only push at the man’s chest if it lands true. Yet with enough power, and a sure aim, it could very well prove effective…
Alain attacks Dagur with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Robb has managed a lucky blow, true, and sent a Baratheon to ground, no less. He allows himself a smile- but only for a moment, for he still has no true control of his horse, and the beast trots with little directions halfway into the stream while the man tries to manage the reins while keeping both sword and morningstar in hand. “Bastard beast… turn, damn you!” He kicks at it, trying to nudge its course back into the main of the battle.
But yet, like the bee, this one is rather hard to swat. He grits his teeth as the man comes back in for another swing, but deflects it with his shield. This time, he raises his sword and poises the blunted point at Erran like a stinger.
Arros attacks Erran with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Erran is driven from the saddle!
And Thorgan does! His boot connects squarely with Andrik’s jaw. Blood flies, teeth fly, and the lad crumples into the mud.
Seeing Ryckon fall, “Well fought, coz,” is all Eon can spare as he scans the battlefield for a moment, “Onward!” is all he can say to the men-at-arms. With a swing of his sword a Kingswood men-at-arms also finds himself on the ground.
In his anger, Jan manages to strike Ammon. But not well, and he recklessly leaves his side exposed. The strike drives the wind from Jan’s lungs, and perhaps the cracking of a rib can be heard. Jan gasps for air and falls to his knees, dropping his sword and shield instantly, coughing up a bit of blood in the process.
And effective it is, striking hard and true—hard enough to wring a grunt of pain from the Iron Serpent at least and send him staggering back a few paces, to make him check for a precious moment or two to catch his breath. But when it returns—he smiles with it, faint and fleeting.
“Nicely done,” he calls to the other man as if sharing a mug of ale with him. A deadly mug of ale, for even before he has finished speaking, he is springing forward, aiming lower this time—at the man’s knee.
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
” Sleep well, pretty boy.” Thorgan scoffs and turns to find his horse again. The smart animal has moved to a safer distance after it lost its rider so Thorgan quickly starts to make his way cause on foot… he knows he’s an easy target.
There is little time to flash the Iron Serpent a shit-eating grin of triumph—that veteran of the Conquest charges and strikes again. It does not, perhaps, connect as well as it could have—but enough that it causes Alain’s foot to reflexively kick free of that stirrup. “Seven fuckin’—”
The man whines with the pain, but goads the other with a gutteral, “Are you a septon, to rap me with a ruler like that—” even as he swings that sword in a wild curve, all power and no aim.
Alain attacks Dagur with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
Seeing a Crackclaw rider fall, Eon sees the footman. Applying his heels to his horse, the Hunter knight barrels down at Thorgan. Not aiming his horse directly at him, Eon tries to swing down at the Kingswoodsman.
Eon attacks Thorgan with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
“Damnit!” Ryckon swears as he tumbles from the saddle and hits the ground. He stands up perhaps before it is wise to do so and balances himself against his horse to keep it from running off in fright. After a few uneasy moments he manages to climb back into the saddle, and he rides back into the fray.
The sound of swords clanking was what woke Orson up. His eyes look up at the tree branches and his head feels like it’s about to burst. All he remembers is how a green knight unhorsed him. A green knight knocked off a Baratheon off his horse. If his father were there, Orson would not hear the end of it. Orson slowly starts to get up, getting on one knee and looks at his horse, who was smart enough to get away from the rider.
The horse would have been all the up at The Wall, with that pain in his head that Orson had. Orson’s sword was near him, having fallen on the ground along with him. He picks it up, as he takes a few deep breaths as he stands up, wishing to get his bow and arrow out and do some damage. But no, this was just a melee, a simple competition.
“Training for you, Marbrand,” Ammon says as Jan crumples to the dirt. He pauses a moment to survey the scene: the rout is on—but it is not over. Even now, one of the Kingswood men is rising to his knees—and an officer at that. And so, the Blackhand grips the reins of Jan’s horse with one hand and kicks the beast into a canter down the hill. And then a gallop.
The rising Baratheon seems unaware of Massey’s approach, and his sword flashes towards the unsuspecting knight.
Ammon attacks Orson with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
The blow scrapes along the Iron Serpent’s chest as he sways back, knocking him sideways a step—but no more than that. And when he catches himself, there is, suddenly, a cold glint in his dark eyes.
“Enough.” And he follows the momentum of that blow, chopping overhand at Alain’s sword-arm, “No man japes about septons here.”
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
The approaching hooves warn Thorgan of the incoming attack but he fails to locate its direction quick enough. The impact of Eon’s sword makes a large dent in the old breast plate of the Kingswood man, sending him into the ground. But dents do not kill and slow but certain, Thorgan stands up, shaking the dizziness out of his head.
He’s about to confront the rider with his own sword when another Cracklaw rider makes an attempt to ride him down. Quickly Thorgan steps away at the last moment, pulling the man from his horse. Both soldiers disappear into a whirlwind of arms, legs and metal…
Close to the ladies, the few men left on guard close a tighter rank about them, shielding them from view as the Kingswood men draw ever nearer. A few stand before this shield of guards, arms at the ready, including Lennos, whose japes are at an end now that combat is imminent. He smiles around at the various Kingswood men who have fallen, but holds his ground before the prizes.
Again, a miss, and again, a strike from the Beesbury…but Erran is not so lucky this time. He does not keep his mount, the momentum of the boy’s thrust carrying him up and off his horse, his battered helm flying off in his flight. He hits the ground with an ‘oof’, his breath knocked out of him.
Fortune favors the bold—and the Saltcliffe’s answer to Alain’s barb is far bolder still. He may keep his grip on that sword, but the strength wilts and crumples his arm to a side. The Kingswood officer manages to maintain his balance, but not a bit of his composure. The cry that rises from his lips pitches high, very like a woman, but the remnants of sense send his shield punching out for the Iron Serpent’s face with all the might he can muster.
Alain attacks Dagur with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Dagur’s shield.
This time, the Iron Serpent doesn’t step aside. He meets Alain’s shield with his own for all that the other man has the advantage of being mounted—shoulders set, feet braced. And he stops that blow cold as if it had hit stone—keeping it locked even as he cuts around his own shield, at Alain’s shield arm this time.
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Alain’s shield.
Ryckon spies an enticing, intimidating target—the Iron Serpent. Grinning under his helm, he charges in his direction, riding to the side of Dagur opposite Alain and swinging his mace into it, failing to notice the Warden’s unoccupied Beesbury squire nearby.
Ryckon attacks Dagur with his mass weapon…
...and has his blow intercepted by Dagur’s shield.
Jan can do nothing to stop Ammon but reach out meekly, and before he can even make it to his feet, the Massey knight is gone. “Fuck…” he mutters, clutching his side with one hand and wiping the blood from his mouth with the other. He stoops to pick up his sword and looks for another to attack in his weakened state, his eyes settling on the crudest of the Crackclaw men: Lennos, still idling by the ladies. Jan carefully makes his way over the deadfall, trying to get a peek of the hostages behind them. “You-” is all Jan says to Lennos before swinging at his side, the pain from Ammon’s strike making it an awkward attempt.
Jan attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and merely strikes a glancing blow!
Arros brings the broad side of his sword to his face in a salute to Erran, but he says nothing to the man as he lies on the ground, detached from his mount. Looking about the fray, he spots his knight, and like any good-hearted squire worth his salt he tries to help. He sees Ryckon come in to strike and he shouts, “I am here, ser!” And with that cry he raises his sword to attack the Westerling.
Arros attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Shield to shield, then—it allows Alain to recover his wavering balance, to reset his foot in that stirrup, and slide that shield down to cut off Dagur’s next thrust. The power of his striking arm may not yet be fully restored, and so he makes use of gravity, nevermind that one of his own has come to assist. From high above, and a grunt of pain at the effort to stretch it that far, his sword comes falling down as if from the very heavens itself—but will the gods favor it, from one so irreverent against another closer to their ken?
Alain attacks Dagur with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
“Yes?” Lennos responds in a jesting tone, bringing his shield up to easily meet Jan’s blow. “One of these yours, boy? Pity, that.” And he laughs again, pushing back Jan’s sword with his shield and cleaving his own blade toward Jan’s ribs.
Lennos attacks Jan with his spear…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Most likely, Ryckon should have seen that coming, having been a squire himself so recently. But he is too busy preparing to strike Dagur again to notice Arros until it is too late, and he grunts angrily as the blow lands. The mace he had raised against the Iron Serpent is turned against his squire instead.
Ryckon attacks Arros with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Orson didn’t see the attack. He didn’t see the sword come down on him, but he does feel the stinging sensation across his back. It was blunt, but it still hurt. He felt the length of the blade against his back and he fell to the ground again, on bended knee. It was like he ha bended the knee to a king somewhere.
Orson slowly gets up, his sword in hand as he starts to walk towards his horse. It could have been all the way out in the North, for all Orson cares.
The reins steady the knight. The horse is still as he somehow makes his way to the horse’s side and all he wants is their heads. His hair falls around his face and his breath is shaky.
He gets back up on the horse, as all knights do. He looks at the figure that landed the blow.
It was Ammon. The pain in his head would subside. Orson wanted to get even. With that, Orson charged and brought the sword down on Ammon!
Orson attacks Ammon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
He has moved at a measured pace so far, the Iron Serpent—sure but deliberate. But with that unexpected attack, he shows why he bears that name. Even as Alain slides his shield off and away, the ironman moves cat-quick, leaning away enough that the other man’s blow does no more than graze his shoulder again. And he allows the force of that—its momentum—to bring him around to face Ryckon, raising his shield just in time to deflect that heavy mace.
But he isn’t done yet—for facing Ryckon, he slashes in a rising arc at the man beside rather than before him now, Alain.
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Alain is driven from the saddle!
Jan’s struck by yet another vicious blow, this time from Lennos, striking the same sore spot Ammon had struck before. He gasps again, and looks to drop to one knee for a moment, but Lennos’s words provoke him upright again, eyes narrowed. Still, he lacks the energy to make any sort of response, save another tortured swing of his sword, this time at the man’s knees.
Jan attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Riding past Thorgan, Eon carefully surveys the battlefield, again striking down a Kingswood footman. Before he can wheel around to fight him, the man is already engaged in combat with another on the ground. Yelling at a few of the Crackclaw men, directing them to a better position, Eon glances about to see if he can provide aid elsewhere.
Arros absorbs the blow with his pauldron and cries in pain. It may not be lethal, but it does definitely smart. The pious squire winces and then responds with a blow of his own.
Arros attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
A strange thing, for the Blackhand to give up an advantage. Perhaps it is Orson’s weakened condition that gives him pause, or perhaps the sight of the fallen Andrik, lying in a pool of his own blood. Whatever the cause, Orson is mounted by the time Ammon spurs his horse back on. And it is a near thing!
Massey barely manages to angle his mount to the side; Orson’s strike misses its mark and glances off of Ammon’s helm. Massey raises his shield, too late to ward off the blow—but that was not his plan! He lunges out with that solid piece of oak, painted black, straight toward’s the Baratheon’s helm!
Ammon attacks Orson with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Ah, the Iron Serpent strikes again, and this time with enough force to relieve Alain entirely of his saddle and sword both—a tangle of a foot in one stirrup keeps him thinly connected with his horse, but the mount spooks and jerks free with a hard jolt.
The Kingswood man spasms into a fetal position, releasing his shield to grab at an ankle now surely sore from such a pull. The sword is only just there at his side, but for the moment pain consumes the man and leaves all else to the wayside.
Ryckon scowls when Dagur’s opponent falls, and it renews his determination to take care of Dagur’s squire as quickly as possible, before the Iron Serpent turns to strike against him as well. Barely waiting after being hit hard once again, he lashes out at Arros’ side with his mace.
Ryckon attacks Arros with his mass weapon…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Lennos lets out a squealing grunt, just barely kept to a manly pitch by the hard clench of his teeth as Jan connects hard with one knee, bring the man down onto it as the sword forces it to bend. No more attempts to jest, then. He breathes hard, likely only saved from further hurts by Jan’s already worn condition.
And with the one strong leg left to him, Lennos thrusts his sword forward like a lance, straight at joint of Jan’s hip.
Lennos attacks Jan with his spear…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Down goes Alain—and as he falls, the Iron Serpent is already turning away to the clash taking place beside him, just in time to see his squire land a blow on the burly Westerling knight and remain unscathed in turn. “Nicely done,” he calls laconically above the din of horses neighing and steel ringing on steel. He is moving forward with it, not directly at Ryckon but around him—looking for an opening, perhaps. Or perhaps he simply means to see how his squire fares against a knight near his own age.
Arros side steps Ryckon’s mace. Looking over as Dagur’s foe falls, he gives a smile through the mud on his face, his teeth white like chalk. He waits for Ryckon to make another pass on his horse and poises to strike, like a bee about to sting.
Arros attacks Ryckon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Ryckon is driven from the saddle!
Orson’s attack was met with success, as it glances off the Massey’s helm. Orson would have cursed him to the seven hells if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t think straight. Orson watches the knight respond with a blow that would have landed on the helm. Orson replies with moving his mount as well, moving him to the left as the sword is brought up higher than the helmet. Orson blocks the blow, a shattering one, as he moves the sword with a slow parry.
Massey’s sword manages to land on his helmet, though blunted speed due to Orson’s response. All he hears is a ringing sound on his ears as he looks at the knight. He sees a place where he can land his sword and once again moves his horse back to the right and with a lift, he brings his sword down around Massey’s right shoulder.
Orson attacks Ammon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Ammon is rocked back in the saddle by Orson’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
Emboldened by his strike, Jan manages to sidestep Lennos’s sword, though he still grimaces with every movement. He takes a step forward and, teeth gritted, drives the butt of his sword into the opening left on Lennos’s side.
Jan attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Shaking his head to clear it, Erran struggles to his feet, running for his helm and replacing it firmly on his head. “Bloody bee. Damn squire, dancing all about like a…a BRAAVOSI!’ He glanced about, looking to see where the fighting was thickest. He finds his target.
Another grunt, but this time Lennos’s teeth set. And instead of trying to parry, or block, he lets Jan hit him- and wraps his arm around the hilt, making it hard for Jan to pull back. With his own sword still in other hand, he turns his blade toward the ground- and levels an even punch, hilt in hand, at Jan’s jaw. This man has fought pirates, after all, and desperation will bring on creative tactics.
Lennos attacks Jan with his spear…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Jan is rocked back in the saddle by Lennos’s blow, but manages to keep his seat!
Though the sweat of pain and the strain of rising to his feet shows clearly on Alain’s pock-marked, twisting face, the man manages to regain himself to the point of standing. His arm curls around those shield grips again, his other hand recovers the sword, but the horse is lost in the confusion and chaos.
A careful step tests weight on his weak ankle and finds enough purchase to stand; still, he takes a moment to scan the fighting and take measure of his fellows and their foes.
Even as Ammon’s blow strikes true, the Baratheon’s blade takes him in the shoulder. Blow for blow, the two men face each other, but the mighty Stormlander strikes square, and Massey’s blade tumbles into the dirt. He is favoring his right arm slightly, it is obviously numbed from that attack, but no matter.
Ammon surges forward and uses his greater size to his advantage—or tries to. It is a a scramble there, hand to hand with a shield on one of his arms, but it might be that he catches hold of Orson, and it might be that the two tumble to the ground, and if he’s /very/ lucky, the Blackhand will hit the ground atop the Baratheon, with a dagger at Orson’s throat.
Ammon attacks Orson with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Lacking the strength to wrest his sword from Lennos’s grasp, Jan is left powerless to stop the man’s fist from crashing into his jaw. He stumbles back several paces, knees wobbly and eyes glazed, and he has to plant his sword into the dirt to stop from falling to the ground. Somehow, he manages it, and he brings his sword out from the dirt in an upward arc, bounding forward two steps and aiming for the man’s chin.
Jan attacks Lennos with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
Thorgan’s fist rises, descends and rises again, only to stop mid air. The man beneath him lets out a painful growl before his eyes falls back into unconsciousness. Breathing heavily, Thorgan stands up, cold eyes looking around to measure up the battle…. till they find Eon. The knight who so kindly dented his whole breastplate seems to be unaware of his nearby presence. Leaping into a fluent run, he takes to pull the Hunter knight from his horse.
Thorgan attacks Eon with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Eon’s shield.
The blow lands, as Ser Ammon favors that arm. Orson notices it, but fails to realize that Ammon took him to the ground. The Baratheon lands on the ground with a tumble as his weapon falls from his hands. So does Ammon’s weapon as well. The stag in him runs strong as Orson gets up from the ground quickly, and only recoiling when his head gets flashes of white and he looks at his weapon
“A bit hardy, are we?” Orson yells as he gathers his bearings, grabs his sword tightly, and runs towards Ammon, aiming his strike at Ammon’s right shoulder.
Orson attacks Ammon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
A few kicks to the flank, and Robb finally gets his mount heading in the direction of combat again… and good thing, for there is one of his commanders in a nasty struggle against the same Baratheon he put down earlier. “Ser! Coming, ser!” Truly a green boy, to give up the advantage of surprise as he tries to convince his horse to increase to ac harging speed.
The Hunter knight is nearly caught by surprise when Thurgan tries to unhorse him with a leap. Eon is barely quick enough to catch the leap on his shield, pushing away the soldier. In response, Eon turns his horse and cuts down at the warrior.
Eon attacks Thorgan with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
It turns out the Iron Serpent doesn’t need to decide if he will help his squire of take his measure; Arros settles it for him, downing Ryckon Westerling. A nod of approval, and then, without a wasted word, Dagur is pointing to the men they had unhorsed just a few moments past—Alain and Erran—regaining their feet just a few paces away.
And with that, he moves forward, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet, driving at the man he has bested once already, Alain.
Save that at the last moment, he slides aside—shield at the ready should Alain strike at him in passing—and springs at Erran instead, blade descending in a flashing arc.
Dagur attacks Erran with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Arros gives Erran a small salute with his sword, “A pleasure to demonstrate the Beesbury’s words for you, ser,” he says. Spotting Alain who is open, the bee rushes towards him, sword and shield at the ready.
Arros attacks Alain with his sword…
...and sees his blow go astray!
Blood seeps from a split in Lennos’s lip, and the bulge of his tongue can be seen quickly checking the state of his teeth after that blow. He rocks back, and starts to fall- but with one knee already to the ground, he has more traction, and lashes out with a heavy boot toward the opening between Jan’s legs. Not the most gentlemanly of moves for friendly combat, but odds are this is not longer particularly friendly.
Lennos attacks Jan with his spear…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Jan is driven from the saddle!
Erran, to his grief, was not paying near enough attention as he should have been, and grit his teeth in pain when the Serpent’s bite found his mark, a small gasp escaping unbidden. He wheeled, snarling, “Bite at my heel, will ye? I’ll crush your skull underfoot!” He struck out, his mace flying at the Serpent’s right flank.
Erran attacks Dagur with his mass weapon…
...and misses by a narrow margin!
A veritable dive to the side keeps Alain from the Iron Serpent’s charge, nevermind that it was a mere feint on the Saltcliffe’s part. It has the happy accident of removing himself entirely from the squire’s sting. Though it causes a wince of pain, Alain executes a none too graceful pivot on the sore ankle; his stance, then, may not be as square as it should—yet out from behind that shield comes his blunted sword, skewering through the air towards the Beesbury’s vulnerable middle for a kidney shot.
Alain attacks Arros with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
But Ammon does not go for his sword; his dagger gleams in his hand. The younger man regains his feet, and is already surging towards Orson as the Baratheon stands, turns towards him. Ammon ducks low, aiming his shoulder for Orson’s waist, in an attempt to tackle the man to the ground and end this fight once and for all.
Ammon attacks Orson with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Orson is driven from the saddle!
But Thorgan, the grizzled soldier, is quick… and smart. Ducking underneath the horse, he takes out with a fist to the animal’s belly before rolling away from the sharp hooves that would definately follow.
Thorgan attacks Eon with his sword…
...and strikes him with a swift blow!
Eon is driven from the saddle!
The ironman doesn’t waste breath on replying to Erran’s bluster. Neither does he try to block that crushing blow with his shield. Instead, he takes the one exact step to the left that is needed to let it whistle past him—and somehow, in that moment that the other man is left open, thrust hard below his sword-arm, rising up, aimed squarely at his chest; even with blunted blades, that blow is hard enough to crack a rib if it lands well.
Dagur attacks Erran with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Erran is driven from the saddle!
Robb never quite makes it up to charging speed- but no matter, it seems his captain has matters under control and Robb simply waves his morningstar ineffectually. “Ah- alright, ser?” He nods toward Ammon, and then sets to looking around the field- and spies his other captain making his acquaintance with the dirt. “Ser Eon! Coming ser!” And he slowly urges his horse to turn and head that way instead.
“By the Seven!” Arros curses. Even though he is armored, it hurts. He attempted to deflect Alain’s blow with the shield, but it was no use. Somewhat shattered by the pain he nonetheless recovers, coming back in for another try.
Arros attacks Alain with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Alain’s shield.
Eon’s horse was not prepared for the strike to it’s belly, causing the horse to rear up. The less-than-nimble knight soonfinds himself on the ground, rolling to grab his sword he works to find his feet, as well as being able to regain control of his horse, taking the time to mount. Hearing Robb, he calls over, “Get that son of a bitch!”
Jan’s wounds have him taking a defensive position, ready to deflect any blow - except that one, and when Lennos’s boot finds its target, the pain becomes unbearable. Jan drops his sword and falls to the ground, again, gasping in pain. “Y-yield…” Jan manages out, eyes shut tight, but not before adding, “You bastard.”
Dagur’s intervention proved unnecessary, as Arros is perfectly capable of unhorsing Ryckon himself. The Westerling swears as he hits the ground, and again as his horse spooks and begins to run off. He shouts out to a nearby man-at-arms, “Get my horse, before it gets away! It won’t get far…” So that man is sent to pursue Ryckon’s horse as the young knight sits on the ground with his wounds. Glancing around the battlefield, he catches sight of the ladies perilously undefended, and glancing around again to make sure that he is not a center of attention he begins to make his way towards them, crouching and crawling on the ground as well as he can in mail.
This fellow managed well enough against master, and so too seems to go his initial attempts against the squire. Alain has his shield at the ready, quick and sure, for that arm has yet to suffer any damage.
This leaves him ready with another strike, and rather than thrust, Alain swings with his weight and position in good order. A solid blow, if luck will have it, otherwise it could very well unsettle his balance.
Alain attacks Arros with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Arros is driven from the saddle!
Lennos drags himself back a ways from Jan, bracing his weight on his sword. “Fierce fighter, you are. Never feels right to hit another man like that, you understand. But you’ve earned a look at our beauties… apologies for their condition, you know how it is with mean in the field…” He waves a hand at the shield of men to part…
And there are the ladies. Well. Something that looks like ladies. For what sits there, bundled into lovely dresses are two straw women with pumpkins for heads. The one in blue sports a bundle of yellow-dyed straw for hair, and the one in red a matched braid of orange straw. “Well, the are pretty. I can see why you would defend them to the last,” Lennos remarks.
Another foe downed, and again, the Iron Serpent doesn’t even wait to see Erran hit the ground, already swinging away, gaze sweeping over the chaos in the clearing. Whatever he sees there seems to satisfy him, for he turns his attention to the fight close at hand, then—his squire throwing himself at the man who had given the ironman himself a fair fight.
Just in time to see Arros bested.
No expression can be seen in the shadow of his leather helm—but he is moving, and quickly, straight for Alain.
And this bee is smashed. Arros lies on the ground and coughs, the wind knocked out of him. He sighs a big and rolls to his side, “I don’t…think…I make a good bandit.”
And the fight was over. A Baratheon defeated in battle. Was this how his father fell, underneath a man’s dagger? Was this how he yielded at a competition? Baratheon can’t do it. Somehow, the words can’t get out. But he knows he has too. His eyes are narrowed and it’s not until he fully realizes that there’s a grown knight with a dagger to his neck that he takes a deep breath. The battle rage is over and Orson manages to get the words out. “I yield.” Orson feels like he wants to put an arrow to his head and avenge this loss. But that tourney would have passed already. “Can we leave the part where I get unhorsed by the green boy out? Rather hurtful on the ego, mind.” Orson manages out as he takes a deep breath and wonders where it all went wrong.
Young Robb works up his steed to something of a gallop, at least, and charges Thorgan with his morningstar aloft, swinging wildly toward the Kingswood man’s shoulder. “Aye, ser!” He calls to Eon as his passes the prone Hunter.
Robb attacks Thorgan with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Thorgan is driven from the saddle!
A grin grows on Thorgan’s lips as the young knight hits the dirt. ” An old fox may lose his fur but not his tricks, m’lord.” Thorgan calls out before turning towards another rider coming his way. Quickly he turns…. and the next thing he sees is the ground rising to his face.
“You may tell whatever tale you wish. It makes no matter to me.” And with that, Ammon stands to survey the field, and sheaths his dagger as he does so.
But the fight is progressing well, so far as the Crackclaw Company is concerned. There are only a few pockets or resistance left, and those are quickly being put down. Ammon nods, straightens his helm, and moves to retrieve his sword and Jan’s horse.
“Let that be a fuckin’ lesson, then!” Alain growls out, feeding on his slight victory over no more than a boy—but perhaps some bitterness lingers from the squire’s master making such tidy work of losing the Kingswood man a sure saddle.
He turns on that strong ankle, then, leaving off putting weight on the other—again, a grimace shows how sore it is… and that sword arm drops rather than holds strong.
Until the sight of that Saltcliffe snaking back around and towards him sends a shock of panic through the main—he raises his shield, puts the bad foot forward to brace with the best at the back, and swings his blunted blade in a swift uppercut as the distance between them closes.
Alain attacks Dagur with his sword…
...and sees his blow go astray!
Ryckon scowls and rolls his eyes once he reaches the sight of the straw maidens. “I should have expected,” he mutters to himself, hopefully not attracting any undue attention. Straw or not, Lennos and Jan have stopped fighting and started looking at the “ladies”, making a rescue impossible, so Ryckon just stands and rolls his eyes some more.
As the Iron Serpent passes his fallen squire—leaping over his prone form, in fact—his harsh, abrupt laughter lingers behind him. Perhaps he has heard the Beesbury boy’s quip.
And then it’s time for steel against steel again and he is not laughing, simply moving past that uppercut too swiftly to be touched. And he attacks with a flurry of blows now; cut and backhand, high and low, with not even a moment’s respite.
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Jan forces open an eye when Lennos addresses him and sees the “ladies” unveiled. He blinks in surprise and then, clearly not amused, he grunts and spits to the ground in disdain. “Fake or not, you seem to play the role of a bandit pretty well. Funny that.” He tries to get to his feet, but fails, falling back face down in the dirt.
Luckily for the Kingswood greybeard, he’s left alone once he hits the ground. There’s flashed of pain in his shoulder and with a grunt, he turns on his back. With closed eyes, he starts to regain his breath, push the pain away before he suddenly feels something wet nudging his cheek. ” What…?” he mumbles as he opens his eyes, only to stare into those of his horse. ” Right on time, idiot.” Thorgan scoffs, getting up. Seeing the battle going astray for his company, he mounts and looks around with a fiery but calculating glance.
Ammon pulls himself into the saddle, sword drawn and eyes upon the field still. It is the hill that draws his eye, where some men still fight, and it is towards these men that he turns and spurs into a canter.
The speed, the cold fury of the ironman’s sword in full form leaves Alain retreating step by step, barely capable of fending off the first few blows—and utterly unable to stop those last strikes from hitting their every mark. Breath leaves his body entirely, and what strength remains to keep him standing nearly fails the man. Hewn nearly to the ground, Alain musters what will he has left to push up and out with this shield—a messy leap with sword just barely skittering past that shield to thrust out and up again, to only the gods know what end.
Alain attacks Dagur with his sword…
...and has his blow intercepted by Dagur’s shield.
Eon grins as Thorgan finds the dirt again, “Well done, Robb!” The Hunter knight. Seeing the fox rise up again, the Hunter knight spurs his horse onward again, swinging down at the Kingswoodsman.
Eon attacks Thorgan with his sword…
...and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Blow after blow rings upon Alain’s shield; this may be mock battle, but the Iron Serpent’s cold, calculated brutality is no less for it. And when the other man finds that reserve of strength to surge up, pushing with his shield and thrusting past it, Dagur moves as if it had been the very thing he had been waiting for—swinging aside on one foot, letting the momentum of the thrust go past him, pivoting in a half-circle on that foot to come around behind Alain, his blade coming around in a great, wheeling arc meant to end at the other man’s shoulder.
Dagur attacks Alain with his sword…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Again the Hunter deals a solid hard blow on Thorgan’s shoulder, forcing a painful grin upon the man’s face. The knight is an equal -if not a better- opponent so the elder soldier searches for the young lad that caught him unaware. Thorgan’s horse moves swiftly… as does his sword.
Thorgan attacks Robb with his sword…
...with no result as the two warriors battle!
Arros rises from his fall, his head whoozy from having the wind knocked out of him. He spots Dagur in battle with Alain and the pious squire reverts to his basest instincts of revenge. He charges with a howl, his blunted sword shining in the light of autumn.
Arros attacks Alain with his sword…
...and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Alain is driven from the saddle!
Robb’s eyes widen with surprise- his horse had carried him past Thorgan when he thought the man to be down. But it seems he did not stay down. The boy barely gets his shield up to meet Thorgan’s sword and almost more with instinct than any semblance of skill he swings his morningstar around toward the ribs just beneath the man’s sword arm.
Robb attacks Thorgan with his mass weapon…
...and strikes him with a hard blow!
Thorgan is driven from the saddle!
In a huff, Orson slowly starts to get off as Ser Ammon looks at the battlefield and walks away. “Just leave out the green knight part!” Orson calls out as he takes his helmet off, his long hair getting straightened out behind him. “I should ave fired off an arrow or something.” Orson mutters as he takes a deep breath and leans towards a tree and goes on to watch the battle before him.R
As his blow finds success, Eon grins darkly. This soon dissipates as the man attacks Robb, though to no avail. Taking the opportunity, the Hunter knight again cocks his arm back but before he can swing down at the man he is felled by Robb. Giving Robb a nod of approval, he wheels his horse around and assists in mopping up what remains of the Kingswoodsmen.
Good that the Iron Serpent’s sure strike to the shoulder is on the one responsible for shield, for should that sword arm suffer another of his formidable blows, the last of Alain’s reserve would surely be spent.
He cries out again from such pain, uses the force that pushes him to twist on a heel again and attempt to put sword to Serpent once more—
But the Beesbury’s sudden, unseen advance proves more than stinging—it crumples the Kingswood knight, who drops like a dead weight to the ground. After one second spent in stunned, rigid silence, Alain cringes again into that fetal curl of pain, whimpering and looking closer to tears than any worthy man should.
And from a canter to a gallop. Ammon leans close to the horse’s neck, more comfortable upon horseback after these many months of training. And as he closes the distance, he leans out, sword gelaming dully, and the blade arcs out at Alain’s shoulder blades as the Blackhand rides past—but the blade meets empty air. Alain has been felled by the squire.
Pulling his borrowed horse up, and sheathing his sword, Ammon dismounts. “Good,” he says simply, eyes surveying the field yet again. “The men learned some lessons well over the last sevenday.”
Mass weapons make for slow attacks but heavy hits if they break through. And this one does pushes every single drop of air out of Thorgan’s lungs. Grizzled, sly and experienced… nothing matters if a man doesn’t have the air to breath. Knocked of his horse, this time, Thorgan stays down.
Finally, Jan manages to get to his feet and, despondently, starts to gather his men for what’s sure to be a quiet trip back to the city. Limping down and helping any fallen Kingswood men on his way down the hill, he looks around, eyes poring over the victors. “Er, might have to ride with one of you. Where’s my fucking horse?”
And so it has come to an end, and the Crackclaw Company holds the field. The ransom remained unpaid, the women unsaved, and left to rot upon the forested floor of the Kingswood. Save for the dresses, of course.
The staunchest of men would tremble to face the wroth leveled at he who left those precious garments.
The wounded, such as they are, are helped up, the deadfall cleared, borrowed horses returned. Another competition done, and each company gaining the advantage in one. But there is one more to come, and that one will tell.