Knight of Wessex (A Written World Quest)

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The early hours of the Tournament were typically a period of jockeying for position among the Melee's participants, as experts sought out good matchups, avoided poor ones, and locked blades and arms to see which of them deserved victory in the eyes of God and King. Several battles had already begun even now–the quiet flood of Fervor, the immaterial pressure of Maegen, even the occasional rash of color from dripping Ordstirr began to fill the trees and fields of Winchestershire's countryside as the best and brightest of the present generation sought to discern which reigned supreme among their fellows.

So it was that Audrey Eotenslaga and Jory Grouse began their battle with a thunderous crash–the Squire drawing a fine throwing axe–a gift from Sir Vieux after mastering the technique he had granted her–and hurling it across the void between the two youths. To his credit, the Aspirant of Gareth quickly brought his shield up to defend himself, angled to deflect the weapon without harm.

Carrying Fervour deep within though, and whirling in a way he was unfamiliar with–the Francisca nonetheless bit deep, cracks running through the shield as the boss shattered, splinters of broken iron and ruined wood spilling off from where the throwing axe landed. Rendered useless in the opening stroke of the battle. Not an ideal state of affairs–but it nonetheless gave Jory Grouse a chance to retaliate, for he threw the ruins of his shield forward at Audrey's face–though shielded by her helm's faceplate, it nonetheless triggered the usual human instinct to blink when detecting a threat to the sensitive eyes, no matter how narrow the window to damage them was.

An opening Jory made full use of, slinking down low as he evaded Audrey's attention for just a moment, well-practiced steps and trained balance allowing him to stay just a thought's breadth ahead of her reaction until he could close the distance–a pulse of loam-gold radiance spilling across his mail from his heart as he clasped his weapon in two hands, a blade to hammer through the Squire's defenses–and true enough, for all Audrey's reaction was swift indeed, it remained a thought too slow–the needle-sharp iron blade struck for what should have been a gap in her plate.

Yet it was not to be! Woven threads of Hama had already filled the void surrounding the Eotenslaga Heiress, a projection of force to foul moving strikes, the vessel extended beyond flesh alone to arrest the mighty stroke–though several strands frayed worryingly from the force of the blow, and despite her training in the field–her plate was still touched, even if the damaging impetus was lost by then.

Truly, Audrey Eotenslaga had chosen her first challenge well! One with strength enough to meet her blow for blow–even if his defeat was still inevitable. She grinned like a maddened maenad from antiquity–an expression she would never dare to show save when protected by the impassive protection of her visor, while Jory Grouse's sword remained tangled in her Hama threads, she stepped closely into his guard! Flickers of black-red lightning gathered around her pommel, weak and unstable–sure–but no less real.

It was not the work of a sage to understand that this was alarming to any with a rudimentary understanding of the Eotenslaga–and as a dynasty that straddled the border between the two cousin-kingdoms of southern Britannia, it was not surprising that Jory Grouse visibly tensed up at the sight–though it seemed he was not reacting as swiftly as he perhaps should have.

But was this not in a way a sign of wisdom? Much of the world knew of the Giant-Killing Blow of the Eotenslaga–an all-out stroke that would nigh-certainly end a battle, if not warded off in some fashion. Not something that can be wielded by anything short of the full strength of the human body and soul directed at a single task.

This must have been a feint, what else could it be?

It was that confusion that allowed Audrey to slip her pommel strike just beneath Jory's defenses, the hungry black-red lightning clawing and shrieking with the scent of ozone and burning foliage.

Yet Jory Grouse's surcoat remained unstained–a shell of loamy light manifesting at the point of contact. The Black Scratch warred against the Phantom Armor of the Brythonic Knights, and both found themselves depleted in the clash.

"The hell was that?!" Jory cried out. Backing off with a swing of his sword–this was new! An element of the tearing force of the Giant Killing Blow that could be wielded from any stance? Though it lacked the same strength–or even refinement–of the Eotenslaga signature, the added flexibility made it a terrible threat!

"A little something I cooked up for this contest, did you like it?" Audrey chirped, fully bound by the battle-joy that filled her heart in a fair contest against a worthy foe. Jory's blade danced in response, a half-dozen probes made and discarded in the blink of the mortal eye before he settled on a simple warding slash–all to gain a few precious inches of space to re-assess the situation.

It was his second mistake of this battle–a half-hearted blow against an aspiring Knight of Wessex was worse than counter-productive, even if they weren't among the Eotenslaga! Audrey lunged forward as the slash rang out, catching the incoming slash across one of her pauldrons–the attached free-arm snaking around the hilt and grasping Jory's wrist, wrenching his guard firmly open. Once again, the Black-Red Lightning gathered along Audrey's blade, her heart exulting in victory as the Giant-Slaying Blow finally bore its fangs!

But Jory Grouse was still a scion of an old lineage, and even here in what should have been checkmate–he could count on the deeds of his forefathers to garner just that little bit of extra edge. An amulet around his neck–a simple wooden cross–suddenly burned like a harvest-gold field, and Audrey found herself hurled backward! Sword flung out of her hands and footing lost as a wave of concerted force met with Black-Red Lightning of the Eotenslaga and found itself the master of the day.

Perhaps this could have been a disaster for a less seasoned fighter, unable to adapt to a surprise. But Audrey Eotenslaga had crossed iron with Norse Raiders and Bandits, she had matched wits with Thanes and Peers, and been trained by one of the most experienced Knights in the Kingdom. Her Hama surged from below, strands of gossamer-thin strength dragging her blade back to hand, correcting her posture in the air, and compressing as she bent her knees, the Ground surging up to meet her feet on her terms.

Her eyes widened then–as she saw Jory flying across the land to face her, brown-gold light radiating from his heart and eyes as he grasped fine iron in both hands, driving down on what should have been an exposed, vulnerable Squire.

Her ancestral blade returned to hand, her Hama braced her against the ground–and her sword intercepted the Aspirant of Gareth's attack. The clash of spiritual force and roused Fervour shaking the trees and grass between the two fighters, Audrey's Hama struggling to disperse the force of the blow.

But disperse it did, and both fighters broke off for a moment to get their breath.

"By the Lord, Sir Eotenslaga!" Jory laughed, with just a trace of hysteria–the Phantom Armor slowly recondensing itself in this brief moment with impressive speed and effectiveness. "You're really something, aren't you? The Giant Slaying Blow, whatever that little trick of yours with the pommel? You're truly something special, aren't you?"

"Hmph!" It wasn't the time to preen over it, not in the middle of battle, but Audrey was rather appreciative of the regard of a worthy rival. "Of course I am! I've worked very hard to reach this point, it'd be strange if I wasn't this strong, especially given the quality of my teacher, wouldn't you say?"

"True, true." Jory agreed, his breath reclaimed–only as he set himself into a new posture–pointing the tip of his blade directly at Audrey, with his off-hand bracing it with the flat. "Back to it then?"

"Of course, we can't keep the worthies in the audience waiting too long, can we?" Audrey grinned, raising her guard once more. "Shall we finish this then?"

"Please." Jory's voice showed a hint of anticipation–and then his shone, his power surging two… No, threefold! That same terrifying force from before, released only instants after the previous one?

Audrey couldn't let this happen–she clicked her heels into the Hama overlaying the ground, her speed accelerating with the force of her magical boots as she wrapped herself in the energies of the Black Scratch, her iron sword finding a brief gap in his regrowing Phantom Armor and scorching the surcoat for the first time in this clash. That had left a mark! Even now, Audrey could see the mail around the point of contact beginning to corrode. One, maybe two blows like that, and it would be completely breached!

But the energies Jory was gathering intensified–and by instinct, Audrey leaped back–only to realize her mistake. A feint! It was merely a kick that wouldn't have hurt her even through her plate! He just used the gathering of his might to disguise it!

His Phantom Armor pulled itself back together, Audrey extending her Hama to correct her flight in mid-air–but she could already sense the window to avoid what was happening had just closed, and it was time to prepare for the consequences.

So be it.

In a flash of brown-gold radiance and martial strength, Jory Grouse's thrust struck out like a landslide in the shape of a Wyrm. Her Hama sought to arrest it, only to be shredded to nigh-uselessness. Her plate sought to cast it aside, but the force was beyond what mere Rebuke could withstand.

Rung like a bell, Audrey Eotenslaga was flung backward, a blow with enough force to piece Hama, overwhelm Rebuke…

But it did not pierce her plate!

She had the measure of Jory now–and by extension, all of those who followed the same tradition. Their magic was not like hers–not a well that filled and could be drawn upon freely–but better described as a series of chalices of various sizes. It was good to have more of them, obviously–and his power grew when they were kept well supplied. However the flow rate was limited, and mightier techniques represented deeper vessels.

To strike her with that technique so quickly after the previous example? That must have been one of his trump cards–which meant that he was vulnerable now.

Perhaps if she exerted herself harder, she may have been able to repulse this attack entirely–but the idea of responding to Jory's finest technique with her own appealed to her sensibilities, to return the favor in kind.

She landed bodily, smashing through the first tree she struck, careening towards the bush… All the while, leaving strings and lines of tension in her Hama behind her, attaching them to everything she could find. straining as her Web was pushed beyond the breaking point.

But many strings could do things that singular strands could not–and enough held together to finally surpass her backward motion. She spun in the air, landing softly on the bush, her Hama supporting her in place, the tension she had built up all this time linked with her footing.

She looked up, meeting Jory's eyes through their respective visors. He had just a moment of dawning realization at what was about to happen.

But by then, it was too late.

For every action, came an equal and opposite reaction. Though this principle had not been properly laid out by a sage just yet–the rule is still one that every living being intuitively understands. Through the distribution of her Web and its linking to her Footing, she had stored the energy of Jory's mighty blow.

Though her armor was damaged, she could return the favor in spades!

The bush–and the landscape behind it for a time exploded into particles of shredded foliage, as Audrey Eotenslaga bounced back, sword trailing the full force of the Giant-Slaying Blow.

This time, there was no magic amulet to shift the outcome.

Thunder echoes, and the sky quivers.

The battle had reached its conclusion.

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"Ow! Ow!" Jory complained, his mail torn and rent where Audrey's sword struck home, only his iron physique keeping the damage as light as it was. "You didn't hold anything back there, did you? Not concerned about keeping anything for later?"

Audrey indulged in a smug look. "Oh, I'm certain I'll be fine, nothing I've used here is beyond what I'll recover from a brisk walk–you, on the other hand…" She gestures magnanimously in his direction.

[ ] Are Now My Prisoner: Claim the Ransom from the defeat of Jory Grouse, earning 5 Wealth by the end of the Melee.
[ ] Are Free to Go: Allow Jory to depart the tournament with his wargear intact. You gain no Wealth but show magnanimity in a victory against an honorable foe.

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You have claimed victory in your first battle, but the Melee continues.

It is now Late Morning

[0] Jory Grouse (RETIRED)
[ ] Margh Grouse (Brythonic Cultivator - Gawain. Strengths: Strength waxes as Midday Approaches - STRENGTH INCREASED)
[ ] Asveig Moontouched (Norse Cultivator - EXTREMELY HIGH DANGER, VICTORY INCREDIBLY UNLIKELY - Status: Has claimed two minor Ransoms, is playing King of the Hill in a nice corner of the battlefield)
[ ] Osric Eotenslaga (Anglo-Saxon Thane - Strengths: Punching Up, Bonus: Chance to learn new Martial Style Rotes – CHANCE OF THIRD PARTY INTERVENTION, a Grace Check will be rolled to determine the degree of such)
[ ] Leave it to God (Grace Check to determine Opponent for this Round)

Furthermore, you have a choice to make, while the damage wasn't serious, you did take 30 damage to your Armor, bringing it down to 70. While your Hama will have regenerated by the next round, your Armor will not–except through the expenditure of Zeal and an Armor Charge. Do note that while the Zeal you can spend on repairing your Armor is not capped, your Armor Charges are, and thus, you will only have two opportunities to regenerate your Armor throughout the Melee.

[ ] Use an Armor Charge (-3 Zeal, -1 Armor Charge, Armor Repaired to full)
[ ] Do Not Use an Armor Charge (Armor remains at 70/100 for the next match)

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AN: Well, that ended up escalating a bit, the fight ended well though! Enjoy!