Stories Thread

[Cecil XIX]

Having charged forward full speed, Raymond stops just short of Gaspard when he sees him advance slowly with the rest of the red team. He points a mailed finger at his vassal, and once again calls out for all to hear.

All right! Gaspard, I must request that you and I fight right now! I want to see what you're made of, so consider this a challenge! Sir Hermant, Sir Loup, I beg for your non-interference!

[Ignoramus]

Looking at his Duc, Gaspard grasps his reigns and shouts out.

Certainly, my Duc! It will be an honour.

[AussieGiant]

Paris 1080 shortly before the tournament

Alain spread his arms wide as Pierre-Yves pulled his scale mail hauberk into place.

"You know Yves, I would much ra'zer be thrashing young maidens zan doing all zis marshal bollocks."

"Thrashing my lord, why would you want to be thrashing maidens, isn't that a bit cruel?" Pierre Yves raised a sardonic brow as he fetch his lords gauntlets.

"Oh for god sake Yves you know ze type of zrashing I'm talking about.

I mean what ze bloody point of all zis? 'as ze King actually pointed out w'at ze reward is?"

"Well no...'

"Oh shut up Yves zat is a bloody r'etorical question. You know 'e 'as not and so do I."

The Duke scans the weapons rack, speaking to his man servant behind while never taking his eyes from the selection of fine weapons before him.

"We are surround by ze god damn English and we should be planning for war, instead we are strutting around ze tourney field showing off like a bunch of startled gazelles."

Running a hand over his fathers sword, his eyes then scan a large lead weighted mace viscous spikes protruding from the top and sides. It was his preferred weapon if this was a real fight, but alas it was just a tournament so his hand finally rested on a shortened lance used by knights while on foot.

He took it and in his left hand hefted his Ducal shield.

Turning and pacing from the room Alain begins to absentmindedly spin the lance over and over in rapid succession, the weapon blurring with the blinding speed of its masters skill.

Alain disappears outside of the tent, Pierre-Yves following, under his breath he says to no one.

"God help us if you actually put you mind to anything serious, you might be rather terrifying."

"Keep up Yves, I can't 'ave you lagging be'ind me all ze time. You really must concentrate on being a better servant, I can't 'ave your attitude becoming public, it just wouldn't be good form.

As they head towards the tournament field the Duke voice bellows once more.

"Madoc!! You stinking 'ound, stop shagging ze small shild and come 'ere!!"