(121-05-07) The Mountain and the Sandstorm
The Mountain and the Sandstorm
Summary: A pair of bastards enjoy a sparring session.
Date: May 7, 2014
Related: None
Players:
Tameron..Wyl..

Tourney Grounds — The Reach

The Tourney Grounds stand just outside of the walls of Oldtown. There is a raised platform of several levels for noble viewers, with space for comfortable chairs and little tables to be set in place, and tall posts for canopies to be hung to keep the sun off. Not far stands the great board where the lists are kept. On the far side of the grounds rough tiered benches are available for the smallfolk, and past them there's a flat field for the knights to erect their pavilions in the grass.

The long log rail for the jousts stands right before the Lords' and Ladies' platform, with the space for the melee just beyond it. The archery butts are mounded at the Southwest edge of the grounds, where a great meadow of purple-red fireweed spreads off into the distance. The rough little narrow road to Blackcrown cuts through it.

———

It's morning, a couple hours after sunrise, and the dew on the grass has already evaporated in what promises to be a rather hot summer day. Various men and lads are making use of the space while the air is still temperate, and Ser Tameron Sand is among them. The girl he calls squire has been sent off on her steed to work on her aim while riding, which means Ser Tameron is without a sparring partner. He walks through the field, regarding the various others there, looking for another ser in need of a training companion.

The hulking figure in oiled maile and steel halfhelm that Tameron spies already afield might or might not be known to the Sand. Wyl is without an opponent at present, as most of the lowborn seek less imposing partners, and most of the highborn seek more exalted ones. Narrowed eyes watch the swordplay of a nearby pair of Hightower armsmen, not immediately noting Tameron.

Tameron, of course, notes Wyl. One cannot fail to note Wyl any more than one could fail to note a bear in the middle of the road. The sand knight considers the towering reachman for a long moment, perhaps weighing up the likelihood of surviving an encounter with the much larger man. But he tips up his chin, draws in a soft breath and begins to calmly approach the 'Wylted Flower'.

Wyl becomes aware of the smaller bastard's approach at about the time the other draws within easy earshot. Small dark eyes fix on him, and Wyl greets, "Ser Taneron," the big knight's deformed lip spoiling his enunciation. "Does the good knight wish to take the field?"

"Ser Wyl," Tameron greets with a nod. A corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile for the question, and he nods again. "He does, ser."

"Then do it," Wyl invites with a short lived smile, bending his back to pick up an unpainted wooden shield from near his feet. "Do you care to pair weapons, or to neet sword and nace?" A quick look would verify that the mace in question is a solid wooden sparring club, and no earnest weapon of war.

"Your preference, ser," Tameron replies, tugging his own sparring sword from his belt and jostling the hold on his wooden shield until it feels more properly settled in his palm. He takes a few steps away from Wyl and more properly onto the field, then gives a small nod that he's ready to begin.

Wyl nods once to Tameron's answer. "I'll cross sword with cudgel then, Ser," he responds, taking up the battered training club and rolling his right shoulder slowly once. A rap of club against shield rim to signal his own readiness, and stalks toward the Sand with heavy footfalls.

Tameron holds his ground, shield lifting as Wyl looms closer. He keeps his own blade out but not yet lifted, more intent on deflecting or avoiding the first blow of the wooden cudgel than getting his own strike in.

<COMBAT> Tameron passes.
<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield - ARMOR on Head stops the attack!

Wyl swings hard and high, overhead and down, seeking to power through Tameron's guard as the smaller knight holds his ground.

Tameron bends his knees and lifts his shield as the mace comes down. The blow is still hard enough to push the shield back, the upper half smacking the smaller knight on the head. He huffs a soft laugh, lowers the wooden shield again and smiles up at Ser Wyl. Though he is still keeping himself guarded, Tameron's blade takes a swing at the Reach bastard, this time.

<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield but MISSES!

Wyl's expression twists toward amusement at the first pass and Tameron's good humor. He doesn't relent, swinging again with another heavy wind up. The swifter Sand lands a blow to his torso that elicits a grunt, but doesn't so much as budge the big reachman.

Tameron manages to deflect Wyl's second swing with more confidence (and less smacking himself in the face), and there is a tiny flicker of pleased surprise when his sword smacks against the larger man's side.

<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).

Wyl continues to send heavy blows down at the smaller knight, a powerful diagonal swing aimed at preventing an effective dodge, but his own shieldwork is insufficient to block another of Tamerons blows to his armored belly. Another grunt, but like a particularly violent tree, Wyl doesn't stagger.

Tameron gets a blow to his chest this time, but unlike Wyl, the cudgel to the side makes him stagger a step back. He huffs out a rush of breath that may not be entirely voluntary before he corrects his stance and moves a step forward. Advancing on Wyl, if one can call it that, considering the size disparity.

<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield - ARMOR on Left Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield - Moderate wound to Left Arm (Reduced by Armor).

Wyl smashes his cudgel into Tameron's shield with a series of bludgeoning blows, seeking to overwhelm the Sand's defense with brute force. His own maile absorbs Tameron’s riposte without effect.

Tameron manages to keep his shield up for a time, but the rain of blows knocks it too low, and then the cudgel comes down on his arm hard enough that the shield nearly drops. Tameron makes a low sound in his throat, sucks a steadying breath in through his nose and, his own endurance flagging, makes a bid for a more aggressive charge.

<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield but MISSES!

Wyl isn't fast enough to block Tameron's sudden aggression, though another blow if the Sand's broadsword bruises his ribs through the maile, he continues to fight as an immovable object, seeking to shove Tameron back with his shield in order to repay blow for blow.

Tameron manages to get his sword beneath the cudgel and the shield, and makes a sound jab at the other man's chest. Which… would perhaps do more if Wyl were not so bloody enormous. "Not sure if I should be fighting you or hiking up you," the younger knight pants. But the quicker, more offensive movement served him well, and he tries for another quick strike, putting more of his weight behind it.

<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield but MISSES!

"Swords nake for poor pickaxes," Wyl advises dryly, the constant heavy swings starting to sap his own endurance. A subtle note of humor colors the words, but with a grunt he again rains down a punishing overhead blow of the club on Tameron.

Overeager, his sword only bounces off of Wyl's shield, while the club bounces much more firmly down onto Tameron's head. The young knight takes a step back and gives that head a hard shake before raising his guard a little. "They make poor weapons against mountains, too."

<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield and MISSES!

Wyl is struck yet again by the swift Sand's sword, but rather like hacking at a pillar, he may be damaged, but doesn't fall. "How nany cuts does a Dornishnan need to cut down a nere Flower?" he wonders, ugly face bent between heaving breaths with a tight smile, clearly enjoying the match, even as he seeks to end it.

Tameron huffs out another laugh between his own heavy breaths as his sword strikes true once more. "I may yet manage to answer that, ser," he replies around his smile. He takes as much pleasure in the spar is his opponent, it seems.

<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield but MISSES!
<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

"If the Sandstorn will still for a nonce, I'll finish the contest. Though this club is as poor against quicksand as your sword is for cutting nountains," Wyl volleys back.

"A still sandstorm is just a dune," Tameron points out as he ducks under the other man's swing, and his sword jabs a light and glancing blow off Wyl's chest. "Which would be much less impressive."

<COMBAT> Tameron attacks Wyl with Sword & Shield - Light wound to Right Leg (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Wyl attacks Tameron with Bludgeon & Shield and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Wyl has been KO'd!

"Aye, and I could crush a dune-" Wyl starts to retort, taking a vicious hack at Tameron's head that misses high, as the Sand strikes a blow to his leg that does what all the blows to his torso could not: unbalance the giant. He stumbles to one knee with a grunt. "Well struck."

Tameron stands, his sword pointing at Wyl as the smaller knight gasps for breath. "I guess sometimes a sandstorm can weather a mountain. If it pricks frequently enough." The wooden blade lowers, the shield is dropped and Tameron offers his hand to Wyl. Not that the huge man needs help or that Tam could really heft him if he did, but it's the gesture that counts. "That was well-fought, ser. Thank you for the match."

Wyl accepts the token aid, and is gracious enough to rise without significantly leaning on Tameron, sparing him the massive weight. "The thanks are due you, Ser. An honor to trade strikes with a chanpion of the Trial of Seven. Ny condolences on the death if your knight, Ser."

Tameron ducks his head a moment at the mention of Ser Osric before he says, "The seven have a strange way about them, to fell the knight most devoted to them in such a duel. Thank you for your condolences. He was a good man and he is greatly missed."

"How else should the Seven collect a great knight but in holy conbat?" Wyl wonders plainly. He does not press the subject further. "Ser Wyl Flowers, at your service, Ser," he belatedly names himself.

Tameron smiles faintly, "They should not collect him," he says, perhaps a touch sacrilegiously, "at least not so young." He offers Ser Wyl another nod. "Ser Tameron Sand at yours, ser. A pleasure to meet you."

"The Stranger collects us all, Ser. Let hin wait awhile, eh?" Another twist of his lip in a smile, and Wyl notes, "A fine pass. Swiftness such as yours is an opponent I do not often face. A fair lesson."

"Size and power such as your are an uncommon adversary as well," Tameron agrees, blinking up at Ser Wyl. "Perhaps we might make a habit of this, and learn from the other's strengths."

Wyl inclines his head to the suggestion, "Agreed, Ser. Though for this day, I would offer you a drink as the victor."

Tameron smiles, though there's something a mite sheepish in it. "I… don't drink, ser. Not alcohol. But a small bite to eat or some juice as the day grow hot, I would be much obliged for."

Wyl peers down at Tameron's sheepish admission. He considers how to answer the statement, but- unable to settle on a polite enough method of asking 'the fuck you say?' the hulking bastard voices instead "As you say, then."

A corner of Tameron's mouth quirks in unspoken acknowledgement of the unasked query. "To the Quill, then, ser?"

"To the Quill," Wyl assents, with a short nod. "Once the aketons have been hung out to dry," he adds, not intent on walking into the tavern wearing a sweat soaked gambeson.

"Mmm," Tameron agrees removing his helm and pushing the coif of chainmaile from his hair. Sitting in armor and padding doesn't sound especially appealing to the Dornish bastard, either.

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