by Cpt._Funkotron » Sat Jul 08, 2017 7:36 pm
What follows is one of the closest and most exciting duels in living memory. The entire castle has gathered to Watch Sirs Terwynn and Jaradan clang swords in the snow-covered courtyard for love and marriage, including the Earl and the Countess to the lowliest scullion. The rules of engagement specify the victor to be the first to knock their opponent to the ground twice. Many betters assume that Jaradan's victory is a foregone conclusion, but come to watch the dance of shining blades anxiously.
What Terwynn lacks in strength and raw mass, being rather petite in comparison to her opponent or her better-known comrade Arcadia, she more than makes up for in agility, balance, and grace. She opens very well, planting a series of solid strikes that send her prospective husband maneuvering backwards, but not downwards. Jaradan of course, being the best swordsman in all Salisbury, finds his footing, ripostses, and wins the first point, bringing his bated blade hard down on Terwynn's shield at an opportune moment, forcing her to follow it to the ground. He steps back to let her return to her feet. Once she has done so, he himself takes the offensive, and this is where the real excitement begins.
He slashes and hacks and bashes and thrusts, onto, over, under her guard, sideways, backways, frontways, but Terwynn resists him, and after a full four minutes, executes her own riposte, holding her shield high, swinging low to the side and buckling his knee from behind. He keels over like a great stone and crashes to the ground, to the shock and uproarious cheers of the audience. He climbs to his feet and faces Terwynn. He is smiling devilishly. He can't remember the last time he faced a true challenge to his skill. The pair square off for the final round. Even in the dead of winter, after the five minute battle, beads of sweat roll down their brows. Their swords meet again, and after another bout of ryrhmic scraping, Jaradan disarms her. Instead of rushing in to his victory, he chooses sportsmanship, or perhaps showmanship, backs off and lets her reclaim her weapon.
The last minute of battle is the most anxious of them all, with the continuing pattern of Jaradan's expert barrage thwarted by Terwynn's preposterous dexterity, until at last, he gains the advantage. She swings again at his legs, but he's ready for her. He meets her blade with his shield and reaches over her own to thrust downward at her mailed chest, not hard enough to cause more than rather painful bruise, but hard enough and high enough to tip her backwards onto the snowy ground. Jaradan is the victor. Cheering and clapping ripple through the crowd. "Ruddy good show!" booms Sir Amig, to popular consensus. "Kiss her!" someone shouts.
Jaradan is of course more than happy to oblige. he casts aside his sword and shield, helps her to her feet, takes hold of her head, and siezes his prize, a long deep kiss. If the crowd wasn't in a collective fit of hysteria, they are now. He breaks it off only when breathing can be ignored no longer.
"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll have you to wife after all"