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11 days ago
Current I thought everybody knew that the roundest knight at King Arthur's table was Sir Cumference?
16 days ago
Please stand by. Regular Selune is having a meltdown. Programming will resume as normal whenever I can surpress overwhelming stress in a healthy way.
3 mos ago
Roleplay man, roleplay man, does whatever a roleplay can. Does he write? Not at all. He brings plots to a stall, look out... He’s a fucking ghost.
6 mos ago
I just sat down to write a reply, accidentally held the 'a' key down, watched as I wrote 'a' several hundred times, then calmly closed the tab.
7 mos ago
Being an adult is realising that just because you CAN eat an entire tub of raw cookie dough doesn't mean you SHOULD eat the entire tub of raw cookie dough.


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The last OOC post was two months ago.
"A please Miss Rowena. I'm Father Giles McNamara, at your service." He paused, looking towards the front coaches. Something seemed rather off about the silence that came from the front. "It seems likely that there will have been more injury. I came from the middle I'm afraid, I haven't been able to assess the damage up there." The church might have deep pockets, but First Class sleeper train accommodation was not one of the things that was covered. Before he could consider more, a violin began playing, the confessor screwing his eyes shut at the sudden auditory incursion. "It seems to me as if every musician in Perafidion was making their way to Temnorpool." Shaking his head, he would rest his hand on the handle of his gun.

"Well. I suppose if you have this well in hand, I shall head to the front and see what help can be rendered." Tipping the brim of his hat, he would walk his way towards the front. As he did so, he looked into the forest, the hackles on his neck rising up. Something felt distinctly wrong about this... If it had been a robbery, surely there would have been some evidence of this- armed men coming for their valuables. If it was merely an accident, as unfortunate as that was, why did he feel such a deep sense of dread?

Squinting his eyes further into the gloom, assisted slightly by his lantern, he would finally come to a realisation. The front of the train was missing. Not partially, or damaged, but gone, as if it had been cut off and whipped away by some perturbed deity. His lantern seemed to throw off less light as he held it up, but before he could discern more he found himself face-to-face with two figures. One was the archaic warrior whom he had suggested investigate the front... And the other was a rather noble looking woman carrying an epee.

Securing his hatchet against his belt, the investigator would bob the lantern a little in greeting. "I see you've made an acquaintance already. Rather an excellent thing to do... And since I forgot to mention my name to you when we first met, I must apologise and introduce myself to the both of you properly. I am Father Giles McNamara."
Welcome welcome! Honestly, I'm pretty sure half of the people here don't sleep well, so you're in sympathetic hands!
Basically, I've been playing For Honour again, and it's brought me back around the the age old question of who would win between X warrior culture and X warrior culture. So, why not bring it to the spam forum where history nerds from all walks of life can endlessly bitch about it! The only caveat to this will be that the two warriors have to have at least a somewhat fair starting group. Aztec warrior vs Viking is fair, although they come from different time periods. Viking vs US Marine is not fair, because all that's going to happen is that the viking is going to get shot.

So, with that I'll kick us off with one of the potential battles in For Honour: Knights vs Samurai.

For a fair comparison, I can actually take the same warriors from the same timeframe. We'll use a mid-15th century knight and samurai for this, which was a pretty good time for both types of warriors as far as battlefield dominance goes. On the one side we have a European knight, in full plate armour and with a longsword, (that is, a sword that is carried in two hands, not an arming sword.) Against him, we can put up a 15th century samurai. Pre Nanban trade, westernised armour styles had not yet been introduced to Japan, so we can safely say that the samurai would be wearing a dou, and although the daisho as a symbol of authority had been established at this time, we'll give the samurai a naginata rather than the nodachi, since the latter was more used on horseback.

Both of the warriors are highly mobile and well-protected for their respective styles of warfare. Unfortunately for the samurai though, he has a bit of a problem in that the highly valued art of kyujutsu isn't going to serve him well here- his opponent's armour makes him very resistant to arrows fired from a composite yumi. Luckily for him however, full plate isn't conducive to firing a bow either, which means melee it is.

In a melee, the knight has a core advantage in that his armour makes him near-invulnerable to slashing blows, and moderately well against piercing attacks such as from a spear. On the other hand, the samurai's armour will struggle against western swords- although the dou is also excellent against slashing blows, the longsword can be used as a piercing and even crushing weapon if the knight is familiar with half-swording or mordhau.

That being said, the samurai does have one advantage- the weapon he is using is very similar to the western glaives, weapons that were excellent at capitalising on the chinks in an opponents armour. We can reason that the samurai is probably sensible enough to realise this, and thus the battle comes down to who can land the first meaningful blow. Although by exploiting the additional range of his weapon the samurai can put up an excellent fight, and may even begin to draw blood from the knight, his armour is far less forgiving of mistakes than the knight's is, and ultimately the heavier-armoured warrior can claim victory. Score one for the knights.

Agree with me? Disagree? Want to argue an entirely different battle? Feel free to! That's what this is here for.
Bump. Looking for one.
The good Father had just begun his walk when his ears were serenaded by a peculiar tune- a hymn. His ears pricked up, and his eyes began searching for the individual that brought such hope to this dark time, but before he could, a man with most peculiar style had appeared. In all honesty, McNamara hadn't seen an individual wearing such garb since he was a young boy and a sword and shield had still been the symbols of the guard in many a city. To show a preference like that... The man was either very foolish, or a very experienced veteran. His words were true though, and that was what mattered.

"Another follower? I would presume her to be the individual who is so serenading us." He would tilt his head upwards, but a slight breeze chose then to waft the sound away from his ears. Maurice- his apprentice, such as he was, wanted permission to begin assisting people. "It's Father my dear boy. Sir if you absolutely insist on the military ranks, but the light renders us all equal- nobody is another's master." Perhaps the upper classes needed to be reminded of that some day. "Go, lend some assistance to them, by all means."

Once Maurice had been handled, he would turn back to the archaic footman. "Your help would be much appreciated. Can you perhaps go to the front and find out what caused us to stop in such a violent fashion? if you encounter anyone else with enough sense of duty to take care of their fellow man, perhaps ask them to assemble here at the back. That way, we might be able to come to a goodly number of the survivors."

Reaching up and scratching the little bit of stubble on his face, McNamara would settle his hat more firmly on his head. Hopefully the soldier would do as he had been bid, leaving him to take up his carrying case once more and attempt to find the dame that was singing. His feet would carry him down along the tracks, to where the rear coaches would come into view proper. The flicker of candle and lantern hid the worst of it, but it was still a terrible sight to see.

The last two carriages lay like great beached beasts, forming a rough semicircle of shattered timber and scrap metal. Glass shards covered the ground, crunching underneath each step, and here and there individuals both living and dead would lie, the ground soaking up the blood that trickled down. It was a small blessing that it had been dry- for at least a manageable campfire might be constructed. His explorations to the rear would find the source of the song- a tall, blonde woman wearing some peculiar clerical clothes.

"Sister," he said, with a slight relief in his voice. "It is good to see another confirmed of the faith. Did you see what happened here at the time of the crash?"

The Northern Spirit was an overnight train that passed from the west of Perafidion across to the East, making numerous stops in order to restock its supplies of fuel, the food that was served every morning, midday and eve in the dining carriage, and the passengers that would inevitably spend their money in the dining carriage. A third-class ticket, in a rear carriage and in poor conditions, was not a great expense, whereas an opportunity to sequester oneself in the first-class coaches near the front would run an individual no small sum.

Father Giles McNamara, along with a young, fit lad by the name of Maurice Mirtowitz, were neither in the poorest nor the richest place. Instead they found themselves in a comfortable, if slightly spartan, second-class carriage, the evening's opening of the dining carriage about to occur shortly. For his part, McNamara was quite calmly lying over the covers on the lower of the bunks, leafing through a clergyman's edition of the Third Testament of Joseph, a rather informative book covering the travels of an early prophet and firebrand of the Light.

The small cabin was illuminated by a weakly spitting candle, which meant that he had to constantly pause to allow for the flame to pick up after it sputtered thanks to a bump or rattle- which was near-constantly. He had gotten through three pages in approximately forty minutes, and it was beginning to irritate him. He didn't want to overly strain his eyes- blindness was a malady he hoped to very much avoid.

It was just when he was about to give up when the journey was suddenly and dramatically interrupted. An ear-splitting bang split the night, and with a jolt that could be felt through McNamara's bones the train came to an instant stop. The carriage he was in wobbled slightly in place, threatening to tip over and send them crashing to the side, but slowly managed to stabilise. Unfortunately, it seemed that further down such a catastrophe had not been avoided so cleanly, with a less loud, but by no means quiet crashing sound, screams, shouts and cries echoing out across the train.

The sudden jerk had sent the candle toppling to the carpeted floor, where already it was threatening to ignite. A swift boot down to the ground crushed the fledgling flame as it grew- the Light's more destructive aspect was not appreciated at a time such as this. Turning and looking at the young man that he had taken as an apprentice, Giles was a whirlwind of action immediately. "In a crisis, it is up to those of the faith to guide and educate those who are not familiar with how to handle themselves. Never must we allow ourselves to be passive bystanders." He kept his voice even as he reached for his travelling case- retrieving his pistol and six shots, before placing his book into it and snapping it shut.

Calmly, he broke the gun open and slotted in the two shells. Snapping it smartly back, he carefully half-cocked the two chambers, and then tucked the gun into a pocket of his heavy coat, making certain that it would neither topple out, nor be inconvenient to retrieve in an instant. "Equally however," he said, continuing the level, "dashing out without first adequately preparing oneself for the trials that they might face is negligent, and should also be avoided." The priest would take a lantern that had thankfully not shattered itself, ignited it, and then placed it on the small table in the room. "Take that would you please? My hands can but carry two things at once." The last things he would take would be his hat, and then the axe that had fallen from where it rested at the end of the bunk. with a firm grasp on the haft, and the other on the handle of his case, he would open the door to the small room they had gotten and entered the corridor, looking out.

Despite the time, with the sun having dipped below the horizon, it was fairly bright outside. The moon seemed large, and beamed down, shedding more light than the miserly amount given out by various light sources from the train. Just beside the tracks were thick and heavy forest, the workmen responsible for laying the tracks likely having hewn the sleepers from the same wood, with an excess of labour of course. Heading to the door normally used to a calm disembarkation onto a station, the older man would place his case down and then reach for the handle, clicking it open. Unlocked. Interesting.

A short hop down, and then he would look up and down the carriages. To the rear, he could see one... Two of the coaches on their sides. That was where the majority of the noises of human misery came from. The front however... Although less damaged, the quiet that came from the very front- where the boiler and the train driver would sit, was suspicious to him. He would no doubt be investigating that, but first... To the rear. Lend his assistance to those in the greatest need of it.
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