NytefallGot to keep an eye on the competition
MelonHead
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It's usually a bad idea to strike with force using what essentially amounts to a spear into a wooden shield, because of the likelihood of it getting stuck (the lance's ability to ignite it with time would be moot when we're talking about split second movements, unless you're suggesting your lance has lightsaber like qualities, which would be far beyond this tier level) which would make it easy for the shield user to disarm the spearman, or at most tangle them up for the necessary time for the swordsman to close.
It's obviously possible for the scales to be pierced, but when utilized on a shield and held at an angle from the strike it would be difficult for pressure to be exacted in such a way that the point would make purchase. The spear would have to hit the shield/scales head on, or from below, to have the best chance. Obviously Sigurd is not likely to let his shield be hit head on, because Vikings (which is what his fighting style is based off roughly) didn't use shields in that fashion.
If the lance pierced the scales, I suspect it would break through the wood like I mentioned before so the crowbar motion would be unnecessary, but I wouldn't necessarily call that beneficial.
Also, feel free to look anything I say up, if you find someone disproving me let me know, I'm only running on what I've heard HEMA experts say and what I've read in historical sources. I'm a modern history student predominantly, medieval and ancient histories are a hobby, not my degree.
It's obviously possible for the scales to be pierced, but when utilized on a shield and held at an angle from the strike it would be difficult for pressure to be exacted in such a way that the point would make purchase. The spear would have to hit the shield/scales head on, or from below, to have the best chance. Obviously Sigurd is not likely to let his shield be hit head on, because Vikings (which is what his fighting style is based off roughly) didn't use shields in that fashion.
If the lance pierced the scales, I suspect it would break through the wood like I mentioned before so the crowbar motion would be unnecessary, but I wouldn't necessarily call that beneficial.
Also, feel free to look anything I say up, if you find someone disproving me let me know, I'm only running on what I've heard HEMA experts say and what I've read in historical sources. I'm a modern history student predominantly, medieval and ancient histories are a hobby, not my degree.
Hard blue eyes watched the approach, a subtle shifting in footwork to follow the changing line was all that came in response from the Northman. His left side was covered from further encroachment by the rock just three feet over, so further action was unnecessary as he awaited her opening gambit. Sigurd was playing his cards close to his chest, revealing little as only one who had reached the age where experience and energy balanced could do so. His sword very slowly edged forward as his stance grew tenser, predicting what was to come. With an impressive, but manageable, speed the Spearwoman lunged forward. Indeed, her lance was oddly difficult to track as it exhibited qualities of heated metal in a forge, but Sigurd was watching her body not the point of the spear. Everything he needed to know was revealed to him by the position of her arm, shoulder and feet.
His curiosity was arisen immediately by the target for her attack. Seeing a shield, most spearmen would strike for the head or the legs. Had Sigurd’s shield been just ordinary wood, his foe may have just made a grievous error. However, it was anything but ordinary. Draped in the scaly magical hide of a dragon, it repelled the encroaching spear-head in short order, magic and all. The spear-head shot off a little way past his left side, barely effecting the Northman. He instinctively blocked off the line with his shield, preventing her quickly adjusting and cutting him as she retracted the weapon. He could have closed immediately, but even with the disadvantage of reach, only fools rush in.
What his foe could have read from his defence would be questionable. She had struck at the strongest point in Sigurd’s defence and so his reaction had been minor at best. Perhaps she planned to capitalise on the Northman’s inaction in some way? Sigurd was not perturbed, a fight such as this could be decided on a single mistake and he could already guess what it would be and when it would come.
His curiosity was arisen immediately by the target for her attack. Seeing a shield, most spearmen would strike for the head or the legs. Had Sigurd’s shield been just ordinary wood, his foe may have just made a grievous error. However, it was anything but ordinary. Draped in the scaly magical hide of a dragon, it repelled the encroaching spear-head in short order, magic and all. The spear-head shot off a little way past his left side, barely effecting the Northman. He instinctively blocked off the line with his shield, preventing her quickly adjusting and cutting him as she retracted the weapon. He could have closed immediately, but even with the disadvantage of reach, only fools rush in.
What his foe could have read from his defence would be questionable. She had struck at the strongest point in Sigurd’s defence and so his reaction had been minor at best. Perhaps she planned to capitalise on the Northman’s inaction in some way? Sigurd was not perturbed, a fight such as this could be decided on a single mistake and he could already guess what it would be and when it would come.
Daneth's a snitch, lol.
Sounds like some classic banter from some ex-members.
It's hard to see why they think anyone would care that they were gone though
Sounds like some classic banter from some ex-members.
It's hard to see why they think anyone would care that they were gone though
Just so we're clear on positioning, Sigurd is currently standing between the two rocks shown in the middle of the map above. Is your character taking a position in line with the northern exit?
September 17th, 2016, 12 Paludis Drive
The sun had only recently set and so Peter had been the first to arrive. Curiosity had got the better of him once again, and the old saying struck true, in for a penny in for a pound. The pact had been sealed as soon as he opened the second envelope. To his understanding there was still wriggle room, he could always abandon the group and hideout. The only thing it had prevented him doing was divulging information or playing the spy, which he wouldn’t have done for all the money and blood in the city. Whoever X was, betraying him would be suicide under such circumstances. The pin in Peter’s cuff was both a vital playing card and a double edged sword. He was giving his location to X because to abandon the pin was to abandon the game. He had to admit, X had played well thus far.
Peter’s eyes read the note with a certain grim amusement, his steely features folding into an uncommon smile. He wondered if the others would come tonight. Brushing open the door he peered into the corridor beyond, half excited, half terrified. Why was it that the games with the highest stakes appealed so much? His eyes were drawn to a small table and the familiar contours of his own name. He snatched up the key in an absent minded fashion, more interesting in exploring the house. Having lived in a run-down apartment his entire adult life the place was luxurious by comparison. Or at least, he assumed it was, as he never made it further than the second floor, specifically the bar in one corner of the living room/dining room area.
Should any of the others decide to take up the invitation and investigate their safe house, they would probably find Peter behind the bar investigating a number of Irish whiskeys in decanters. Dressed much the same as previous, albeit in a somewhat more rumpled shirt and with his fedora conspicuously missing.
The sun had only recently set and so Peter had been the first to arrive. Curiosity had got the better of him once again, and the old saying struck true, in for a penny in for a pound. The pact had been sealed as soon as he opened the second envelope. To his understanding there was still wriggle room, he could always abandon the group and hideout. The only thing it had prevented him doing was divulging information or playing the spy, which he wouldn’t have done for all the money and blood in the city. Whoever X was, betraying him would be suicide under such circumstances. The pin in Peter’s cuff was both a vital playing card and a double edged sword. He was giving his location to X because to abandon the pin was to abandon the game. He had to admit, X had played well thus far.
Peter’s eyes read the note with a certain grim amusement, his steely features folding into an uncommon smile. He wondered if the others would come tonight. Brushing open the door he peered into the corridor beyond, half excited, half terrified. Why was it that the games with the highest stakes appealed so much? His eyes were drawn to a small table and the familiar contours of his own name. He snatched up the key in an absent minded fashion, more interesting in exploring the house. Having lived in a run-down apartment his entire adult life the place was luxurious by comparison. Or at least, he assumed it was, as he never made it further than the second floor, specifically the bar in one corner of the living room/dining room area.
Should any of the others decide to take up the invitation and investigate their safe house, they would probably find Peter behind the bar investigating a number of Irish whiskeys in decanters. Dressed much the same as previous, albeit in a somewhat more rumpled shirt and with his fedora conspicuously missing.
I'm guessing that's it for everyone this round? Want to provide more exposition Dark or can we post some more boat shenanigans?
Awesome post, I like where this might be going.
Anna’s seemingly weak attack that had served only to stagger the Golem in fact had a more sinister motive. The water that had splashed into the Golem’s large form was imbued with her spiritual essence, and as it dripped down his rocky body its unnatural effects would slowly make themselves known. As time went on it would sap the Earth mover of whatever energy he utilized to move and fight. Setting the precedent for the fight by ensuring time was on her side, Anna smiled beneath the waves. The cunning of the spirit was not something to be trifled with.
For now though, she had another concern. The Golem had proved it was capable of manipulating an element like herself, sand in this case. However, if the ominous noises echoing from beyond were anything to judge by, it was altogether possible its powers extended beyond just sand. It was in Anna’s interest to continue to saturate the Golem, as striking it down with her conventional abilities would be difficult at a glance. It was fortunate that it seemed to be made of Clay, a substance particularly susceptible to liquids.
Like a child causing havoc in a swimming pool Anna brushed her hands forward beneath the water to send a great wave blasting up into the air. The Golem was some distance up the beach, so it would be unlikely to have much power behind it, but it would serve the purpose of further saturating the Golem with liquid. The wave crashed down onto the beach, about a third of the water likely to land in Joel’s general vicinity. It was the sort of wave that may knock a man to his knees if caught unawares, hardly dangerous at first glance.
For now though, she had another concern. The Golem had proved it was capable of manipulating an element like herself, sand in this case. However, if the ominous noises echoing from beyond were anything to judge by, it was altogether possible its powers extended beyond just sand. It was in Anna’s interest to continue to saturate the Golem, as striking it down with her conventional abilities would be difficult at a glance. It was fortunate that it seemed to be made of Clay, a substance particularly susceptible to liquids.
Like a child causing havoc in a swimming pool Anna brushed her hands forward beneath the water to send a great wave blasting up into the air. The Golem was some distance up the beach, so it would be unlikely to have much power behind it, but it would serve the purpose of further saturating the Golem with liquid. The wave crashed down onto the beach, about a third of the water likely to land in Joel’s general vicinity. It was the sort of wave that may knock a man to his knees if caught unawares, hardly dangerous at first glance.
For but a moment, Sigurd cursed the machinations of the gods. It seemed he was destined to be made a murderer of women once again by the necessities of tournament. He would never be comfortable with the slaying of the fairer sex, perhaps due to some archaic nobility or for personal reasons he never disclosed. Regardless, it would seem another would meet his blade before long, he did not relish the thought. Standing tall and silent he watched the spear-woman trudge through the gate and into the point of crossing that was to be their arena, and for one of them, their grave.
His own observations were made quickly and without ceremony. Spear, shield and armour with a pretty face. No easy contest awaited him. With a resigned air he shrugged his shoulder causing his knapsack to drape down into his arm. He thrust it aside, dropping it beside the rock to his right, and looked up as the woman began to speak. Perhaps by some divination of the Mountain and the desires of the gods themselves, her tongue seemed decipherable to his ears. He allowed her the speech, remembering a time when he himself asked such questions on entering a tournament, the similarities struck him and an odd feeling of familiarity unsettled him. When all fell silent he looked on for a moment, fixing her with eyes that seemed weary before their time. Finally, when it seemed unlikely he would reply, his lips parted.
“I am Sigurd Stoneheart. I climb this mountain for my own reasons, but I will tell you that I seek one who has the power to undo a great injustice and save many lives. I believe your cause is also just, steel yourself and may your gods grant you entry to their halls if you fall.” Sigurd knew this contest was fated, destined even. Blood had to be shed as once more violence the most primitive of tools would serve as the decider. It was a dark circle, one which only death could release him from or so he had thought. Now he had tasted death, it had not served its purpose.
Sigurd drew his longsword from his left hip with his right hand, the steel breaking free of its sheath with a leathery rasp. Facing his foe he stood with his left side and foot forward, his shield held half a foot from his body angled away from him and providing cover for his front. His longsword he held low facing his soon to be opponent, a little behind his shield. Between the two of them, off to his right, was a crevice in the cliff-edge that likely offered a swift death on the ground far below. He waited to see how she would approach, or if she would.
His own observations were made quickly and without ceremony. Spear, shield and armour with a pretty face. No easy contest awaited him. With a resigned air he shrugged his shoulder causing his knapsack to drape down into his arm. He thrust it aside, dropping it beside the rock to his right, and looked up as the woman began to speak. Perhaps by some divination of the Mountain and the desires of the gods themselves, her tongue seemed decipherable to his ears. He allowed her the speech, remembering a time when he himself asked such questions on entering a tournament, the similarities struck him and an odd feeling of familiarity unsettled him. When all fell silent he looked on for a moment, fixing her with eyes that seemed weary before their time. Finally, when it seemed unlikely he would reply, his lips parted.
“I am Sigurd Stoneheart. I climb this mountain for my own reasons, but I will tell you that I seek one who has the power to undo a great injustice and save many lives. I believe your cause is also just, steel yourself and may your gods grant you entry to their halls if you fall.” Sigurd knew this contest was fated, destined even. Blood had to be shed as once more violence the most primitive of tools would serve as the decider. It was a dark circle, one which only death could release him from or so he had thought. Now he had tasted death, it had not served its purpose.
Sigurd drew his longsword from his left hip with his right hand, the steel breaking free of its sheath with a leathery rasp. Facing his foe he stood with his left side and foot forward, his shield held half a foot from his body angled away from him and providing cover for his front. His longsword he held low facing his soon to be opponent, a little behind his shield. Between the two of them, off to his right, was a crevice in the cliff-edge that likely offered a swift death on the ground far below. He waited to see how she would approach, or if she would.
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