Post by Trinea on Oct 10, 2010 9:30:54 GMT -5
"You're all set, Executor," the page said with a pair of good-luck slaps on the man's plated shoulder.
James rolled his shoulders and offered a short nod of thanks. In front of him, another Forsaken took a knee and cupped his hands to act as a step. Kriger planted his boot into them and boosted himself up to the waiting saddle. The white-clad skeletal horse jostled between his legs as he planted his feet in the saddle and patted the creature's neck.
One of the Forsaken pages came around to his left and offered up the bulwark of his shield. James slipped his arm into the straps and hauled it up into place, rolling his shoulder to seat it properly. Once the shield was in place he took up the reins of the horse with his hand. Last came the lance, offered to him hilt-first. "Good fight, Executor," the man said as he took it and pulled it to a vertical carry position. He grunted in response and gigged the horse.
He emerged into the jousting ring of the Argent Tournament. Ahead of him was two hundred yards of firm, packed dirt, surrounded by wooden stands full to bursting. Today's tourney had already been going for nearly four hours and yet the crowd showed no signs of fatigue.
"PRESENTING!" bellowed a herald of the Argent Crusade, a draenei man who seemed to have lungs the size of a rhino's. "TO THE NORTH, SIR GREGORY MOLSON OF WESTFALL!"
Across the field, James' opponent lifted his lance in salute and the crowd roared. James watched them, noting that it was all the representatives of the Alliance races doing the cheering, but more than a few members of the Argent Crusade had joined in. James flicked his eyes from the stands back to Molson. Decked out in gold-plate armor and with the rampant lion on his shield, the bearded man just had to be a paladin. James grunted. Small wonder the Crusaders gave him a cheer.
"AND TO THE SOUTH, FROM TIRISFAL, EXECUTOR JAMES KRIGER!"
James lifted his lance to match Gregory's gesture and this time it was the races of the Horde who bellowed.
"JOUSTERS, FORWARD!"
James squeezed his legs and his mount obediently stepped forwards until it reached the white line drawn in the dust that marked the starting positions. Ahead of him lay the colored ropes that marked the path the horses would take.
He felt someone slap his left leg and turned to find Visceri standing there, ostensibly making a last check of his fittings. The Grand Champion of the Undercity was a tall, skeletally-thin Forsaken dressed in dyed blue armor that seemed to blend into the snows of Icecrown until he was invisible. James had no idea how the Deathstalker had managed to wrangle the title from Lady Sylvanas when his entire organization had been thrown into such disgrace, but over the past few days he'd found himself grateful for it. Visceri was an efficient man with a plain-speaking wisdom and a dry sense of humor that James appreciated. "You ready?" he asked.
Kriger nodded. "All set."
"Watch your shield," Visceri advised. "You carried it a little high last time."
James' first round had set him up against a dwarf whom he had promptly swatted from his ram.
"If I carry it lower my shoulder's vulnerable," Kriger protested.
"He won't go for the shoulder," Visceri replied. "Remember, he wants to stay away from the head. Use that."
The current joust was a simple series of first-to-three matches. One point for a lance broken on the shield. Two for a lance to the body. Three, and an instant win for unhorsing one's opponent. Instant disqualification if you stuck your opponent's helm. Tirion Fording may have set up a jousting tournament in the middle of the frozen hell itself, but he wasn't taking chances with the participants' lives.
"Don't screw up, Kriger," Visceri said as he finished.
"Thanks for the reminder," James growled.
Visceri chuckled and stepped away, giving him a slap on the leg.
"SIR MOLSON, ARE YOU READY?!
Gregory Molson kicked his heels to make his charger rear, whinnying as he roared. "Ready!"
"EXECUTOR KRIGER, ARE YOU READY?!"
James signaled his readiness.
A squire dressed in white stepped up to the center of the list and held the flag of the Argent Crusade out. The crowd quieted in an instant and James tightened his hand on his lance in anticipation.
The flag dropped and the squire ran like hell as Gregory and James spurred their mounts forward, the thunder of their hooves filling the air as the crowd bellowed.
Keep it steady, keep it steady, keep it steady-
One hundred and fifty yards.
Drop the point-
One hundred yards-
Get it in the cradle, come on James, COME ON-
The butt end of the lance settled into the "cradle" - the catch created by James' arm and body.
Fifty yards!
Both men struck at almost the same instant, thrusting their lances across the divide of the list. The tip of James' weapon smashed against the face of Gregory's shield, splintering into flying shards of wood at the force of the impact. The Westfall native's lance slipped under the guard of James' shield and crashed into the plate armor covering his chest.
Then they were past each other, both of them reeling from the impacts. James felt pain erupt in his ribs and he groaned, doubling over in the saddle. d**nation! He let his lance slip from his hand, wrapping his arm around his midsection to dull the pain.
The horses reached the end of the lists and slowly turned, their riders guiding them back towards their respective camps. The Westfall man eyed James silently as they crossed paths. The Forsaken tried to sit upright, but the pain make it impossible.
"Don't say it," he wheezed as he returned to the Forsaken pages.
Visceri shrugged. "Well, I did." He eyed the warrior. "Can you finish?"
James grit his teeth and managed to pull himself upright, pressing at the spot where the lance had struck him. Nothing felt broken. "I can," he finally said, wheeling his horse around and sticking his hand out for another lance.
"You'll need to dismount him," Visceri said.
"I know, I know!" James growled. He kicked his horse, stepping up to the ready line.
Again, both men signaled their readiness.
Again, the flag dropped and both horses roared forwards, their riders dropping their lances.
Again, the weapons broke against their targets. Molson's strike crashed against Kriger's heavy steel shield, rocking him back in the saddle.
Executor James Kriger likewise struck his opponent's shield.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU THE WINNER…SIR GREGORY MOLSON!"
--------------
"At least you made it to the second round," Sarah said crossly, eyeing him as if she might consider drawing the serrated great sword lashed to her back.
"Not bad for a guy who's never hit anything from horseback but a target," James growled irritably as he stripped off his armor. The pain in his side had dulled into a throbbing ache that annoyed him to no end as he pulled off the heavy plate.
"You performed adequately," Visceri said, his tone neutral. "Walter Delour and Ben Lawbringer took out their opponents after your match. It looks like Stormwind is going to take this one. We'll see about turning the tables for the next set."
Sarah Chalke bristled. "We weren't sent here to lose!"
"Thank you Sarah, I had forgotten that," the Deathstalker replied dryly. He looked Kriger over slowly. "You won't be able to compete favoring your side like that," he said. "Take three."
Kriger nodded. "You know…"
"Hm?"
"This stuff looks a whole lot easier when you're a kid," he said with a short laugh.
Visceri chuckled.
James rolled his shoulders and offered a short nod of thanks. In front of him, another Forsaken took a knee and cupped his hands to act as a step. Kriger planted his boot into them and boosted himself up to the waiting saddle. The white-clad skeletal horse jostled between his legs as he planted his feet in the saddle and patted the creature's neck.
One of the Forsaken pages came around to his left and offered up the bulwark of his shield. James slipped his arm into the straps and hauled it up into place, rolling his shoulder to seat it properly. Once the shield was in place he took up the reins of the horse with his hand. Last came the lance, offered to him hilt-first. "Good fight, Executor," the man said as he took it and pulled it to a vertical carry position. He grunted in response and gigged the horse.
He emerged into the jousting ring of the Argent Tournament. Ahead of him was two hundred yards of firm, packed dirt, surrounded by wooden stands full to bursting. Today's tourney had already been going for nearly four hours and yet the crowd showed no signs of fatigue.
"PRESENTING!" bellowed a herald of the Argent Crusade, a draenei man who seemed to have lungs the size of a rhino's. "TO THE NORTH, SIR GREGORY MOLSON OF WESTFALL!"
Across the field, James' opponent lifted his lance in salute and the crowd roared. James watched them, noting that it was all the representatives of the Alliance races doing the cheering, but more than a few members of the Argent Crusade had joined in. James flicked his eyes from the stands back to Molson. Decked out in gold-plate armor and with the rampant lion on his shield, the bearded man just had to be a paladin. James grunted. Small wonder the Crusaders gave him a cheer.
"AND TO THE SOUTH, FROM TIRISFAL, EXECUTOR JAMES KRIGER!"
James lifted his lance to match Gregory's gesture and this time it was the races of the Horde who bellowed.
"JOUSTERS, FORWARD!"
James squeezed his legs and his mount obediently stepped forwards until it reached the white line drawn in the dust that marked the starting positions. Ahead of him lay the colored ropes that marked the path the horses would take.
He felt someone slap his left leg and turned to find Visceri standing there, ostensibly making a last check of his fittings. The Grand Champion of the Undercity was a tall, skeletally-thin Forsaken dressed in dyed blue armor that seemed to blend into the snows of Icecrown until he was invisible. James had no idea how the Deathstalker had managed to wrangle the title from Lady Sylvanas when his entire organization had been thrown into such disgrace, but over the past few days he'd found himself grateful for it. Visceri was an efficient man with a plain-speaking wisdom and a dry sense of humor that James appreciated. "You ready?" he asked.
Kriger nodded. "All set."
"Watch your shield," Visceri advised. "You carried it a little high last time."
James' first round had set him up against a dwarf whom he had promptly swatted from his ram.
"If I carry it lower my shoulder's vulnerable," Kriger protested.
"He won't go for the shoulder," Visceri replied. "Remember, he wants to stay away from the head. Use that."
The current joust was a simple series of first-to-three matches. One point for a lance broken on the shield. Two for a lance to the body. Three, and an instant win for unhorsing one's opponent. Instant disqualification if you stuck your opponent's helm. Tirion Fording may have set up a jousting tournament in the middle of the frozen hell itself, but he wasn't taking chances with the participants' lives.
"Don't screw up, Kriger," Visceri said as he finished.
"Thanks for the reminder," James growled.
Visceri chuckled and stepped away, giving him a slap on the leg.
"SIR MOLSON, ARE YOU READY?!
Gregory Molson kicked his heels to make his charger rear, whinnying as he roared. "Ready!"
"EXECUTOR KRIGER, ARE YOU READY?!"
James signaled his readiness.
A squire dressed in white stepped up to the center of the list and held the flag of the Argent Crusade out. The crowd quieted in an instant and James tightened his hand on his lance in anticipation.
The flag dropped and the squire ran like hell as Gregory and James spurred their mounts forward, the thunder of their hooves filling the air as the crowd bellowed.
Keep it steady, keep it steady, keep it steady-
One hundred and fifty yards.
Drop the point-
One hundred yards-
Get it in the cradle, come on James, COME ON-
The butt end of the lance settled into the "cradle" - the catch created by James' arm and body.
Fifty yards!
Both men struck at almost the same instant, thrusting their lances across the divide of the list. The tip of James' weapon smashed against the face of Gregory's shield, splintering into flying shards of wood at the force of the impact. The Westfall native's lance slipped under the guard of James' shield and crashed into the plate armor covering his chest.
Then they were past each other, both of them reeling from the impacts. James felt pain erupt in his ribs and he groaned, doubling over in the saddle. d**nation! He let his lance slip from his hand, wrapping his arm around his midsection to dull the pain.
The horses reached the end of the lists and slowly turned, their riders guiding them back towards their respective camps. The Westfall man eyed James silently as they crossed paths. The Forsaken tried to sit upright, but the pain make it impossible.
"Don't say it," he wheezed as he returned to the Forsaken pages.
Visceri shrugged. "Well, I did." He eyed the warrior. "Can you finish?"
James grit his teeth and managed to pull himself upright, pressing at the spot where the lance had struck him. Nothing felt broken. "I can," he finally said, wheeling his horse around and sticking his hand out for another lance.
"You'll need to dismount him," Visceri said.
"I know, I know!" James growled. He kicked his horse, stepping up to the ready line.
Again, both men signaled their readiness.
Again, the flag dropped and both horses roared forwards, their riders dropping their lances.
Again, the weapons broke against their targets. Molson's strike crashed against Kriger's heavy steel shield, rocking him back in the saddle.
Executor James Kriger likewise struck his opponent's shield.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU THE WINNER…SIR GREGORY MOLSON!"
--------------
"At least you made it to the second round," Sarah said crossly, eyeing him as if she might consider drawing the serrated great sword lashed to her back.
"Not bad for a guy who's never hit anything from horseback but a target," James growled irritably as he stripped off his armor. The pain in his side had dulled into a throbbing ache that annoyed him to no end as he pulled off the heavy plate.
"You performed adequately," Visceri said, his tone neutral. "Walter Delour and Ben Lawbringer took out their opponents after your match. It looks like Stormwind is going to take this one. We'll see about turning the tables for the next set."
Sarah Chalke bristled. "We weren't sent here to lose!"
"Thank you Sarah, I had forgotten that," the Deathstalker replied dryly. He looked Kriger over slowly. "You won't be able to compete favoring your side like that," he said. "Take three."
Kriger nodded. "You know…"
"Hm?"
"This stuff looks a whole lot easier when you're a kid," he said with a short laugh.
Visceri chuckled.
