Category: Fencing

Competitors: Lord Richard Castyll and Sir Isaac Clerval

Judge: Kai

Hits:
Lord Richard - 1
Sir Isaac - 2



[Note: Begin the match when you are ready. Remember: Richard will post, then Isaac, then the judge, then Richard, then Isaac, then the judge, etc. etc. Also note that even though Isaac is already a knight, he can still win this and just receive a different prize.]

The glorious sound of trumpets playing from afar, the lutes, and the overwhelming chatter of those had gathered for all the festivities sent Richard heart ablaze with rapid beating. Weeks of training, ontop of years of dueling, had prepared him for this day. It surely wasn't the first tournament he had participated in, but it was the most important without a doubt. This was the Royal City, this was a duel for the king to witness. Thousands had gathered for this event, hundreds and thousands surely just to watch their bouts. His adrenaline flowed through his veins like wine would flow in the ball festivities to proceed all the tournaments. Men would be merry this night, as would the ladies, but Richard had already his taste of intoxication. He was jittery, ready to go. The squire who suited Richard could see it as well.

Iron breastplate, shoulder plates, thigh, and shin plates were mounted with precision, all the color of the darkest of night. The color of Harleston, and though most knights of Harleston had suits of iron grey, it was only fitting that a son of Harleston, the brother of the Duke, have a suit of pure black. To end his armor his gauntlets were placed upon his hands. As they were fitted Richard reflexed his hands, ensuring that they were fitted just right. Twisting his neck from right to left, back to front, Richard only further readied himself for the beating he planned to unleash this day. Alvin, his manservant, squire, and best friend, picked up his sheathed blade from the bench and laid it across his hands, holding it up for Richard to view. With a nod Alvin then lowered it and attached it to his left hip, retreating again to finally grab Richard's helm. A different helmet than what is worn for war Richard's helm had a wide, open visor that allowed for far greater view of all going around him.

Heading out of his tent his dark black hair was caught up in the wind as his deep blue eyes adjusted to the sunlight. With Alvin right behind him carrying his dark helmet. Before he took a further step further Alvin seemed to remember something that Richard had not. Tapping his friend on the shoulder Richard stopped and turned to watch as he headed back inside the tent to grab something. Only a few seconds later Alvin appeared and held up the hankerchief Lady Katherine Clarke had given him to carry into the tourney. He could not believe he had fogotten it and thanked Alvin for remembering as Alvin tucked it into his upper armor, tucked under his undershirt as well though with the length of it hanging ontop of his armor. Walking into the stadium setup for the tournament Richard looked about as there were claps, cheering, and the normal hyping up to watch a battle of skilled knights.

His entry being announced Richard raised his gauntlet clad hand into the air and walked to the center of the arena to wait for his opponent to greet him before battle would begin. Turning to where the King and other powerful courtiers had been seated Richard bowed deeply and then turned to ready himself for the fight. Lowering his head Alvin slowly slid on the helt atop and made sure it was fitted right before taking a step back. Patting his friend on the shoulder Richard nodded, thanks to his servant and good friend before the man ran off to the corner to watch and ready to come to his aid if he had been wounded or to come celebrate with him in the win, a win which Richard planned on celebrating. As his opponent Sir Isaac Clerval was announced Richard watched the man approach and sized him up, knowing that fighting a knighted opponent was nothing to take lightly. This man lived for battle and war, he hoped he also viewed Richard as a weak noble who was nothing more, simply here for festivities who had nothing more to offer but show.

As they were both ready for the battle ahead and ready for the first blows Richard withdrew his longsword, the smooth iron reflecting the ray of sunlight for those gathered to see. Raising his sword across his body Richard first bowed to his opponent in respect before drawing back and raising his sword for the fight to commence. His gauntlet right hand gripped the blade tightly before laxing a bit to allow easier movements of his finely crafted blade. The open-visor helm that he wore allowed him the full view of the knight. There was also best to test his opponent first, to see what type of fighter he was paired up against. Launching forwards with a controlled step he drew the blade in a cross slash intended for the knight's left shoulder. His goal was first to aim high, low, center, and then draw across to back cut against the other side next, all leading a planned offensive to see just how much of a defense this man could sustain and retaliate against. Every step, every blow he made were precise, balanced at his center, all ready to act should a counterattack triumph over his offensive and lead him back on the defense.

With celebration and song surrounding him, Isaac allowed the feeling of energy and excitement enter his being. For once, he was able to see the duchies of Adesia come together for something other than political purposes. On his trip to the Sapphire City, never before did he see so many people amass to one spot. Truly, it was an amazing spectacle to witness, but it wasn't the only source of his anxiety. He was entered into the first tournament held by the king in a fencing competition. Isaac had always been proud of his swordsmanship, as it had been his fighting style ever since he joined the Pemberton ranks. The blade had even brought him into the life of knighthood. He would've been a fool not to sign up for the tournament. But with his anxiety comes with something much deeper than pride.


His mother had doted heavily upon Isaac ever since he joined the tournament. A never ending stream of praise and encouragement had flowed from her lips, trying her best to bring his spirits up. Isaac, despite his disagreements with his mother, did not intend to disappoint her. She wanted him to shine, not as a Pemberton but as a Clerval. For once, she spoke about his father and how happy he would be if he could see Isaac now. Although the words were good natured, it still made the knight quite nervous. Not only was he afraid of failing his mother, but his dead father was somehow involved now too. And his duchy! His dear Duchess and the new Duke; what of them? Oh, how he wished he would be able to impress them. He was not just a nobleman, but a knight, a knight of Pemberton. As much as he tried to ignore the feeling of pressure and self-doubt, there was one more person he couldn't stop wondering about.


True, she was just a simple servant girl but Leana Glentrool had been his lady of choice for the day's fight. Secretly, of course. Though no true romance had sprung up between them, Isaac couldn't help but have some sort of affinity to the woman. Perhaps it was her shyness that drew him toward her? Or was it her innocence? Maybe he was infatuated with what laid beneath her freckled face. She was simple, yet mysterious at the same time. Isaac could only hope that there was no one else with the same thoughts and feelings he had. Isaac never found himself to be a jealous man for he was never jealous of much. Hopefully, that wouldn't change. The only thing he could do now was to dazzle and amaze her with his talents.


All his thoughts and worries swirled through his head as he paced in his tent. He knew he needed to clear his mind in order to fight properly. Donning his iron shoulder guards, shin guards, gauntlets and breastplate, he fidgeted with his bracers as he awaited his announced introduction. His beloved blade was strapped to his hip, polished and ready for battle. Even his mother's handkerchief was tucked away under his maroon armor. All seemed to be ready and in place, all except his mind. His manservant, Anthony, had tried to console Isaac and had successfully brought his spirits up for the time being. The knight knew that he couldn't let anything get in his way of victory. His confidence began to blossom as he remembered what honor was brought to him by being in this tournament. His heart sank back into nervousness as his name was called, but he tried to fight it. With his head held high, he strongly step out of his tent and into the arena.


What looked to be thousands of people cheered as Isaac stepped up to meet his opponent. So this was the Lord Richard Castyll he had heard of. He seemed just as serious as Isaac about this fight. Nevertheless, Isaac mirrored his opponent's bow after drawing his blade. The knight found out quickly that the lord was not one to waste time. The first attack had already been launched, a blade coming toward Isaac's shoulder. His first reaction was to pivot out of the way, but he wasn't sure if he was fast enough. Still, Isaac's instincts told him to return the attack. With his sword, the knight targeted his opponent's left side in an attempt of retaliation. This man was quick and Isaac needed to be quicker.

Lord Richard Castyll's thrust misses Sir Isaac Clerval's left shoulder.

Sir Isaac Clerval is able to dodge the attack and his counter-attack hits its mark on Lord Richard Castyll's left side.

Current Score:
Sir Isaac Clerval - 1
Lord Richard Castyll - 0

Round two begins.

This was truly a test of his skills, both learned and inherited. Going up against a skilled knight whose life was directed, centered around his skills with a blade, was certainly the greatest challenge a noble, especially for one from a privileged life. He had never had to pick up a blade, he was not expected to, but he had willingly, and loved every moment of his rise as a very skilled duelist. Many men both of his father's court and his brothers court he had challenged, and many had fallen to him in friendly challenges. He was a prideful man, especially when it came to dueling, and anyone who got the upperhand or even backed down before him were met with only increased onslaughts of his skilled blade. And thus, as his attacked launched against knight was met by great advancement he got far too over confident, too prideful and swung, missing horribly, a miss that opened him up to a counterattack.


Curses, he uttered behind his helmet, as the knight's blade careened for his left side. Quickly he swung his blade across his body to parry, and also turned to avoid the blow, but a dull metal on metal sound echoed across the grounds. He had been hit, a fine blow, but made so much easier by opening himself up by such a wild miss. As the blade retreated from his armor Richard cursed and retreated for the rules of this tourney to be followed. With each blow the competitors stepped back, to gather themselves, and then to strike again. Taking a few steps back he breathed loudly under his armor, his blood surely growing to a boil. A strike from the knight was nothing to be ashamed about, it was expected for this man was indeed a knight, but that mattered not to Richard. He was far too prideful, far too sure of himself, and with hundreds watching he did not want to be made a fool. Though of course he wouldn't, unless he made not a single blow or allowed his anger to take over, but he did not think of about the greater picture in such a time.


With the signal to continue Richard watched the knight's stance for a bit and went over the matters of their last encounter in his head. Far better Richard was versed in the art of strategy, especially for war. And, though it was usually meant for a scale of many more bodies, he wished to see its use in a duel, could it really be applied here as well? Watching the man's stance, remembering his defense and counterattack from the last blows, Richard approached and immediately raised his blade cross body and swept it across his frame, directly towards the sword arm of the knight. He wished to keep the man's blade on his armed side as well, by drawing his own blade across his body he allowed for better defense as well. Richard was much less offensive and brash than before, he kept his feet and balance always on the defensive, not leaning in, not daring being drawn into a stupid swing that left him open.


Slice after slice his backswing with the blade was to connect, however the reason for such a weaker attack had a purpose, he wanted the man to come on the offensive for once. He wanted to see just how defensive the knight could be in his own offensive. And so, he waited for the onslaught of attack, keeping his feet ready to shift and dodge, his blade already at the parry to block and misdirect incoming blows.

A small gasp escaped his lips as his opponent's blade zoomed past him. A feeling of relief rushed through his body as he was able to dodge the blow. He felt his sword grid against Lord Richard's armor as his strike made contact. Swiftly retracting his sword, he was surprised and delighted that he was able to get the first hit. He could image the beaming face of his mother right now, smiling at him from the crowd. Pride and confidence swelled in his chest as his doubts and worries slowly started to fade. For a moment, he wanted to look up and search for Leana’s gentle face, but he stopped himself. Of course, it would be rude to smile brightly at his competitor, so Isaac kept his emotions to himself. The serious, grim look was still etched upon his features as he squared off with the lord. He was still in the middle of a duel and Isaac wanted to stay professional about it.


Even though the first attack missed, Isaac had to give Lord Richard some credit for his strike. The lord was quick and his attacks were strong and steady. This was not the kind of man to go easy on and Isaac had no intension of doing so. He was brother to one of the dukes and probably had enough training and resources to help him prepare for the fight. Isaac had no idea what kind of techniques he had learned so he had to stay on his toes. The knight kept his pivoted stance, trying to keep the least amount of surface area away from his opponent as possible. Looking over his right shoulder, Isaac kept the point of his sword in the direction of his opponent's neck in order to intimidate him.


But the intimidation did practically nothing as Lord Richard went in for another attack. Isaac tried to jump back and away from the strike, clenching onto his sword tightly. He hoped not to be disarmed by the attack, but it didn’t seem like that was the purpose for his strike. Nevertheless, Isaac had to be prepared for anything. As he backed up in an attempt to dodge the strike, he immediately shuffled forward in order to be more offensive. Dust rose from the ground, making a small powdery cloud as he made his attack. The point of his sword was shot straight to the lord’s chest in a smooth, snapping motion. It was a typical thrust, but Isaac hoped it would be able to connect.

Lord Richard Castyll's attack hits it's mark, striking Sir Isaac Clerval's sword arm.

Sir Isaac Clerval's thrust connects with Lord Richard Castyll's breastplate.

Current Score:
Sir Isaac Clerval - 2
Lord Richard Castyll - 1

Final round begins.

Richard knew the score all too well as he backed up after connecting, though also being struck as well. His plan had not worked like he had intended, the fact he had covered his defenses proved to be worthless. He surely didn't understand how this man had been able to get past his defenses on two occassions, but whatever it was he did not believe there would be a third occassion. As he backed up after the blows, pressing his hand to where Sir Isaac had struck, Richard looked back up at the man. There had been many precise moves the man had made that Richard had studied and become usual with. The knight was always playing the defensive, and Richard had allowed him to do so.


And so, Richard stepped back further from the knight instead of approaching this time. He was going to play defense, his sword sweeping back and forth to draw the knight. He expected the blade to be knocked by Issac's own time and time again, but despite these he continued to glide his blade across the space between them. His hand always held strongly to the hilt of the blade, he would never let it go, and his grip continued to flex on it. On any occassion when the knight attacked he saw and opening he would take it. He would meet any blows of the blade with his own blade, working inside to draw and attack on the center, the breastplate, much like the last blow that had landed on him.


His eyes remained wide, focused and deliberate to ending this game of being down, being behind. This was his last chance to draw it even, to seal the momentum to lead him victorious in this most challenging of conflicts.

Isaac grit his teeth together as he was struck. A sharp pain shivered down his arm as he reflexively squeezed the hilt of his sword. He was slipping up! The knight couldn't let his guard down, especially when Richard had one more chance to tie the score. His Pemberton pride wouldn't allow the match to end in a tie. There was too much on the line to go through another match, as Isaac was already feeling mentally drained. Perhaps that is why Richard was able to strike him so. Even after he was struck, however, Isaac had been able to land a hit. There was hope for him yet! But Isaac couldn't take this shot as a confidence booster. He was just lucky and he knew he couldn't count on luck for the rest of the match.


As both men stepped back, Isaac watched his opponent's movements as well as his reaction. Isaac had been aware of the lord's unhappiness throughout the match, but never knew the extent of it. He hoped that he would make the typical novice mistake and allow anger to blind him. But what if Isaac was making the same mistake? What if the sweat that was dripping down his face wasn't from the heat, but from his own devices? No, he couldn't allow self doubt to enter his thoughts now, not after he's gone so far. As troubled as he was, he needed to finish the fight.


His eyes kept hold upon Richard's blade, watching it carefully. His breath was shallow and his mouth was dry as he tried to think of the best way to get the last shot on his opponent. He had to think quickly, or risk the chance of another attack. Again, Isaac shuffled forward, as if he was going to strike him in the chest once more, but the knight had other ideas. Instead of going straight toward his chest, he bent his forearm in a way where he was able to draw a crescent moon with his sword. His aim was, once again, for the man's side. He hoped the trick would work, but he just had to wait to see how fast the lord's reflexes were.

Lord Richard Castyll's thrust connects with Sir Isaac Clerval's breastplate.

Sir Isaac Clerval misses.

The final score is:
Lord Richard Castyll - 2
Sir Isaac Clerval - 2

Cue thunderous applause on both sides.

Success was achieved as his blade connected with the breastplate of the knight, finally bringing this battle to an even status with the score tied at two. The next blow would bring victory to whoever was to achieve it, and Richard had every intention of being the one to connect. As they were brought back from each other yet again after the blows and the scoring Richard could not hold back. Just as he had most times before Richard came on the attack when Issac was at the ready, bringing his blade up to cut at the shoulder of his opponent.


As he struck Richard always remained at the ready and mind that he had best to stay held back just a bit to ensure that his defenses were never fully compromised. His stance was open and legs at the ready to shift, to move and to ensure that he would be able to either parry with his blade or dodge any incoming strike. This was it, there were no more chances but this one. There would be no relenting of attack for to do so would only bring the acknowledgement of exhaustion from the exertion of the battle. This man was a very skilled knight, a skilled swordsman and Richard had been very fortunate to have the opportunity to test his skills against him.


Attempting to draw a blow to the shoulder of the knight he was sure it would be deflected, met with the blade of the knight, and for this any defense would cause him to turn, to strike low after he had struck high. He wanted to keep the knight busy, very concerned on his own defense than on his own desire to attack. There was no way he would make this easy for the knight, should he end up on top, and with each blow struck in the knight's direction he made that point very very clear.

Irony was a cruel mistress, as Isaac was now the one to be struck on the chest. As much as he tried to lean away from the attack, he was not quick enough to veer away from the lord's blade. The blow struck deeper into him than it seemed. The score was tied now! Richard had the quick reflexes to defend against his attack. Isaac’s stern, serious expression started to crack; his dark eyes widened in alarm. Sure, he wasn't losing, but he wasn't winning either. How was he supposed to bring honor to his duchy by tying with his opponent? Panic started to sprout within his mind as a million and one thoughts swirled dizzily in his head. Images of his mother, Leana and even the ghost of his father flashed within his mind's eye. At least, the father he imaged him to be. He could hear his heart beating loudly, almost drowning out the sounds of the crowd. Of course the fight was exciting to the audience, as two high-ranking males were even in score. But for Isaac, he believed that he was tittering on the edge failure.

‘For God’s sake, you’re a knight!’ he thought to himself as he steadied himself. One false step could cost him the whole fight. ‘You worked too hard to lose!’ For weeks upon weeks, he rigorously trained for this duel with his superiors and they were never the ones to be gentle. Before he would even hit the ground, they would tell him to get back up again. Every time he was able to complete a task or a drill, they would make him do it all over again at a quicker pace. Some nights, he would return to his chambers, tired and dirty, unsure if he should sleep or bathe first. It was common for him to sleep while bathing and would wake up to find soapy water in his eyes and mouth. When he went to bed (properly), he would sleep so deeply that it seemed like night would turn to day in a blink of an eye. Despite the fact that he practically punished his body on a daily basis, he felt that there was a purpose to all of his hard work. Letting it all go to waste was the last thing he was going to do.

Making sure his weight was centered; he kept his eyes upon Richard still, trying to predict what he was going to do next. But his nervousness got to him. As the lord swung at him, Isaac reflexively moved as well, swinging his sword across his opponent’s chest. He wouldn’t be surprised if their swords collided, as Isaac swung at relatively at the same time as Richard did. In order to make sure he had the chance to strike his opponent, Isaac swung at his waist after drawing back from the first attack. He had been trained to strike at the torso by his captains, and it had been working thus far. He hoped that the trend would continue, as his attacks could break the tie. There was no going back, no making up for mistakes this time.