The organisation is well in hand by the time someone blows a horn to draw attention to the main jousting line. A couple of enterprising souls have rolled out barrels of beer to refill nearby cups from, ensuring the curious spectators are kept merry while they wait. Other competitors are still sorting out their armor or preparing their mounts, but first, the people who started this are going to take their turn. Sir Celann Lemont takes his place at one end, the Breton’s face masked by his protective helm, his gold and green glass armor aglow in the sunlight. There’s a faint glimmer of green too, when he leans forward to pat his chestnut destrier, the warhorse lifting his head and snorting as he takes in the field. A pole on his side of the field bears his banner, with the knight’s mountainous coat of arms displayed in green and white.
On the other side, a woman in light, flexible gear leans on her thrust bike, retuned antigravs holding the sleek vehicle lightly above the ground a couple feet higher than normal. When a squire runs up to ask about a banner for her, she just turns on her heel and jerks a thumb at the cloak she wears, a translucent matrix of blue-white material more akin to crystal than cloth. It shimmers around her as she swings herself onto the bike. Hunter Turnstone’s face is hidden behind her mask, but she looks utterly relaxed as she shoulders a six-foot lance that really shouldn’t be so easy for a human her size to handle.
Riders at their marks, the squire with the starting flag signals another blast of the horn, and lets it fall. There’s a pounding of hooves, a low singing engine thrum. The riders charge.
They meet almost in the center. Wood rebounds on metal; Celann’s lance goes wide of its mark, grazing the Hunter’s shoulder and narrowly missing her head. Hers slides off the wrong side of his chest without unseating the knight. By the time they slow at the end of the course, the holographic score board someone scavenged up is already flashing a white square beneath each of their names. A draw. The lances are checked for cracks, and then it’s time to go again.
The second time round, Celann’s adjusted better for their relative positions, the way the Guardian leans forward in her seat. Decades of practice guide his hand when he drives the lance into Turnstone’s shoulder and topples her off the bike. The crowd around them cheers, or groans according to inclination. She rolls to her feet, graceful but wincing at her injured shoulder. Her bike keeps going. It whips over the grass, heading straight for the startled squires on Celann’s side- until Tarana steps out and grabs it by the hood. The Titan’s plate armor flexes as she holds the screaming Sparrow, until she reaches in and deactivates it – much to the squires’ relief. Tarana gives Turnstone a look from across the field, and a comms message: “Failsafes engaged from now on, please.”
Right. Turnstone bobs her head. A flash of healing Light from her Ghost, and she’s ready to go get the bike and try again. Celann’s only got one green mark on the board, and it’s best of three. Turns out, even for a woman with preternatural marksmanship skills, a lance is just a damned awkward thing for the untrained to use.
This time, though. This time she’s thinking over how he hit her as they line up. This time she’s holding back until they get close- and then she braces, gives the Sparrow a burst of acceleration, catching him off-guard and taking him in the shoulder. There’s a flash of warding magic as she strikes, and this time the knight thumps to the grass. His horse, rather smarter than the bike, canters to the end of the course and slows to a halt without needing to be grabbed.
A draw, then. Celann is chuckling as he picks himself up. His squire has the horse in hand, so he heads over to salute his opponent and clasp her hand. A worthy contest, and a fascinating experiment. Hopefully the other jousts will be equally entertaining…
((Feel free to start threads in this section with your preferred partners, or as spectators enjoying/covering their eyes/'helping' from the sidelines. I recommend putting the contestants in the header of a match thread as shown here, just to help navigation and make it easy for spyreaders. ;) )
First Match: Sir Celann vs. Ime Turnstone
On the other side, a woman in light, flexible gear leans on her thrust bike, retuned antigravs holding the sleek vehicle lightly above the ground a couple feet higher than normal. When a squire runs up to ask about a banner for her, she just turns on her heel and jerks a thumb at the cloak she wears, a translucent matrix of blue-white material more akin to crystal than cloth. It shimmers around her as she swings herself onto the bike. Hunter Turnstone’s face is hidden behind her mask, but she looks utterly relaxed as she shoulders a six-foot lance that really shouldn’t be so easy for a human her size to handle.
Riders at their marks, the squire with the starting flag signals another blast of the horn, and lets it fall. There’s a pounding of hooves, a low singing engine thrum. The riders charge.
They meet almost in the center. Wood rebounds on metal; Celann’s lance goes wide of its mark, grazing the Hunter’s shoulder and narrowly missing her head. Hers slides off the wrong side of his chest without unseating the knight. By the time they slow at the end of the course, the holographic score board someone scavenged up is already flashing a white square beneath each of their names. A draw. The lances are checked for cracks, and then it’s time to go again.
The second time round, Celann’s adjusted better for their relative positions, the way the Guardian leans forward in her seat. Decades of practice guide his hand when he drives the lance into Turnstone’s shoulder and topples her off the bike. The crowd around them cheers, or groans according to inclination. She rolls to her feet, graceful but wincing at her injured shoulder. Her bike keeps going. It whips over the grass, heading straight for the startled squires on Celann’s side- until Tarana steps out and grabs it by the hood. The Titan’s plate armor flexes as she holds the screaming Sparrow, until she reaches in and deactivates it – much to the squires’ relief. Tarana gives Turnstone a look from across the field, and a comms message: “Failsafes engaged from now on, please.”
Right. Turnstone bobs her head. A flash of healing Light from her Ghost, and she’s ready to go get the bike and try again. Celann’s only got one green mark on the board, and it’s best of three. Turns out, even for a woman with preternatural marksmanship skills, a lance is just a damned awkward thing for the untrained to use.
This time, though. This time she’s thinking over how he hit her as they line up. This time she’s holding back until they get close- and then she braces, gives the Sparrow a burst of acceleration, catching him off-guard and taking him in the shoulder. There’s a flash of warding magic as she strikes, and this time the knight thumps to the grass. His horse, rather smarter than the bike, canters to the end of the course and slows to a halt without needing to be grabbed.
A draw, then. Celann is chuckling as he picks himself up. His squire has the horse in hand, so he heads over to salute his opponent and clasp her hand. A worthy contest, and a fascinating experiment. Hopefully the other jousts will be equally entertaining…
((Feel free to start threads in this section with your preferred partners, or as spectators enjoying/covering their eyes/'helping' from the sidelines. I recommend putting the contestants in the header of a match thread as shown here, just to help navigation and make it easy for spyreaders. ;) )