And my second round:
Ranieri vs. Baird
The new blade was lighter than he’d have liked, but it was the only replacement Ranieri could find for his broken mortuary hilt. He was of course schooled in the tactics of many blades, but he preferred his wide cutting sword to the thrusting blades the southern masters preferred. With Guerrante off his back for the moment, Ranieri had spent what little money he had left on some new trinkets.
Baird. Ranieri hadn’t seen his opponent’s fight, but he heard of it in the tavern as he celebrated his own victory with a pint of ale. Actually, Ranieri was anticipating a good show. Baird had the good fortune of fighting the only other gentleman the tournament boasted and if their last matches were any indication of what was to come, the odds should be even.
As Baird strode confidently into the courtyard, Ranieri pulled the strings of his cape.
“You are on time.” Baird smiled smugly, pocketing his timepiece. “Good, I like a man who turns up punctually to die.”
Ranieri chuckled. He’d fought many men in his lifetime and one fact rang forever true, the pretty ones could only stand the sight of blood when it wasn’t their own. “I'm just ready to get this over with,” he called. “This tournament only has room for one sharp dresser.”
“Indeed.” The gentleman tugged at the bottom of his pinstriped waistcoat and dusted the shoulder of his wool jacket, but not before Ranieri caught the glint of metal from within.
So there would be more than blades pulled before it was done. Good thing Ranieri took time to purchase his new additions. He’d need a full arsenal to compete with the inventive weapons the mysterious foreigner favored.
As the adjudicator left the field, Ranieri drew his new blade and stepped into an angled stance, making him lighter on his feet in case a pistol should appear first.
Baird drew a slender blade, not unlike the one in Ranieri’s hand. Rapiers. So it would be a match of wits after all.
Closing the distance quickly, Ranieri advanced, feinted and thrust, Baird easily sidestepping. It was expected and Ranieri spun his cape around, catching his opponent’s blade up. Baird withdrew, regaining his blade. Pain burst in Ranieri’s left arm and warmth spread with a red stain. What struck him? Not a dagger. Baird's free hand still appeared empty.
Ranieri retreated and as soon as he was at a safe distance, he drew a small metal projectile from his arm. So the first blood was his. He flung the metal star back in Baird’s direction. "Parlor tricks form the Orient won't impress me."
Baird lunged, narrowly missing and Ranieri again used his cape to catch Baird’s sword hand. He pulled the strings, immobilizing the arm across its owner's own body. With his blade ineffective and off balance, Ranieri struck his opponent in the side of the head with his hilt. Baird staggered back as Ranieri readied for another attack.
Back and forth, the two men advanced and retreated. A few more sloppy thrusts but none landed. Baird was better with a sword than Ranieri had given him credit for.
Awaiting San’s posting the second half…
Okay, so that's the end of that fight.
Ranieri vs. Baird
The new blade was lighter than he’d have liked, but it was the only replacement Ranieri could find for his broken mortuary hilt. He was of course schooled in the tactics of many blades, but he preferred his wide cutting sword to the thrusting blades the southern masters preferred. With Guerrante off his back for the moment, Ranieri had spent what little money he had left on some new trinkets.
Baird. Ranieri hadn’t seen his opponent’s fight, but he heard of it in the tavern as he celebrated his own victory with a pint of ale. Actually, Ranieri was anticipating a good show. Baird had the good fortune of fighting the only other gentleman the tournament boasted and if their last matches were any indication of what was to come, the odds should be even.
As Baird strode confidently into the courtyard, Ranieri pulled the strings of his cape.
“You are on time.” Baird smiled smugly, pocketing his timepiece. “Good, I like a man who turns up punctually to die.”
Ranieri chuckled. He’d fought many men in his lifetime and one fact rang forever true, the pretty ones could only stand the sight of blood when it wasn’t their own. “I'm just ready to get this over with,” he called. “This tournament only has room for one sharp dresser.”
“Indeed.” The gentleman tugged at the bottom of his pinstriped waistcoat and dusted the shoulder of his wool jacket, but not before Ranieri caught the glint of metal from within.
So there would be more than blades pulled before it was done. Good thing Ranieri took time to purchase his new additions. He’d need a full arsenal to compete with the inventive weapons the mysterious foreigner favored.
As the adjudicator left the field, Ranieri drew his new blade and stepped into an angled stance, making him lighter on his feet in case a pistol should appear first.
Baird drew a slender blade, not unlike the one in Ranieri’s hand. Rapiers. So it would be a match of wits after all.
Closing the distance quickly, Ranieri advanced, feinted and thrust, Baird easily sidestepping. It was expected and Ranieri spun his cape around, catching his opponent’s blade up. Baird withdrew, regaining his blade. Pain burst in Ranieri’s left arm and warmth spread with a red stain. What struck him? Not a dagger. Baird's free hand still appeared empty.
Ranieri retreated and as soon as he was at a safe distance, he drew a small metal projectile from his arm. So the first blood was his. He flung the metal star back in Baird’s direction. "Parlor tricks form the Orient won't impress me."
Baird lunged, narrowly missing and Ranieri again used his cape to catch Baird’s sword hand. He pulled the strings, immobilizing the arm across its owner's own body. With his blade ineffective and off balance, Ranieri struck his opponent in the side of the head with his hilt. Baird staggered back as Ranieri readied for another attack.
Back and forth, the two men advanced and retreated. A few more sloppy thrusts but none landed. Baird was better with a sword than Ranieri had given him credit for.
Awaiting San’s posting the second half…
Okay, so that's the end of that fight.
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Auror
Troubadour
Inkling
Dreamer
