The Frenchman is tall, robust, but has a bearing of sensitivity and charm. He is wearing a token of some kind, but the insignia on it seems not to be of any lady most people in the crowd could easily recognize. "Must be foreign!" someone says.
The mischievous William d'Aubigny saddles up and meets him in the field, wearing the favor of his Mother, the Countess of Arundel. There is a moment of banter, William clearly getting the better part of the reserved Sir Eudes.
Finally, it is time for the joust.
Sir Eude shows skill, marrying horse and lance to an engine of death! Can William outmaneuver its terrible power?
Joust tilt 1: Lance, tn 15: 1d20 10
In a word: no.
Joust tilt 1: Lance, tn 15: 1d20 1
The Frenchman's lance strikes him hard in the thews.
Making d'Aubigny sad: 6d6 20
But William is nothing if not agile, and is able to stay on his horse. The knights circle back to the ends of the lists. d'Aubigny wincing slightly with the power of the Frenchman's blow.
Dexterity roll to stay on horse, tn 11: 1d20 7
Sir Eudes de Tours vs. Sir William d'Aubigny
Sir Eudes de Tours vs. Sir William d'Aubigny
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Re: Sir Eudes de Tours vs. Sir William d'Aubigny
Sir Eudes' next run might make a connection, but is not exactly a stirling piece of lance-work.
Joust tilt 2: Lance tn 15: 1d20 2
William d'Aubigny's blow is slightly more telling. Sir Eude might have met his match.
Joust tilt 2: Lance tn 15: 1d20 8
Horse damage: 6d6 24
In fact, the hale young man is knocked from his horse outright.
Sir William is the Victor, but he soon descends to congratulate a smiling Sir Eudes on a solid match.
Joust tilt 2: Lance tn 15: 1d20 2
William d'Aubigny's blow is slightly more telling. Sir Eude might have met his match.
Joust tilt 2: Lance tn 15: 1d20 8
Horse damage: 6d6 24
In fact, the hale young man is knocked from his horse outright.
Sir William is the Victor, but he soon descends to congratulate a smiling Sir Eudes on a solid match.
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Re: Sir Eudes de Tours vs. Sir William d'Aubigny
Sir Eudes= Participation 30 + 2 successful combat rounds 10+5 for the favor of Miriam Yarchi=45
Sir William=1 successful combat round 5 + defeating an average knight 25+15 for the favor of the Countess of Arundel=45
Sir William=1 successful combat round 5 + defeating an average knight 25+15 for the favor of the Countess of Arundel=45
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding