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NekripsArt [2024-12-27 15:08:44 +0000 UTC]

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TheMuscleScribe [2018-08-17 10:56:51 +0000 UTC]

Wonderful work!  

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Trench-ADF [2017-11-29 11:20:04 +0000 UTC]

Superb work, as always.
Many thanks, Yuri!

'Fae, at the tournament.'

She was bare-waisted and armoured in the style of the East with the katana again sheathed down her back.
Igrett’s crown helm sat atop her head, shoulder guards and and sleeve shields, showing signs of use, fitted snugly.
Her mail breast piece seemed more ornament than practical, and the so too the belt about her hips, from which were secured stockings of mail and a short chain mail loin cloth at front, and another at the back, where it hid from sight the mark of the hellhound on her right cheek. .
Her legs were covered by golden greaves, also ornate, from knee to sole. 
She left off the arm rings, not wishing to give a clue as to her true identity, or indeed of her level of skill.

Prince Hagar grinned as he watched her approach and whispered as she drew level, facing the judge on his elevated dais.

The correct form was for the combatants to wait for the flag to rise before facing off, and enguarde was signalled by its falling.
Any movement of a weapon before enguarde was punished by a three point award to the opponent, and any contact with any part of an opponent, or armour, was an automatic seven point penalty.
“I will do the decent thing and give you a ten point lead, but after that you are on your own,” he frowned then and peered at her squire. “Your man has brought the wrong shield, even in the East they use larger to rest behind,” he shook his head in mock exasperation, drawing laughter from the crowd.
“I can delay whilst you fetch it?”
“Really?” she gushed. “How sweet of you, and how flattering that you should believe this will be so epic as to require rest.”
“To be honest, I would much rather bed you than fight you, so let us make this short and retire to your chambers, whereupon you can demonstrate your gratitude with the full repertoire of tricks you no doubt learned from those savages in the East.”

The flag rose and his sword darted out to the side, slicing through the leather thong securing the mail to the belt at her posterior.
Ten red penalty pendants were pinned to his marque.
His sword point speared the fallen chain mail loin cloth, which he then raised to his nose, making a pantomime of breathing in her scent and swooning with pleasure.
The crowd roared with laughter.
“As promised Princess, a ten point lead.”
He grinned and bowed to her in mock chivalry.

The flag dropped and Fae jumped forward before he could recover, the katana held upright in one fist, which she drove forward into his face, the sword’s guard acting as a knuckleduster.
Staggering upright, the prince’s eyes seemed unfocused, and he struggled to bring his sword to bear.
His mouthed opened but no words emerged, he teetered backwards and fell.

No help had been required from the warrior souls, all now cheering in her head with the Ninja triplets most vocal of all.
“Pouvoir Des Filles, Sir Knight, as they say in one’s squire’s day.”
Fae strode forward as a shocked silence fell on the crowd, using her katana’s point to hook his broadsword away, a sign that he was vanquished.
She gestured to Scott for the escutcheon, which he handed to her as she made her way to the judge.
“My lord,” she called out as walked. “Be so good as to enter the name of Princess Aimee on The Lists and mount my escutcheon on the tree of shields.”
The judge was still staring at the fallen Lord Hagar as if expecting him to leap to his feet and declare it just another jape.
“What? Pardon? No, I can’t do that; you must continue to fight, surely!”
“Then get that fat arse of yours out of that chair and a lance in your fist to joust,” she stated, reasonably. “Or follow the rules of tourney and do as I bid, for I have won through by a knockout.”
She threw the mini shield as if it were a Frisbee to land on the table in from of him.
He looked from the unmoving prince to the heraldic shield and then to his clerk for advice.
“She is correct, milord.”
With a final, hopeful, look at Prince Hagar, he nodded his assent and the clerk wrote in her name.

The pink and violet were affixed to the tree amid a stunned silence.
Ignoring the prince, and the mail chain cloth, she walked away, her naked buttocks wiggling and the dog paw birthmark on display.

“Fae,” declared a voice, an old soldier recognising that birthmark from some campaign on which he had seen her fight.
“It’s Fae!” 
It began slowly but increased by the second, the stamping of feet in time in the stands and the chanting of a near legendary name.
“Fae!” “Fae!” “Fae!” “Fae!” “Fae!”
She joined Scott and together they walked to the arena’s exit.
“Come, Mr Bennett, let us get you home and put to rights.”

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