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Svetoslawa [2020-01-06 17:32:44 +0000 UTC]

super!

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Trench-ADF [2017-11-29 11:15:45 +0000 UTC]

Excellent work by Yuri, as always.

Fae, in the Supernatural World, contesting in the Jousting tournament at Sky Realm, where the only real difference to jousting in the mortal world in medieval times, are the Knight's mounts.
Dragons, half the size of a football pitch, carry the combatants.

'Fae, at the Joust'

Scott looked up at her and smiled reassuringly as she lowered her own helmet’s visor and set the lance butt in the vertical.
There was an air of expectation as they faced each other with just a long rail separating them. The rebel Faerie in pink and violet armour, and this realm’s best warrior clad in gold, in what was without doubt a grudge match on the prince’s part.
The flag was raised and the king waved a foppish hand.
It fell, and the dragons charged.

Fae set her shield and couched the lance, staring through the helmet’s horizontal viewing slit. Storm Rider had three feet of clearance between his furled left wing and the rail. It was a safe interval as a stumble could result in a rider losing a leg.
She looked for some chest plate to hit, or possibly a shoulder or midriff, but his large shield denied her both. 
When just the shield is on offer then you strike the shield.
Only an impact in the right place, the ‘sweet spot’, with the lance at the perfect angle, would give the desired result.
Fae tried to hold her point true, and not rely solely on her own defence.
So fast did they close that many a spectator flinched in anticipation of a spectacular crash.
Fae held her lance’s blunt tip pointing at the chosen spot, and avoided looking at his, so she did not notice him suddenly lean forward to lengthen his reach.
She braced for the impact of her own lance against him, imagining a solid hit, visualising a perfect and unseating strike but instead she was dashed from her saddle.
Before her tip even struck his shield, his own found the sweet spot on her own, it was pulverised to splinters against the pink fleur de lis but not before it had propelled her from her dragon’s back.
She saw the blue of the sky and brown of the ground and both colours flashed by several times. She smashed to earth in a tangle of limbs and bounced, to the applause of the well-heeled in the crowd.

Scott’s heart was in his mouth as she lay there unmoving in a cloud of raised dust and he started to run to her aid.
After a dozen steps, she raised a hand, signalling he should stop, and she climbed to her feet unaided.
It took three points for a win and already she was two points down. One more point and she would be out of the contest entirely.
She raised her visor and recovered her own undamaged lance, summoning back her dragon with a commanding thought.
Prince Hagar paused in the act of trotting back up to his end of the field, raising his visor and looking at her with grim satisfaction.
“Still want to fight me?” he said loudly for the benefit of the crowd. He rode on without waiting for an answer and Fae re-mounted.
“What happened?” Scott asked as she rode back.
“He did better than me,” she answered simply, but pointed to the spare helmet bag and removed the other from her head.

The magical wards were still in place, of course, and Scott handed her the leather bag, curious to see what was so special about this other helmet.
The same knots which had defied his fingers best efforts, now, simply unravelled at her touch. 
She withdrew the helmet, letting the bag fall.
Unlike her other helmet, this one lacked the elegant lines, and it bore no painted designs, or any trace of house colours. It was unadorned gold crafted into a visage designed to strike terror into an opponent.
Fae carefully arranged her long ponytail, then without further ceremony, she placed it over her head and lowered the visor.
Giving Scott a thumbs-up, she turned Storm Rider to face Lord Hagar again.
Fae’s helmet was fashioned in the form of snarling werewolf’s head, and one that seemed to Scott to have some special significance to the citizenry of Sky.
There was a collective intake of breath from the crowded onlookers, but from among the gathered Sky elite, more than one woman gasped aloud in horrified recognition.

The flag dropped and she spurred on Storm Rider with a thought.
Prince Hagar was again aiming for that spot on her shield but she now aimed for his head. It was a legal target, but easy to miss, although a solid hit could cause a knockout, or worse.

She kept her seat in the precise same fashion as the first pass, and her shield set exactly the same, only her choice of target differed and he could not fail to see that tip aiming between his eyes.
Prince Hagar held steady until the last moment when he raised his shield to protect his face.
The moment his shield moved upwards, Fae leaned forward, extending her reach by a vital inch or two and angling her shield slightly as she lowered her own lance’s tip.
By raising his own shield, he exposed a tiny area of his waist and Fae felt two jarring impacts, the first being his lance deflecting off her shield with a mighty bang, and the second was her own lance smashing into the plate guarding his midriff. 
The lance exploded, or at least that was how it seemed to her. She gripped tight with her thighs but was still pummelled back in her seat. She stayed atop her dragon but the tall prince was evicted from his.

Fae discarded the ruined remains of the lance, casting it aside, and slowed Storm Rider to a halt. She turned the beast to trot back, but stopped opposite the fallen prince, reaching back to draw the katana as he forced himself into a sitting position. 
Fae leaned over and snared the little girl’s faveur on the sword tip from where it lay amid the splinters, before tying it about her right arm where it would not get lost again.
She raised her visor as he regained his feet and lifted his.
“Still want to bed me?” she said loudly, for the benefit of his wife.
Two points all, but still she needed a point to win whereas the prince just need a point for her to lose.
One final lance to settle the issue, and the dragons once again charged.

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