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Good Game, Good Game...
Mar. 20th, 2006 03:33 pm...and other annoying Forsyth-esque phrases.
The twenty-four hour weekend got off to a good start as I availed myself of Nat's fabled hospitality and had a first and only practice for the forthcoming minstrelling as Chris got his guitar out around elevenish. When we next looked at the clock it was well gone two. Must stop doing that...
Saturday morning came and the trip down there had us arriving to find a site that was windswept and blisteringly cold. Pitching the tents left hands blue and the three of us seriously considering not bothering with the competition and turning the entire thing into a pubmeet at the nearby Drunken Monk tavern.
Then we walked back up by the hut...and thought, "where's the wind gone?"
Belatedly realising the difference between an open tract of land and an area with a huge bank of tall trees in the windward direction, we rejigged things to make the ring of combat just outside the hut - simple when thought about, isn't it?
We managed to finally get started around three o'clock, which wasn't particularly early, but not as bad as it could have been, and I got got given a rank seventy-nine might priest to play for the weekend. I realised I should have been considering his name rather than the statsheet I had been given when someone asked me for my name. Immediately, out came "Foren Bornhald" and I inwardly cringed. For anyone who actually gives a damn, the original name of High Master Fornax (of CXVAG fame) before it became that way will be changed in short order to make up for the mistake. If anyone has any reason why it shouldn't be, please let me know and arrangements can be made.
It was nice to play someone who didn't have to outwardly hate barbarians for once. Foren respected strength, skill and prowess - something the "Northmen" tend to have in abundance - so managed to find a way to get on with most combatants. The pool fights were often gross mismatches (Nab versus Biggles fairly vaults to mind), only requiring judges decisions on a few of them, though there were the odd couple that piqued more interest - often between shield users. Foren was in danger of falling asleep during the Prospera/Blackwing fight - if only he had known what was going on (and that we hadn't fixed the draw OOC. Not once. At all).
The pool matches were completed and the semi- and finals arranged for the next day, and in the darkness, we moved on to the scouting competition. Kudos to G'Mord for giving it a go - however, walking directly back along the path the entrants had been taken out on probably wasn't the best course of action.
Carrying Biggles in his pocket, Loukakis managed to ensure a double podium for the Hammerheads, but if either the Pathfinder Captain or Foren have anything to do with it, such flagrant aiding of another entrant will not be allowed last year. Ideas are in the process of being formulated for making it more than just a mass sneak through a short area of forest at night for the next tournament. Scouts, watch this space --> <--, and probably take a weapon next time.
The night finished with an excellent honour combat between Cyrus and Brend, doing precisely what is says on the Gladiator tin - fighting skilfully for the entertainment of others. All three judges were impressed for various reasons. Foren got his ass handed to him in an unpowered honour duel against G'Mord - this did not surprise me and I was impressed with how long I managed to stand up.
That evening, Chris and I finally got to sing in front of other people we knew - something I had wanted to do for quite some time - and it seemed to go down very well. Scaffold Man got debuted and was liked - it's a pity that so few Sc'ara Fo'uld people were there, but that's the case with such characters - they would probably assume that someone was out to get them and never attend.
Sunday dawned and Emma went away to her family gathering, far too early for my liking (i.e. staying in bed and snuggling would have been preferable). The remaining matchups were all good fights, culminating in two short but sweet finals in which champions were crowned and Interfector was killed to the delight of a rather irrationally large portion of the crowd. He was powered up by a dubiously sizeable crew of people that involved both magic and barbarian shamanic casting - which was interesting.
Foren then got his ass handed to him in a powered honour duel against G'Mord - this did surprise me, considering that Foren had twenty ranks on his opponent and a full range of casting available to him. Too many huge hits that almost took his legs clean off were the problem.
The troll hunt was over almost before it started as the party ran into five rank forty fire trolls and their two pet droken. This was unfortunate, as the path the party had chosen led them right into it fairly early. Of the several routes they could have chosen, this one made for the shortest game. Wisely withdrawing from an encounter where the combatants were throwing out innate Firedart 20's, they managed to get out almost entirely alive, with the exception of Calamity finally missing a parry and my troll 18ing him into the ground. We managed to finish at almost exactly three o'clock (twenty-four hour being the operative term), and the only dampener on getting home was my realising that I had managed to leave my sleeping bag in Nat's car. Buggeration.
Overall, considering how badly it could have gone with the weather, it was a stunning success which everyone seemed to enjoy at least the majority of, and a great way of bowing out of TL. There is a possibility of being tempted out of retirement to play Foren in next year's contest, but other than that I'm about done with it. On to the LT, Arborea, Maelstrom, Crooked House and White City - the future's bright...the future's IC.
The twenty-four hour weekend got off to a good start as I availed myself of Nat's fabled hospitality and had a first and only practice for the forthcoming minstrelling as Chris got his guitar out around elevenish. When we next looked at the clock it was well gone two. Must stop doing that...
Saturday morning came and the trip down there had us arriving to find a site that was windswept and blisteringly cold. Pitching the tents left hands blue and the three of us seriously considering not bothering with the competition and turning the entire thing into a pubmeet at the nearby Drunken Monk tavern.
Then we walked back up by the hut...and thought, "where's the wind gone?"
Belatedly realising the difference between an open tract of land and an area with a huge bank of tall trees in the windward direction, we rejigged things to make the ring of combat just outside the hut - simple when thought about, isn't it?
We managed to finally get started around three o'clock, which wasn't particularly early, but not as bad as it could have been, and I got got given a rank seventy-nine might priest to play for the weekend. I realised I should have been considering his name rather than the statsheet I had been given when someone asked me for my name. Immediately, out came "Foren Bornhald" and I inwardly cringed. For anyone who actually gives a damn, the original name of High Master Fornax (of CXVAG fame) before it became that way will be changed in short order to make up for the mistake. If anyone has any reason why it shouldn't be, please let me know and arrangements can be made.
It was nice to play someone who didn't have to outwardly hate barbarians for once. Foren respected strength, skill and prowess - something the "Northmen" tend to have in abundance - so managed to find a way to get on with most combatants. The pool fights were often gross mismatches (Nab versus Biggles fairly vaults to mind), only requiring judges decisions on a few of them, though there were the odd couple that piqued more interest - often between shield users. Foren was in danger of falling asleep during the Prospera/Blackwing fight - if only he had known what was going on (and that we hadn't fixed the draw OOC. Not once. At all).
The pool matches were completed and the semi- and finals arranged for the next day, and in the darkness, we moved on to the scouting competition. Kudos to G'Mord for giving it a go - however, walking directly back along the path the entrants had been taken out on probably wasn't the best course of action.
Carrying Biggles in his pocket, Loukakis managed to ensure a double podium for the Hammerheads, but if either the Pathfinder Captain or Foren have anything to do with it, such flagrant aiding of another entrant will not be allowed last year. Ideas are in the process of being formulated for making it more than just a mass sneak through a short area of forest at night for the next tournament. Scouts, watch this space --> <--, and probably take a weapon next time.
The night finished with an excellent honour combat between Cyrus and Brend, doing precisely what is says on the Gladiator tin - fighting skilfully for the entertainment of others. All three judges were impressed for various reasons. Foren got his ass handed to him in an unpowered honour duel against G'Mord - this did not surprise me and I was impressed with how long I managed to stand up.
That evening, Chris and I finally got to sing in front of other people we knew - something I had wanted to do for quite some time - and it seemed to go down very well. Scaffold Man got debuted and was liked - it's a pity that so few Sc'ara Fo'uld people were there, but that's the case with such characters - they would probably assume that someone was out to get them and never attend.
Sunday dawned and Emma went away to her family gathering, far too early for my liking (i.e. staying in bed and snuggling would have been preferable). The remaining matchups were all good fights, culminating in two short but sweet finals in which champions were crowned and Interfector was killed to the delight of a rather irrationally large portion of the crowd. He was powered up by a dubiously sizeable crew of people that involved both magic and barbarian shamanic casting - which was interesting.
Foren then got his ass handed to him in a powered honour duel against G'Mord - this did surprise me, considering that Foren had twenty ranks on his opponent and a full range of casting available to him. Too many huge hits that almost took his legs clean off were the problem.
The troll hunt was over almost before it started as the party ran into five rank forty fire trolls and their two pet droken. This was unfortunate, as the path the party had chosen led them right into it fairly early. Of the several routes they could have chosen, this one made for the shortest game. Wisely withdrawing from an encounter where the combatants were throwing out innate Firedart 20's, they managed to get out almost entirely alive, with the exception of Calamity finally missing a parry and my troll 18ing him into the ground. We managed to finish at almost exactly three o'clock (twenty-four hour being the operative term), and the only dampener on getting home was my realising that I had managed to leave my sleeping bag in Nat's car. Buggeration.
Overall, considering how badly it could have gone with the weather, it was a stunning success which everyone seemed to enjoy at least the majority of, and a great way of bowing out of TL. There is a possibility of being tempted out of retirement to play Foren in next year's contest, but other than that I'm about done with it. On to the LT, Arborea, Maelstrom, Crooked House and White City - the future's bright...the future's IC.
