day one;; a griffinhunter's joust;; [lancelot]

[Amalric Maulesel]

Amalric and Uther didn't need a peace treaty between their kingdoms to know that they were allies. Landgraben's beer, after all, was brewed from Camelot's wheat. His country's mules knew the road to the blue-tiled castle almost as well as the spider web trails that laced his mountains. Of course he would trot down from the mountains to show his support for Uther's negotiations. He was more than pleased to be invited to Camelot's Five Day Festival. He promptly replied to the invitation and he sent along his RSVP on the least stubborn mule.

Camelot's tournament field was legendary! For centuries, Camelot's knights and lords congregated to the arena to fight in a gentleman's mock war. So this lovely afternoon, Amalric hoisted himself up onto his horse. The steed was a great beast, brown, sturdy, and calm by the jousting atmosphere, for it had stomped through real wars. If it weren't for the chain mail suit, the Percheron would have taken numerous arrows to his flank and long been dead. Sir Munche helped the king into the last of his armor, finally twisting on his helm. Then, he patted Amalric on the back like any old fellow to another and wished him a hearty good luck. "I will win this tournament," Amalric said in return, "because I don't know where that griffin is today."

His next opponent was a certain Lancelot du Lac, a scruffy looking fellow with a farmers tan and hair as thick as one of Amalric's mountain hounds. He contrasted the knight very neatly. His horse jangled like death's chains, and he thought his armor gave him the advantage of seeming bigger than he actually was.

Lancelot was announced first into the arena, and off he rode through the gate. Amalric watched how he bounced in his saddle, very evenly and an expert at keeping his lance from wobbling. He nudged the the sides of his steed when his own title was called.

"Amalric Maulesel, the lord of Landgraben and the iron mountains!" He rode out proud, his armor proclaiming its own music beside the trumpets. He pulled his horse to stand facing Uther Pendragon and his bewitching ward. His horse stomped impatiently, for he was used to chasing lion-hawks all day and his muscle could not keep still. "Easy Fehrtie, you'll have your moment soon," he promised, twisting the reins delicately to guide the impatient horse. "This one looks a real twig." He barely filled out his armor. Setting off, his heavy-weight mount kicked up the arena's sand as he made his way to his side of the long fence. A boy brought his lance and shield and it took a bit of time to find his reins again. And then, he stilled amount and absorbed the atmosphere. Here he was in Camelot. Camelot. The King looked down from his high seat expectantly. So many had fought on these grounds, died in this sport of men. He would pick up and handful of dirt and rub it into his gloves if it weren't so much trouble to dismount. Even removing his helm to get a better look at the crowd would have been too difficult an affair, so he spoke to his horse once more like all mad knights do when they have no one about to pat them on the shoulder.

"One for Landgraben, eh? We'll show them the strength of the griffin hunter," he said, and the horse shook its head about and snorted in agreement. He aligned himself against the post, lowered the oak lance, and lifted himself above the saddle so his bulk did not crash into the animals back with every leaping step. The signal to charge was abrupt. His horse pushed of the ground, fighting off the weight of their bulk like a mammoth caught in tar. Together, they met Lancelot a third of the way out, but the sun got in Amalric's eye and he missed his blow.

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(TAGGED) Lancelot du Lac
(NOTES) So notice very neatly he was not announced as king

[Deleted]

Lancelot had been gone from Camelot for some time, serving various lords as a soldier of fortune. In truth, there had not been much fortune involved, not that he had ever laid claim to the pursuit of a fortune. Actually, he had found that the fighting men in a noble’s camp often provided entertainment in the evenings, where they fought in hand-to-hand combat at the pleasure of the noble they were serving, and for the betting wagers of their comrades. It was not what Lancelot had envisioned that his life would be like when he had left Camelot the first time, and he had found little opportunity to prove himself.

He had not thought that this was how he would make his return to Camelot, in the presence of King Uther, and the rest of the royal household. He was quite dirty and grimy …. His weapons were not polished, and he knew that he cast a pretty lean shadow, since, for the most part, he and his comrades lived off the land. However, this celebration was different. Many kingdoms from in and around Albion had come for the formal signing of a peace treaty and for its celebration. There would be plenty of food and drink, and Camelot had been laid open for fighting men of all types, and there would be games for them all to participate in. He and his band had been afeared that they would be late and miss the first day. Thankfully, they had not, for on the first day was the jousting tournament, and there were many of Lancelot’s comrades, including Lancelot himself, who wanted to participate.

They had ridden hard to make it, and Lancelot thought that many of his company, both horses and men, would be too tired to put up much of a battle for the jousting competitions. The lances were often made of a heavy wood, and unless you were in top condition one could be at a significant disadvantage. Lancelot had seen some so weak that they couldn’t even get the lance lifted into the proper position. Lancelot, upon arriving, began to analyze all of the potential opponents he could take in, trying to measure their physical abilities against his own. As far as the treaty went, deep in his heart, he hoped it would succeed, especially since it was the work of Camelot, and despite losing his Knighthood, Camelot still held a special place in his heart.

The treaty itself, did not hold a special place in his heart, for he had learned much about the hearts of men in the past year, and how difficult it was to turn such hearts from darkness. Lancelot’s aim was to win the joust on the very fields that he had trained on to become a Knight of Camelot in the first place, in front of King Uther, and perhaps show what stern stuff he was made of. He could see one group of warriors that were just across the field were stout, tough looking men, who appeared to be quite strong. How many pounds of mail and armor were they wearing, he wondered, and their horses were huge as well. As he was announced to the field and arena he was sure that many took a look at him and his horse, and wondered what they were doing on the same field as these stout soldiers from who-knows-where. Lancelot patted his horse’s side and smiled. His stallion did not look as massive of some of these other horses, but Sher-Fore was a black Arabian, with several years of battle and jousting experience. It would serve them well to be under-estimated, Lancelot considered to himself.

Directly after he was announced, he heard and saw his opponent. He was huge! Or at least he looked it with that all and massive horse and all of the equipment he was carrying. And he seemed to be carting himself with a great deal of confidence. "Amalric Maulesel, the lord of Landgraben and the iron mountains!," he heard, as the trumpets played. He wondered if Prince Arthur or King Uther, or any of the people he had known previously, had recognized his name. “Easy Sher-Fore, This one looks like he is very sure of his advantages. Why don’t we just let him keep believing that he’s superior, eh?,” he said under his breath.

Lancelot nodded in deference to his opponent, took on his lighter, but more easy to maneuver lance, and prepared for the first rush. They had to wait only moments for the command to go, and Sher-Fore, built for speed as much as for combat, fairly sprang from his starting spot, and the two combatants met after Lancelot had covered twice the ground and was traveling nearly twice as fast. Lancelot noticed some hesitation in his opponent, whose blow apparently did not account for Lancelot’s speed, or perhaps it was the sun, and he missed well behind Lancelot. Unfortunately, though, Sher-Fore had hit an un-even spot in the track, causing him to throw Lancelot’s blow off just enough to miss as well, and each lancer wound up at opposite ends of the joust, undamaged, but unhappy that neither had connected on the first pass. Each, now, though, had a certain level of respect for the other’s courage and skills.

[Amalric Maulesel]

He could barely see! Amalric cricked his neck, forcing the helmet to twist and cut off the blinding light. He jerked Gehrties reins frustrated, though not so hard as he would fall from his mount if he stopped too quickly. He fumed hot in his metal as he steered the mount around, the horse stepping quickly and turning in a wide, careful arc until she lined up again at the fence. Amalric put his palm to his helmet to check its security. The sun was behind him now, but he didn't want the device getting in the way again. Finally, he patted the mule head silhouette on Gehrtie's flank for good luck. He let out a breath of hot air. His horse rattled like a caravan of pots as it jostled on along the fence.

The king had missed the skinny knight. Maybe the fellow could shift under his armor like a snake in the bushes and just because he prodded his lance in his direction, it didn't mean that he would make the hit. Again Amalric nudged Gehrtie in the ribs, lowered his oaken pole and lifted his rear to sway above the saddled and not upon his horse's back. During the sprint, Amalric glanced at the aging Camelot king. He wondered what the conqueror thought of him. He could tell the man was distracted from their match - his head was turned in their direction - but otherwise, it was difficult to see the man's countenance through his helm. This was a quick glance, a self-conscious moment that, for example, a tennis player has when their lover is in the stands. No joke, Uther was the type of king he prayed he could be. The man could put his foot down and keep it down as if it were stuck in quicksand. He and listened intently at all the king's meetings, and Amalric always related his speeches to the stories he heard of the war against magic when he was just a small child.

But his attention returned to his speeding opponent after a couple hoof beats. Amalric had a surer grip on his lance this bout, but his shield sagged revealing a thickly studded breastplate. He was too busy aiming his whole body to throw weight at Lancelot, for though his body was slower, it carried more inertia thrust by the power of Gehrtie. You know how men get. All or nothing! Conquer or die! Amalric was twice injected with the attitude - for he is a Maulesel and they even grumble over spilled beer. Thus his armed lagged down from the weight of his shield. He balanced up high on his saddle and he twisted to hold the lance farther out. Still, his lagging arm signed the foolishness of his next great thrust. Uther could watch him take the tourney.He did his best to set up a blow that would slid between the shield and armor and make a square blow to the chest. However, once again, he lost his balance in his more lifted position of the saddle. He could not flick his lance to the right, and in the next second, he realized he was at the charger's mercy and the feeling is similar to when he drinks too much beer at once and his nose tingles for what is yet to come.

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(TAGGED) Lancelot du Lac

[Deleted]

Lancelot realized that he had been quite fortunate in the first round. It was obvious that his opponent was quite strong and skilled. And his mount was a strong and sturdy animal as well. Apparently, though, its heavy weight meant that it could not build up much speed and was likely not be very maneuverable or agile. That was an advantage that Lancelot and his horse had …. the force that they could bring because of their greater velocity and the ability to make sudden and agile changes in position just before the lance-hit was made. Lancelot looked and could see, with the current position of the sun, that it was likely that it had been in his opponent’s eyes, likely blinding him.

However, now, Lancelot knew, they had exchanged ends, and the sun would likely be in his own eyes. Knowing this, though, Lancelot began to develop a new strategy. Understanding that his formidable opponent was broader, and with his larger horse, sat taller in the saddle than he did, Lancelot would use his opponent’s body to block out the sun. He also understood that getting a good start on his run was vitally important, so that he would be able to maximize his force and speed, and quickly avoid any thrust from his opponent. He had also noticed, from there first run, that his opponent’s more elevated position on his horse left him exposed to an upward thrust of the lance in his lower to mid-abdomen. It would help, also, that the nature of his opponent’s lower helmet would make him blind to such a thrust. Lancelot just wondered whether his rather generic wooden lance would be strong enough to do much damage. Using his mount’s greater speed he rapidly wheeled Sher-Fore into position, so that they would be in position for a fast start along the rail.

He saw that it was taking his adversary a lot more effort and time to get into position, more than enough for Lancelot and his horse to be ready for a second charge. Viewing the way the heavier horse was breathing, compared to his Arabian stallion, Lancelot figured that the larger horse would become more and more fatigued, especially if Lancelot did not allow for much time between the rushes of each round. The intermission, though, did give Lancelot a chance to look up in the reviewing stand. He wondered if King Uther remembered him, and if he did, what he thought of him now ….probably not much he thought to himself ….. as he saw the signal and launched his speedy but tough stallion down the rail, leveling his lance at his opponent. Lancelot watched his opponent’s shield sag quite low, as he approached, then realizing its position, tried to yank it up to protect his neck and upper breastplate. The sudden movement caused his opponent to be thrown off-balance, and coupled with a last-second turn of his body, the larger knight’s thrust missed entirely ….. creating an even wider target area in the lower abdomen, which Lancelot hit squarely, but his lance shattered into splinters as it made contact. He heard a sudden gasp from his adversary, but little else to indicate whether he had damaged him any as he rode to the other end of the list, shaking his head at the poor quality of lance ….. “stupid good-for-nothing lance,” he said in exasperation.

[Amalric Maulesel]

Amalric was taken with quite a passion, similar to that which plagues the breast of any large animal such as hippos and rhinos. The Southern Continent has this fever of ferocity, and it returns naturally to a man raised an only child nine years before his two wicked siblings came about. He had the pride of a kindergartener. And so, he quite lost his form, his shield sagged, though his lance was held all the skill and quality he could muster.

As the other knight charged, the king felt the wind up of a mule's kick within him. His muscles tensed, and he balanced in his saddle in an awful seat. He was so intent upon keeping his lance perfect, that with a flick of his eyes in the claustrophobic helm, he ought to pick up his shield. The point, approaching like a punch square between the nose, was longer than Amalric's tip - for he could not carry as long a lance in such heavy armor - and he quickly lifted his great shield. But it was too much of a see-saw. Lifting his shield ruined his lancing arm, and the great wobble in his spear made his shield arm stiffen to balance the great catastrophe. At last, he braced himself in his saddle. And like this, his opponents tip arrive in just the right way! But it broke! The wood held its point on the joint of Amalric's shoulder, but the rider horse held the shock and the weapon snapped. Amalric was stunned and surprised and, at last, turning his head around as his horse slowed like one might when a pretty lady walks by. "Very good!" he said, watch the knight inspect the destruction of his beam. "I have never seen such an excellent hit!" Indeed, he was lucky he had not been thrown off his horse.

After easing Gehrtie, the poor mare disturbed from the collision, he lowered his lance, and rode up to his opponents field. The fellow's head had sunk and he seemed quite bitter. Before any squire could appear and replace his master's weapon Amalric rode up and remove his helm.

"That is exactly the kind of skill my country need more of. It would honor me if you fought with my lance, for it shall not break where yours did, and I shall handle my spare. You have excellent form. That was incredible!" He held out the lance, handle first which was wrought in a superb quality of steel. The beam was of an old oak that proved its strength with time. He wondered how such a great tilt could be struck with such an awful weapon. In the knight he had ran against, he saw everything he wanted his men to be. "Here. It is a good beam, on my word, and maybe such luck will come again for you,"

[/color]he finished, holding it out while the crowd clutched their seats, cheering and shouting even through the intermission.Amalric recalled the fellows faced before he had donned his simple helm. He had smart face, and though he called it luck, he was pleased and proud to be in the presence of such a genius. 'Only in Camelot,' he thought.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/color]

(TAGGED) Lancelot Dulac
(NOTES) I keep forgetting to say, but I love your horse's name. Sher Fore. Is that in the canon literature? It just sounds so right.

[Deleted]

Lancelot had watched his opponent, as carefully as he could, before the match, for a variety of reasons. Of course he had watched him ride, and practice, so that he could see his skill and coordination with weapons. Generally, if one were entered in a tournament like this one, one would expect not to have any surprises there. Additionally, though, he observed to see what their mood and emotional state was. Was he cold and calculating? Or did he tend to be more controlled by the ups and downs of emotion?

From what Lancelot could see, in the limited time and pace he had to observe, was that this one looked to be of a fiery sort. He knew that he was a noble, just by the way he treated others, and seemed to have an obsessive personality. Hmmm …. He thought to himself …. noble …. so probably thinks he’s superior or should be anyway …. obsessive ….. probably a perfectionist. He’s fiery and emotional …. Those all together ….. if he is gotten off his game can probably take advantage of him. Lancelot knew that he himself was skilled. If he impressed this one enough his opponent might come to believe that he had to make the perfect defense and propel the perfect shot with his lance. When people felt that they had to do something perfectly they often overcompensated, trying to make a perfect shot. He wondered if he could force one as he had started down the rail with his lance. He smiled as he saw his slower and heavier opponent move toward him, seeing how he first juggled his shield and then tried to compensate with how he was holding his lance. With each passing moment, each got further out of position, until he had little fear of the lance, and he looked at the ever-growing gap between lance, shield and sweet-spot of his opponent’s shoulder.

Within moments he rushed by the opposing lance point and brought his lance point to bear at the place where it could do maximum damage …. Probably un-horsing him violently …. And then the sound he feared the most …. KERSNAPPP …. as Lancelot’s lance shattered at the impact at his high rate of speed.

He was heartbroken as he watched the shattered shards of lance fall to the ground, as he continued to his end of the rail. He threw the lance handle to the ground, and ripped his helmet off, uttering a few choice words of disgust. Obviously, since he was not a noble, they had given him equipment that was not of the best quality. He quietly cursed himself for being so stupid as not to have brought his own equipment, or at least borrowed equipment he trusted. He heard, from a distance what sounded like a “Very good,” but he could not be sure and why would a noble opponent who expected to win anyway say such a thing? Then he heard very clearly, as the din of the crowd had quieted, "I have never seen such an excellent hit!" His opponent then quickly rode up, and removed his helm, as Lancelot had just done, which Lancelot was not sure was not in the protocol of the joust, so he glanced back at King Uther in reviewing stand. Lancelot quickly nodded in respect. “That is good of you to say, and given our present combat, a bit …. Unexpected. However, I’m sure it was only a lucky shot.” However, the king’s words did not stop there. "That is exactly the kind of skill my country need more of. It would honor me if you fought with my lance, for it shall not break where yours did, and I shall handle my spare. You have excellent form. That was incredible!"

The lance was extended before Lancelot could say either yes or no, and he was a bit dumbfounded. He had never experienced anyone, noble or not like this one. “What country would that be? Yes …. yes, of course, and it is who would be honored, your Highness …., and before he could say more, the strange noble had ridden off to his end of the list. Lancelot tested the lance’s feel and heft all of the way back to his spot, where he got his stallion in position once more. He found that it had a more solid feel, and good bit more weight to it. Now, Lancelot, was of fair height, but not overly tall, and did not seem on first look to be endowed with great strength, but his years of training had provided him with more than enough upper body strength to wield this lance, but he had never carried one like it into actual combat before. Therefore, from the first moment that his stallion, Sher-Fore, had launched himself down the rail, Lancelot’s new lance was not quite the right position. As he approached the king and his horse, on the rail, instead of having his lance point in a stable position, it was moving, as this time, Lancelot was the one overcompensating, as he did his best to cover himself with his shield ….