Author
Setting: This starts in "Lassiter Castle" a fictional stone Motte and Bailey tower like fort on a hill, with a wall around it, and a fighting yard. (The Bailey.) Somewhat north of Bristol, the closest major Port with shipping to the Continent. On a hill SW of St. Arilda church, Cowhill Bristol. Within line of sight of the Severn "River" though it's debatable at what point it turns into Bristol Bay. (Incidentally, nowhere near the city of Leicester) Basically as a lookout for anyone (Probably Welsh) trying to invade from the river/bay. Historical note: The Swiss forces were routed by Burgundy reinforcements at the Siege of Nancy, in this timeline. They actually retreated to Zurich, and drove the pursuit force back with reinforcements from Bern, but having proven their point, the Houses of Burgundy then took over the rest of France. Now, they are in the process of consolidating power, and driving the Lancaster houses, back out to Normadie. Which is ultimately why some of the family is sent to winter with the East Earls of March, allies of both the Landcasters (Against the Houses of York in London) and the Swiss Confederacy.
Unlike Switzerlund, it's a clusterfuck of Angles, Saxons, Normans, and the few remaining indigenous tribes. Around War of the Roses, this is just the Earls of March! So, they do put on armor in the morning as part of their uniform, because they might actually be attacked. The Lacy/Lasci/Lassiters are a mix of rival/allied families, blending, and fighting between the 3 main powers that eventually bred modern Brits, and are invading Ireland. This one's not real sexually explicit, at all. Unless you're turned on by fighting, and adventure like Milne, but I just wanted to write it. What erotic content there is is in euphemism, or with a degree of separation, because they don't write about it.
Written into the inside of the Illuminated (Title, with a stylized Mural of a picture) page of a book, and continuing on around the Gloss. Eine Engelishe, as she would think it. Better at writing it than speak it aloud, mostly from reading it in this book/letter exchange. Only 1 half of the correspondence, the other half halfway across Europe, at this point. Several months ride, with legs over lake, and river boats, and a ship around southern Brittain, from the Norman port of Callais to avoid the Burgundy, but the Channel is dominated by the house of York. Enemies in the latter War of the Roses (The white ones) so the independent ship has to change flags on it's way through, then around Plymouth. They both know the trip, so don't write, or talk about it much.
TWs: Cani, Sade, Sodo, Best, Rape, Blut, and Mort. Approaching Snuff territory, with some relatively social and acceptable Pedo-to-EpheboPhilae, due to the cultural substrate. Also, some Transvestic fetishism.
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Jagr (MMfdoM)
"Our lady, Bavard could protect until she took over. That summer, I learned more than I had in 2 dozen years. Over swordplay, and loveplay. My father was a woodMann, he hunted as well, but made most of his living hauling in timber, and carving. Not a carpenter, which he could do, but found more money and reknown with his faces, heads, and especially hair. He showed me, how to find it in the wood, the threads that flow through it as hair. Or water, even blades of grass, and pikes moving through the fields.
At home, his Meisterwerk was as a table, no one would sit on, showing Hannibal driving through the fields of Airolo. Elephant, and an army of shields with spears from the top of a stump. The mountains, and pass down to Milan, he could see through the doors when open. All who viewed it wanted something carved, even so simple as a walking stick, but rooted to the floor of the house. He could not bring it with us, but that is how he could afford to raise me better.
{He couldn't exactly do the 47 Ronin. Incidentally, the farthest North he was supposed to have marched was St. Bernard's Pass, which is nowhere near Airolo, so this may be local legend/marketing.}
In Breinz, on the end of the lake, he started a model of the city which he did not finish, but I found my kraft in the hunt. Wilst he looked for wood, to bring back, he passed in winter to a cough, and fever until he did not wake up, cold in the night. My mother raised me as well as could, with the inhieritance we moved again to Insteltwalden.
The bay, on a boat, I learned to rock to sleep in it, and she had plants on the deck. Over the cabin, instead of a roof, or garden. There is a deck, my father did not make it for her, but carved it, before he died. She loved the see, and sailed us out here, when the ice was gone, to visit with the fishers, and loved the village. We did not fish, but he carved the fish, and fishfolk. Fishfrau, as her, at the head of their bed.
I hanged, as a sausage beside the door, but it made the rocking more gentle, as I drifted off to dreamlund.
Then, the Baron came, with his daughter, whole loved the village as well. One spring, and she was beautiful, I imagined being hers, but not that I could. 'Twas but a fantasy, but they returned with his fleet. I had to pay, to move my hausBoot around the horn, as it has no sails, and I can not row it myself. I am not a sailor, as some may think, living on a boat. I can fish, but you can not stalk them, as with game.
I prefer the hunt. Not the kill, for all the work that comes after. Following it down the slope, and fixing it to carry back to town, but I eat well, fix the furs, and sell leathers. To the tailor, I knew him from Brienz, but he came to test the guard, when they came. He told me he held back, from beating Bavard because he did not want his job. Protecting the girl, her virginity.
I don't want that duty, either, which put me at odds with Bavard. It drove him mad, I believe. You say mad for Anger, and Insanity? Yes, first anger, then murderous rage, he had to be killed. She beat him, with his anger. I saw it, he saw me touching her hair, I was not told, but I knew better. I could not resist, with her right there, my eyes reflecting in hers, and the whisp that pulled free from schwertSpiel with Balger.
Your German is very good, my lady, but your Latan Romansh {Romance Language, literally} is better. Bitte, und Baume. Beautiful, your voice, light, and sweeter even than thine cousin, the lady Alberich.
Her first time with me, she forced him to kneel in the harbor before her, and held the edgeless sword to his throat. Then, she came to me, told me to run so she could chase me, but not to far. She lay me down, in clover left from the spring, but no longer flowered. For the bees, but it was by then dark, and we were far beyond the fires of the shore.
There is a fort, an old stone fort on the spit they took from the Major. She took my by the hand, and mouth. You know how to do this? You never have before? Here, let me show you, it is easy. You will learn, quickly enough, let me just get this codpiece off. I hate these things, but as they say. I have never been to Rome, but this Angelund is nice enough. It is named for the angels? Yes, you have the mouth of an angel, just milk it with your hand. The milk will come.
Oh, my Yarla, yes. This is good, yes!"
{biLingual Note: At some point, I can't help but have my way with words. I hope I don't have to point out the obvious puns, see/seiMann. Romench, no longer living hand-to-mouth, but getting in a bit of a Bind, und sew fourth... (Had to get up to Zechs.) I think in puns, can't really turn it off, usually edit them out while I'm putting in speling erors to differentiate the authors. (When they're distinctively literate.) In this case, it's subtext, with the context of switzerLatin/Deutcshbang from being serially linebanged going all the way back to Carthage. Not a whole lot of passes in and out of the valleys, between the ridges and peaks, try not to think about it, cause I don't have to. Any way, he's illiterate, but telling all this to his mistress, an Anglo/Saxon Yarla (Earletess) because there's not 1 princess. At some point, she writes it down.}
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Yarla of Lassiter (fg Mole. That's her title, not her name. So, also Anon.)
It was sad. After I read the story of Pestous of Pori, and how she met her end. Diving from the cliffs to the low tide, dashed against the rocks by the waves, as she could not bear her man a child. Then, he asked after his lady and I.
"We met in Zurich. My father had business. He hates the Burgundi, and thought he could find allies in their enemies. Powerful allies, and frightful. He won't tell me, what he has heard of her family, but what little she has written."
"Yes, the Baron is. He enjoys discipline, in his household, army and navy. Shameful joy." {*}
"That is?"
"I know not the word in Angelic, he enjoys burning people. Cooking them alive, and raping them, especially the men. I did not know he did this, to Bavard. They don't speak of it, but I saw him roast a man, on a spit."
"Over a fire?"
"The spit, yes. Not the man, he was bound to posts beside it, so that the iron spit could be heated, and cook him from the inside."
"Oh, no. We do not have words for that." {*} "The raiders, might have words for that."
"The Norse?"
"North of here, the fireheads, the clans of northmen. They are fierce, and I read stories about them. My husband, doesn't let me ous as her father did."
"You are."
"Nearly a score, next spring. When my child shall come. In Zurich I was a dozen, and 3."
"So, she was."
"Seven, or eight?"
"What was she like?"
"Mean, demanding," her Germann is soft, "Until I satisfied her." From mostly reading it. {A history of Bern, and so forth, between letters smuggled in them.}
"How?"
"I made love to her?"
"How?"
"With a girl, it is. It would take a while, to negotiate the words between us but simply with my hands, and mouth. She learned to satisfy me as well, but I already knew how to that."
"Show me."
"Now?"
"I want to learn."
{* Donatien Alphonse, Marquis de Sade wasn't born yet. Yes, same families. Take the historical bloodlines of Europe, and Amp the Kink gain up to 11. Not all of them, but more than enough. Power CAN corrupt, but absolute power does. Absolutely, but when you're born corrupted, you can only Escalate. Over centuries, the Alberich are pretty close to the main line of super-natural Congenital Sadistic Malignant Narcissits. Shadenfreude, or eventually to be known as Sexual Sadism, if this branch of inhumanity wasn't going to be wiped with the rest of them. (Again, Vesta with a follow-through by the Moon. 1-2 punch, eventually cooling to a ball coated in smooth basalt/obsidian with Kessler rings for fucking with the timeline.) Milna just happened to be raised by a cannibal.}
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Hart {Mf Preg Cons. Fantasy, but that goes without saying.}
"You like the stories." She lay back, fat with child. We are snowed in here, I can rent another sledge, and one of their fur footed draft horses on the morrow. Right now I have the woman I satisfied. On her second child, just weaned, a bawly little brat with it's nursemaids for the night.
Cold drafty place, on a hill. Brilliant, with a bailey around it, but the bed is warm, and I don't feel the need to hike for the fireplace. Just heat her up to warm her with her body, with the mulled cider already gone, and thawing out of my head, shake it, watching.
"I learn from doing, things." I licked my fingers, "Like this?"
"Ja," not Da, or a soft D. "She called me rabbit. Hartmann ever after, that first time."
"She was not your first?"
"Oh no, there were plenty in Breinz, und Aurnmeuhle. Interlaken, between the lakes." I show her "Here?" on her chest. "It is in the valley, between many peaks, but not as soft and full as these. Snow at the peaks, always, you are without milk?"
"Mh, yes."
"Smq, huh! In the summer, the lake is deep, but not this warm."
"Mh, uh huh?"
"So, we must dive in, and come back out, shivering. On the spit, in front of the old fort, it is not forested, like this. But we can warm up, in the sun, playing on the pebbles. Running around, faster, and faster then diving in to swim around, wriggling like fishes, and kicking like running in the deep waters."
"AhHH! Yes, my deer!"
"Your Stag."
"Jah, my stag. NghaHH!"
"Then I came in, for the hunt. Took up my spear, and dove back into the woods!"
"Oh yeah?"
"Da, not up here to the peak, but deep into the valley." She had a child, in her, she would not take another for months.
"How deep?"
"This deep?"
"NjahH! Deeper."
"Sometimes I had to go in, and come back out, with a deer."
"Yes, my deer."
"Or up to the mountains."
"Ok yes!"
"Up to the sky where I could see over the lake!"
"Oh yes, take me. Take me there!"
"
Closer to God!!"
"AUJAHH!"
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[ Yarla,
The feast was all right. Bavard died the way he always dreamed, only serving me, instead of his Master. I made him Mine first, and after the Cretish philator told me about scheifzicken, I tried it on him first. He is not the largest, and if he did it, it wasn't my virtue, but then he could not tell that another man had done it. He was already in it up to the Bind.
Our Lord did it to him, and it hurt. He wouldn't talk about it, but I believe he was much younger, as squire. So, 15, or younger, perhaps when my age, but I dismissed the Ventian. He told me ways, it need not hurt, and one is if he kisses you first. In the bind, as much as they can make it wet, as deep as his tongue would go.
It worked, it didn't hurt. I made him go slow, threatened to hang his skin over the fire, and smoke it to hang over the fire if he hurt me. He killed the bear. When I'm bigger, I want one, but I didn't get hurt at all playing a claw. The Venitish is a tailor, but fights well with pike and shield, he says from Pirates. The sees he is from are full of Pirates he says. Corsairs, and Moreans, and the Venifzi all fighting over the waters of the old Greikes. He showed us, the Scorpion, he calls it, except the tail is usually a whip. A rope whip, great whip, he would need rope to tie it, but like a great flail, with a night star. He made one when we got back, cut a rope in the middle, stuck a sharp peice of wood hirch cut for him, and tyed a knot in the other end. A "Monkey's Fist," he called it, but gripping 3 spikes, sharp on both ends as the beams in a corner. Only sticking out, all 6 ends.
We practiced, the Scorpion, but for the bear Hirsch played the "Sting." With his arbalest, I finally saw him beat the arms on, string, and load it. It has these arms in the back, with strings, and claws on the end, and a stirrup for the foot up front. On his knee, he braces it, and turns the back arms to pull the front ones back, and tightened a string on.
Then, he turned the arms to pull the string back, and lock it, behind the bolt he put in.
All steel, the stirrup, the arms, the plates of the side of the wood, the wheels that wind with chord when he turns them with the arms, and the knucklebow under the stock he pulls to loose the bolt. It is very powerful, and the bear screamed. I did not know a bear could scream, much less think I would ever hear it, but from getting a steel bolt in the face.
Rampant, rather than clawing, stomping, and biting at Bavard's armor, and sword, he batted at the shaft in his face. So, the Knight could step in, stab for the heart, half-step back withdrawing, and catch it half-swords. 3 handed sword, you don't have to have a 3rd hand in the middle, you swing from the top, and bottom. Knocked the Bolt out of it's skull. Stuck in the skull, knocked it right out, slamming it's head down into the dirt of the game-trail, form high ground, overhand, front hand slipping down to the smaller lugs in the middle of it, and smashing down like a hammer. Only it dug in like a back-pick.
A lucerne hammer has a back pick. Like a beak, Bavard's sword-guard is twisted, but straight, like Alacorn. {Middle ages term for Unicorn Ivory) Welded back together from the bars around the middle of the handles, or a 2 thirds up it from the pommel, but they have knobs on the ends where they were droawn out, and wrapped around eachother. So, it's bigger around than my thumb knuckle, but that went through the dome of it's skull like a stiletto.
I like to think my hart weakened it for him, but the bolt was no where near there. It stuck through the snout, and into the eye, but did not go through. He brought his leather sack. Tallow stained leather, from catching blood for sausage, or fat from the skin when he smoked it out. The best work was seing him with his little shafzMesser. No handle on it, just metal stuck out the bottom, and curled up so it sticks in the bottom of his thumb. And finger tips, feeling under the skin as he pulled it up, slicing it off the summer fat layer.
He told us about that, it lost weight in the spring. So, the skin is looser, and easier to cut off. The leftover fat renders faster, for there is less of it, but enough to cook the outer meat. He left the loins he cut out in the bucket, to be covered in the smokey fat. So they would last until we got hem back down to town. He wished he brought this, and that, all he had forgotten not planning to hunt bear, but he calls it the "Worst work." It is a lot of work, after the kill, nobody wants to listen to when he tells hunter stories in town.
It bores them? I find them all fascinating, especially all the ways a man is not like a bear, or deer, or rabbit. I know, what you can see is the fur, the legs instead of arms, and the different animal legs. The tail, but inside. My Lord says we are like pigs inside. Why he hangs hogs for practice, it's the best way to learn how to wound, and killed effectively. In a fight you want to kill, but sometimes, as in Battle, it is better to wound, especially when you have the advantage.
It's easier to wound, or you get more opportunities to, depending how well they defend themselves. A hanging pig can't but at least they kick, and move. So, it is not like poking a sack of flour with a stick, or a dummy with a wooden sword. If you have numbers, high ground, or Mobility as with Cavalry, then wounding is as good as killing 2-3 men. Now they have wounded, and it is easier to rout them. If they flee, you don't have to kill all of them, and they tend to rout faster with the screams of their brothers in arms, than with Dead. Dead temper their resolve, cries of pain anneal it. A dead body might as well be the enemy's, try not to step on it, and lose your footing. Get pushed out of line, but the wounded. You can hear them, over the drums, and commands with enough of them.
Fear can be a much greater weapon, even than death on the battlefield. It can save lives by ending it early.
That's why doesn't like the gamier meats as much. You can't taste the pain and fear, the wild musky flavor covers it up. I can't say whether that's why I prefer it, but I don't know what bear's fear tastes like. He was in a lot of pain, but it's such strong, dark, wild meat, I don't think I could taste either of them.
{Signed:}
~Milne Alberich]
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Hartmann
After we came back, her Lord was told about her fighting, and he tried her. The Baron is a Reknowned veteran, and duelist, won his seat in the Seige of Nancy. I wasn't Knighted, and was allowed to skip the feast. Not the execution, as witness, but with the spectacle of a Knight being killed, in their fashion. I was able to slip away. Rather than going home, I went out, to deal with the experiences as well as I could.
I had never killed a man, and thank the Lords he didn't force me to carry out the execution. I don't know the word, Warden? Of the land, like Sherriff, but only over the game, livestock, and Kennel. They had one there, and he discussed, hunting. Before I left, I would have refused to hunt mann, like game or drive the dogs if I were able. Instead, my Lady made a counter-offer. For me to act as coriour. The best, and fastest rider there, in the Breinz see area, it was said. I did not test them, all of them, but they had fast horses, and I was allowed the fastest there. Most of them were heavier, stronger, for warhorses in the relative peace after the Burgundish were driven back out.
After the war, it did not come here. Not even supplies nor messages went through the side valley, around, and across the lakes, it would have been a waste of time between Bern, and Zurich. So I hear, I heard about it, but my Lord saw me sparring with Bavard. He showed me some things, and sent me to Bern. To his Armorer, who Bavard apprenticed with. When he was squire, before the Baronet was old enough to start training with his father.
This is why I do not trust these families. The men, I don't know these Lankasters like the Alberich. I heard from the Burgundy on my way around their borders, but had to hide my colors. The Bear rampant, and snake coiled under, the spot where the Bear would come down. From rearing, the Bear of Bern, but the Alberich. They're the poisonous viper that struck fear in the great beast. The city it signified, riding through there just in Envoy, I could see it. I felt like a lord, in the worst way, how they shrank back from me not out of respect, but in terror.
I don't want people to fear me, and I could feel it. I am not noble, was not even raised around them. The old lord of the Oberlast summered there, in the fort, but he was a good Duke. From everything I heard, happy and content. He only had a minimal guard, for his family, and most times they did not even wear swords. I am a man of peace, I grew up in it, but the Romanizi had a saying.
In Latin: Live for Peace, but Prepare for War. You don't have to look for trouble, it can always find you.
Milne looked for it, only she called it Adventure. I wish I never told her that story, about the Haunted Abby. I wish they had not heard of it in the Monastery in Unterseen, but it was in decline after the Lucerne Bishop came, and the Bernese took over.
"I read the History of Bern, but it was not in it."
"Yes, I can not read, but where did you get it?"
"It was sent, by my girl Milne, before you. With the last coriour, when she left for the Innerlakes."
"Between lakes, they are actually outer, or over. The overland, between the lower mountains. Bern is in the foothills."
"I see. She sent a map, but it only showed the path, not the mountains."
"I have another, in my baggage."
"Stay, keep the bed warm. What is, the Baron like, as a man?"
"Tall, and fair. Like Bavard, only older."
"He still fights, and he is 60?"
"He is? He has no zilfer in his hair, or beard. All gold, his son looks like him. Only little more than a boy."
"Why are you afraid, to talk about the Baron?"
"Because I can't, without remembering him."
"It hurts to remember?"
"It's frightening. Yes, he is a nightmare. I still have nightmares about him."
"Then tell me about Milne."
"You know her."
"I knew Bavard too." She rubbed her swelling.
"Is he?"
"I believe so, I had no other affairs," she looked away, "With men that moon, so. Yes, he would have to be."
"Your husband."
"My husband can not have heirs, so."
"Is he wounded?"
"I'm, too old for him, but give me that lamp. I have yet to read Milne's letters, so I will read them to you."
"In German?"
"No, in English."
I dosed off, not my best language, but I am learning.
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Flashback (Insteldwald fort.)
A Survivor, they say had grown "Fat." Retiring to play at admiral, but fencing a girl of not yet 14. They say he went easy on her, but that was not the fight I witnessed. Riding in on horseback, leather strap skirt held together with maille, and tack riveted with steel rolled thin as paper. Draped over the front pommels of his saddle, as he dismounted, he braced the left one with his kneeguard, pulling his boot from the stirrup, and dropped down, helmet cupped under his shield arm, and just dropped to his knee.
"Yuh!" Bare-armed, he pushed down on his other knee-guard, and stood upright. Scarred, not even a handguard, slashed with scars, and lines chopped in at the shoulder. I asked Bavard, about the same one on his. From the maille, wearing through the padding. "Nothing works, we tried quilted flax under leather, under a rolled edge, but they punish that shoulder."
Paudron, he made her a partial suit. Maille armed, but with the large pauldron on the shoulder. Weapon arm, opposite the shield-side, it's "Better than losing an arm."
He helped her strap on the shield. His Estoc, matching his Lord's he went without a shield.
He went without the sheild, stood back, and pivoted around, pommel cradled in his shield hand, draped by the wrist over the top of the right thigh.
I can't imagine fighting in partial armor, but he went bare arm first. His second, Bavard came back, his squire, the Baronette watching from the platform at the back of the yard. Court yard, in the old fort, on the nail of land, wrapped around the Insteltwald inlet.
Spang!
"Haha!" He helt the blade on his shoulder, by the quillon, forcing her to fall back, to pull it out. Slapped her, back-handed. "Shcneller! Ein soldner schlagensie!"
"That what it's for?"
"And downward cuts." He threw his shoulder, and imaginary sword, parrying. "The strong attacking side, is weak against the shield side, so they go for it. Or try to."
"Shk!" Points sliding past eachother, she gave, slipping under to push it back. "Uhn!" Shield high to bash under her back quillon, lever over his edge.
"WhWH!" it spun behind him, side-stepping back. "Ober!" Smacked her point down, to stick in the ground. Dirt, the fort, and the wall are built on rock, the rock in the nail, but the yard is filled with loose soil. "WhCH!"
"Uhn!" she fell back, and the pommel bounced, swinging free on the stiff blade, but stopped very quickly.
She fell back, a side-step, gripping her arm, then her knee gave out.
"More," he waved her up, then brought the pommel back to rest on his thigh. At the hip.
"This," Bavard stood up, with a tool hammer in his fist. Gripping it right under the head, he stepped back, and set the bottom, in his palm, rested on his leg. "Is for a Pike, or Banner."
"I see," I got up, and pulled my knife. His old one, instead of a pommel there is a simple cap around the end of the wood slabs on either side of the steel tongue down the middle. A pommel would take too much weight from the tip, which is why the simple guard with Nagel. It's not a point sword, it's a Cutter with a point, but he had a short Hammer. About the size of his greatsword handle, I can't say which would be heavier. The head, or the rest of the doublehander out from there, but he is fast with it.
"Turn it, to chop with the back, save the edge."
It put the ring on the wrong side, so the nail got in the way of my thumb of bracing in the ferule in the side. The front of the butt cap dug into the back of my wrist, so I held it up. Ox, with my finger pulling in front of the quillon. Like this.
"Good, you do not want to face stance to stance, and you don't have enough length to take advantage of the SPEER!"
The edge nearly chopped into the top of my head from him leaning forward. Bending his leg, and gripping the pommel to straighten out the one in back, closing the distance between us, and reaching out with the full lever of the handle, whipping the tip like he showed me. It bounced off, whipping back around, and I watched his shoulders.
The way he taught me, to know he was whipping around the outside. Weak side, I twisted my wrist, and out the back of my fist to the flat of the blade. Catching his to slide down to the ring instead of the Nagel.
Only instead of the Blade, he had a hammerhead.
I gave, instead of facing strength with strength, I let him follow-through. Over extended, I twisted, and slapped down, to bounce the back edge off his arm.
"Nhngh!" He looked surprised, but grabbed my wrist, and caught the back edge of my blade between the hammerhead, and his knuckel.
One handed, he pushed the back edge, the sharp one closer to my face, so I had to give, back step, and ran into the forge. Unlit, but he pushed me back.
Bent me back, over it at the waist, and he gave my this. One handed, holding me by the chin. Just a cut, down the middle of my right eyebrow, I could't even twist it, out true.
I could not breathe well enough to say anything but grunts. He proved my point, told me "I can kill you," legally, driving home the point right in front of his lord. Once his squire, he forced my to be his. I swore it, not at the edge of a knife blade, but right after he taught me a lesson: "Never try to use a mann's sword against him." So, I carried for him. Most of the weapons back, and took his armor off.
He raped me. In the mouth, but he gave me the choice. Which end, but he choked me with it, in the armory. Made me eat it, and threatened to beat my teeth out with his pommel if he felt them.
So, after he left me, I went to His lord. I told him, I was not comfortable with the way he fucked her.
In the bind, but he strutted around with the bear hide over his shield. Bragging, and boasting, drinking in the dining hall, and ordering all the wine brought up from the cellar like a lord.
I had to charge him, with Poaching. He said that it was. Looked over at her, then accused me in counter. To leading me to the den, and enraging it to charge us. Putting his daughter in jeaopardy.
He dismissed his court, and took us into the Library. The old family took all the books, and they had not yet sent the collection up from Bern, or Milne's. It became her library, but he took her aside. Asked her why she was uncomfortable, fidgiting all morning. He got it out of her, what Bavard had done, but she didn't accuse me. Of being her second, he sent her to chose a man from examining them that morning.
I mostly hung out at the smith's shop. I was in the wrong business, but the tack room. For the horses, and the leather part of the armor. The Baron wore full plate, in battle, even had armor for the horse, now dead.
I got a pauldron out of it, in fact her Guard did not need Bavard's. Some idea how to use it, not Milanoir, nor Kretan Venifzen, the town-smith couldn't bend, and fold the bent edges to make another, but Leonard was not Leichtenaur trained.
Beat the Baron, though. In his trial bout, in a tunic, belt, and breeches. Estocs, he parried the lord's high, pommel out of his grip, flipped it back to the quillon, and swung it, like a scythe. The Baron stepped back, easilly dodged the tip slashing in front of his protective thorat, but the Estoc flipped again. Like a cross, the edgeless blade slipped through his fingers, swinging up, over, out, and down like a warhammer.
"KgsH!"
The lord stopped it, turning out of ox, and closed. Half swords, swining the point in like backhanding with a dagger, but with his upped arm over it, whole body behind it, pushing him through the turn with his legs.
"SWERT!" He caught his quillon on the other guard, halfSwords, but turned the other way, and gave as soon as the point was past his face. Eye level, he turned, and tilted his head, but the Baron over-extended, and took the pommel to his hip. Stepping back, the Alpinetti tailor, and cross dresser let go the blade, and twisted the quillon behind the Barron's knee. Forcing it down hard, unprotcted in the dirt, he yelled out.
Left knee. I heard, shield side, so what do you brace the bottom of the shield on when riding? The side-pommel, and knee guard, so it doesn't bash it too much. When riding, but when fighting, it apparently gets bashed a lot as well, so he's got a bad case of Knight's Knee. Forward knee, in defensive stance, why he had to drop the good one dismounting in half-armor. Body, skirt, and 1 leg, he can't even wear the shield side knee-guard any more, it hurts too much.
"My lord," he helped him up, "Are you all right?"
"Take a knee." He winced, but held it back. "Sir Leonard auf Venifzi." Then, they threw a real feast.
"Candy." He stood up. "Du Candy."
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Author
Guard Notes: "Speer" stance is in fact derived from a Parade/Drill position for Infantry. Pikes, Standard (Pennant) spear, or Lucern Hammer, bringing them up from grounded (Set for a Cavalry Charge.) Also a handy way to hold a greatsword, like an Estoc in the saddle, your lap is right there, and you're not fighting most of the time. The rest of the time, you're carrying it, or sling it from the saddle. Walking around, you can rest the back edge on the pauldron, or hang is by the quillion, pommel up. (Like Bavard did, before being roasted alive on a hot spit. For "Poaching," instead of Tax Evasion. Both to set an example of what kind of Lords they're dealing with, and to satisfy the particular sadistic leanings of the Baron. The Downstroke, with the palmed pommel gripped in the fist
for maximum leverage can be found in Kendo, as well.
As HEMA, they practice with Estocs instead of federSchwerts, but with a doppelhander, even holding up a Guard, it can chop down to bash you with your back edge, if you don't support it with your hand. If you don't hold the Messer backwards, so the edge can be used against you, or you can practice knife play without cutting, with the blunt edge forward. Similar to the Murder stroke, held by the Riccasso, and the blade somewhere near the tip. While you can grip a sharp blade, "Halfswords" like that, it's another reason to practice, with trainees holding an unsharpened Estoc. Not just a training weapon, it still has a killing point to slip through openings in their armor. Or drive straight through the front, and back of infantry body-armor, with a ton/ne of charging knight behind it. It serves as a good ground weapon against armor, or sidearm with a saddle to hang it off of.
You can also wear it on your belt, but it's rather long, and cumbersome. Why they often hang it from the shoulder, and hold it by the riccasso. Really the best way too, but you don't usually carry it long either way. It's a longarm, you carry one if you think you'll need it like spear, or crossbow, but you really only need it for practice, or sword fighting through armor you can't cut through. Like any other kind of Longsword. A good balanced one can be used 1 handed, it's just about light enough, but not for a tweenager, normally. Unless it's custom made for her, at about Bastard length on an adult. They came in all size from hand and half to bearer sword, as tall as the fighter, the same overall length of a Polaxe, or Lucerne Hammer.
Also, that pauldron is a fictional prototype, with no surviving examples. Eventually developed into a German tilting armor design, over a century later, but we don't have any of the missing links that I've seen. Nor is their any proof that the Estoc developed from the Feder practice longsword, but it might have. I don't have a picture of the Baron, and his daughter Milne, just the next best thing:
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