This is just me trying to hone my skills at describing scenes. I might add more scenic-stories sometime later, although those will be in another issue probably titled "(Draft Sentences) #2".
After reaching the bottom of the steps of the tall, spiraling tower and finding himself in the dirt-floored training yard, our German knight faced his next enemy. Without his poplar wooden kite shield or his helm, damaged from his last encounter, our knight had to resolve to a technique he read from one of Talhoffer's manuals when he was a mere page in his lord's court. With his left side facing the Polish enemy and his feet two footlengths apart, he kept his head facing the other knight, his left hand on his belt's sheath underneath the guard of his longsword while his right hand rested on the hilt's grip, pressed up against the guard and close to his left hand. He unsheathed his longsword, extending his right elbow far out to his right and opposite of his face's direction, and raised his left hand from the sheath to firmly grip on the near-end of his sword's blade, a small gap between his chainmail-clad hand and the sharp blade of his seasoned weapon. He kept his left foot to the ground and raised his right to take a generous step forward, and quickly lunged the tip of his blade at the enemy's neck, but due to a slight and terrible dodge that the enemy took, it instead burrowed into his shoulder, perfectly between the shoulder pauldron and the breastplate. Taking his chance, our Germanic knight unleashed his left hand and placed it on the grip of his longsword below his right hand, stepped his left foot in front of the right, pivoting with his left foot to the ground and his right foot changing position, his entire body following suite, pushed with extreme power backwards, effectively sheathing his sword in his enemy's shoulder, then raised his arms up high, bringing blade out of flesh, yet with armor nearly untouched, and turned his torso left to have his enemy directly to his left side, bringing his right hand onto the bloodied blade with his left hand following suite to use the sword as a mace or hammer, swung back then forward with another show of extreme power and brought the pommel of his sword's hilt directly to the Pole's visor on his helm, bringing a large kinetic energy to shake his skull, causing him to drop to the dirt, sight blurred, head banging, and right shoulder bleeding. Our German knight continued on with the battle, this very short procession now finished. This is the Halbschwert of Harnischfechten, a show of your typical mit dem kurzen Schwert. Our knight has Talhoffer to thank for this technique.
Hereupon reaching the total bottom of the spindling tower's staircase and having found himself upon a ground-floor'd swordship-learning yard, our Germanic junior-knight did face his next foe. Not with his Poplar-wood shield of kite type nor with his helm, did damage from his last foe what now lacks breath, our knight did require to pore on a technique he con'd from Talhoffer's manuals at an hour where he wast a bawbling page residing at his lord's court. His leftside foot now facing his foe with his rightside foot two footlengths from his left to the right of his torso yet to the back of his head, his head facing the knight afore him, his left hand underneath his longsword's cross-guard on his swordsheath's locket that was then upon his belt, all-the-while his right hand did rest on the hilt's grip, having a touch against the cross-guard and generously close to his left hand. He did unsheathe his longsword, did extend then his right elbow farthest out to his rightside direction yet opposite of his visage's direction, and did raise his left hand from the swordsheath to firmly grip the near-end of the strong length of the blade, thus leaving the weak end as a spear-like point, a slight open tween his left hand's fingers and the sharp blade of his eld weapon. He hath keep his leftside foot stamp'd to the ground and his rightside foot to take a most generous step to his forward direction, and, apace, did lunge the point of his blade at yond foe, yet due to a slight and valorless check yond foe did take, the mention'd lunge did find a lodging in the foe's shoulder, real and very perfect tween the shoulder pauldron-plate and the breast-plate. Taking an chance, our Germanic knight did unleash his left hand to grope the hilt's grip below his right hand on the longsword, did step then his left foot in his forward direction, front of his right foot, turning right with his left foot ground'd and right foot lift'd to step in a position that did change, the whole length of his torso and head following action, arms and wrists adapting to position, did heave with great effort in the backward direction further in the foe's shoulder, sheathing the longsword's whole weak and strong lengths of the blade in the foe's shoulder, hath did raise then his arms high up, parting blade from flesh in a bloody fashion where did the blade sever half of the shoulder from the torso, yet then armor near untouch'd, and did turn his torso to the left to has't his foe to thither mention'd side, did bring his right hand to the blood-ridden blade near the weak end of the blade and his left hand did act then the same to the blood-ridden blade yet further near the hilt upon the strong end of the blade, did swing back then forward to bring the pommel of the longsword's hilt upon the knight-foe's helm visor, quaking the foe's head and causing the foe to fall hither to the ground, with blur'd vision and bleeding shoulder. Our Germanic knight did continue with the ongoing quarrel between German and Pole, thither act now end'd. Thither act is knowst of as Halbschwert of the Harnischefchten sword-play technique, a play of sightly mit dem kurzen Schwert. Our knight hast Talhoffer to act grateful toward for the mention'd technique.
A/N: The first paragraph was me testing how well I can write in detail, step-by-step, a scene that would only take a few seconds if it were a visual production. As you can see, the paragraph is very long, yet the action, when played out, is actually only several seconds long. The 'archaic' version of it was just for fun and giggles, but it did take much longer than the first paragraph. Still, I had fun, and I think I've learned a little from this.
This is it. This is the moment I was bred for. This is all that I am, now in this moment. I must accomplish this. I take my weapons of choice: two small sticks that have nothing to do with chopping things, the chopsticks. Here I am with my mighty weapons before a trembling foe. Inside my soup bowl is the enemy, its soul about to be devoured by my maw. Prepare thyself, tofu! I shall pick you up and eat you justly, giving you the end to meet all ends!
I carefully lower my chopsticks down into the battlefield, reaching the watery sea of soup, some noodles getting in the way of my awe-provoking power. I wrap my weapons around the enemy, lightly squeezing the tofu and bringing it out of the soup. Here I go! This is what I was made for; this is my moment!! I put my unoccupied hand under the tofu so as not to dirty anything with its filthy, soupy drippings, and bring it close to my mouth.
But alas! This foe is a slippery one, as I gripped the tofu with my chopsticks too hard, causing it to bullet out of my hold and go shooting across the table! No, this cannot be! I HAVE FAILED. No... no... why?!?!
... My mother slaps me across the head for my mistake, the tofu having landed on the dry bread in the middle of the table. I am sorry, mother, for I have failed to honor our family name. I hang my head low in disgrace... perhaps another day I can prove my worthiness at destroying my foes, but that day is not today.
And there he stood, right atop his fallen enemies, blood dripping from his own wounds and soaking into the corpses and ground underneath. That man, a man of victory, had truly prevailed. After hours and hours of battle, now he might finally find some rest and catch his breath.
He held a sword of steel, a small pommel but an elaborate, noble guard to wrap around the slim grip, the blade thick enough to make a deep cut but thin enough to thrust the point into a deadly stab. Red liquid ran down its edges, joining the similar water of death on the broken bodies below.
In his other hand was a shield with the enemy's emblem, as he picked it up since his original shield had broken. The emblem was a tea-brown bear's head. The bear's head was worn from the battle, making it seem more like a basic circle than an impressive beast. Still, it was sturdy and ready to protect whomever was behind it.
His visage was one of a wary degree. Glancing at him, one might assume he is a young fellow with plenty of energy, but taking a closer look, one can observe that his face is aged by war, though his body may still be young. His dark green eyes kept a cool look, searching the battlefield for any immediate threats. Above the two orbs of darkness was a clump of sweaty, dark brown hair, concealed by a simple padded cloth cap, then above the cap was a mail coif, then above it a foot soldier's kettle cap, made of steel.
The man wore a tough body, tough enough to win several encounters on the battlegrounds. That, too, was concealed by more padded cloth in the form a gambeson, then similar chainmail as his coif for his hauberk, and finally a surcoat with his lord's emblem on the front, the whole coat a crimson red save for the hard yellow emblem depicting a hawk's beak.
On his callous hands were leather gloves covered by more mail. It gave him good protection to the cost of a grip on his sword and shield.
On his hefty legs were simple cloth hose, brown in color, followed by chainmail chausses as the top layer. Great for turning a fatal cut into a nasty bruise, yet heavy on the feet.
That is the man that has prevailed. A simple footman under the order of a petty lord, ready to fight to the death should he have to. Here he stood on his fallen friends and enemies, all taken by this fierce, chaotic battle, overlooking the devastation of war at the humble castle of his lord. Faint wails of pain were echoing through the fields and buildings, but there was another voice, one that was proud and true.
"The Krauts are beaten!" is heard from across the battle. There was a banner, just slightly torn but incredibly recognizable. A hawk's beak, prominent, true.
"For Poland!" and "Hurrah! Hurrah!" was heard around the battle, cries from warriors here and there, the cries of victory.
The man stepped down from his hill of death and trudged towards his bannerman as an exhausted mule would towards water. It's over. The battle is finally over.
A/N Some more Polish fighting Germans, this time on the Polish side, after the battle.
ns 15.158.61.18da2
