Tourney

[jagg]

Jagg lounged on the bed in his room at Dwar’s, thinking about the upcoming Tourney. It had been such a long time since the last one, but he still felt the nervousness tickling his insides. Like always! He stood then slowly stripped off his armour, laying it piece by piece on the bed. He inspected the condition of the assembled equipment, making sure nothing was amiss, that it wouldn’t let him down at an important moment in the tourney. A special occasion demanded the best protection he could muster, and rummaging in a sack he picked out a ring of protection and added it to the collection. It was still in decent nick, so should easily see him through the coming battle. Jagg then turned his attention to his trunks of armour and dug through each in turn, to see if there were any further improvements to be made. The trunks were full of choice equipment, but none would offer greater protection than that which he had already laid out. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the racks of weapons.

This, Jagg knew, would be a tougher decision. With armour, it was usually clear as to which was the superior combination. However, the decision on which weapon to use depended on many factors. The intrinsic quality of the weapon itself, allied to the skill of the wielder. Durability might be important, for the battle would be fierce and prolonged. Rarity too, often played a part in Jagg’s decisions of which weapon to employ, but not for a special battle like the Tourney. After all, who knew how many more such occasions he would attend? He had a Title to defend after all, and anyone who took it from him this time would have earned it, not obtained it by default with Jagg being parsimonious with his favourite weapons. He lifted a virtually unused diamantium bardiche with delicate care from a peg, then laughed out loud, realising that no weapon forged to mete out extreme violence needed such reverence. It came automatically, for although Jagg would struggle to phrase it succinctly, he was a collector and a connoisseur of weapons. As well as employing them to great effect, he loved his best weapons for their quality, craftsmanship and rarity.

The room was far too small for Jagg to swing the bardiche adequately. He contented himself with running through a sequence of close blocking and trapping moves, then placed the weapon on the bed and returned his attention to the well-stocked racks. “Allus got ter hav spare”, said Jagg to himself. Spying his prize, he delicately lifted an exquisite staff from the pegs. Its Blackstar hardness lay cool against his palm and a grin spread over Jagg’s features. He gave it an experimental twirl, feeling it zip through the air with minimal resistance. It seemed almost eager, in his skilful hands, yearning to be used to deliver devastating blows. Satisfied, he laid it on the bed as well. Then, reaching once more for the rack, he lifted the weapon’s twin down and placed it alongside the first on the bed. No nick marred the surfaces of either weapon, no scuff to indicate previous use – their baptism would come on tourney night. Their ability to deliver critical injuries was unsurpassed in Jagg’s experience, and in the heat of the frenzied battle that a tourney represents, such an attribute could not be overlooked. Blows from a Blackstar staff could be delivered with such force that, even given the impenetrable hardness of the basic material, the weapons would shatter beyond any hope of repair.

Still, the decision on weapon for the tourney was not an easy one. Jagg dipped a meaty paw into a hideous bag, made of claws strung together with wire, and from it withdrew a fine bow. It had obscure runes engraved along its length, but apart from that, a casual observer might fail to properly appreciate its qualities. Only on feeling the pull and the exceptional balance would a true master of weapons realise what a tool he held in his hands. Launching a few flights at a suitable target would have many a warrior marvelling at the accuracy allied to the force with which it would deliver the arrow to the target. Another strong candidate for the weapon to use in the tourney.

Satisfied with his preparations, Jagg carefully donned each piece of armour once more, then loaded his weapons into various bags, chests and sacks. He closed his eyes and spent five minutes recreating an automatic familiarity with their various locations. When each came to hand without thought, he knew his preparations were complete.

He was ready.