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Post by Titus Blackbriar on May 20, 2019 12:59:34 GMT 1
The sword shatters. His vision is blurred from the mud, blood and throbbing pain. He's bleeding heavily from his sides and it's getting harder and harder to breath. Dropping what remains of his blade, as much from exhaustion as for practicality it seems he fumbles to draw his spare but a heavy, armoured boot ends it, breaking a few of his fingers, surely?
Titus is on his knees, without weapon and his swordhand crushed under the weight of Ser Robyn's boot when he finally calls out. "Yield..." its a whimper, barely heard until he calls out again much louder for all to hear. "I YIELD!"
Titus yields
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Post by Father on May 20, 2019 16:06:54 GMT 1
Satisfied, Ser Robyn marches off the field, silently, no complements, no insults, as if this was merely a completed assignment, no less mundane than battering his squire in the ribs to teach him to hold his shield properly. Although given the age of his squire, that wasn't very likely.
The Levalle's would be undoubtedly pleased, first Ser Normyn, then Ser Titus, two knights of renown that their champion had bested with very little apparent difficulty.
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