Thread: A Gentlemans Game Of Curiosity (Panakananana and boyo111)

Lord Doyle? The servant walked over, tufted up in his finery, lace and collars with a tight jacket of red like a liveryman, the tight, controlled voice came again, Lord Doyle, m'lord. The man bowed, you are next up m'lord. Anything I may help you with? The eyes looked up in a mixture of hope and subservience under the powdered wig. Not a thing my good man, he replied taking the mask and saber in hand. The man nodded and led him to the right end of the wide room, the cheers of the crowd resounding as the men in the Club gathered about the various fencing competitions. The usual bets being placed among many with the favorites of course getting the most money. Rubbing his slippers as he stepped into the cleared space, the long red carpet showing the space they needed to work within, his opponent already waiting in mask, gloves, and jacket. The clothes bulky and ill-fitting, even his own seemed to make him feel rather bloated. Usual rules, the Lord Byron resplendent in his brightly colored jacket, breeches and starched white socks. Three points total, one touch a point, 3 minute round. He nodded to Lord Byron and his opponent as he slipped the mask over his face, his opponent swung the saber and nodded with in the mask. Behind the crowd closed around, wanting to see how this unknown champion would fare against the club champion. Swiftly his opponent came on, their blades striking, his blade knocked aside and he backed up to avoid the rush. Stopping when he felt the rougher patch under his slippers tried to move out, the blade moved like a serpent and then was flat against his chest. Two thumps on his jacket in a satisfied movement, his opponent returned to position and he returned to his own, an unseen grin on his face as he felt he had taken the opponents measure. Salute and then the opponent came at him again, the practiced moves coming against his blade, this time he stepped back once, then in a move under the others saber took his point. Touching his opponents chest in satisfaction thought he heard a gasp from his opponent, noticing the extra padding in the jacket. Second points came quickly for each as they moved towards and away from each other, the second one hard won by him in a move where he was able to knock the others saber down and with a downward stroke took his point to cheers. The crowd gathering around to the expectation of his third and final point. Instead his opponent took a risky move that put the others saber under his rib cage, a killing stroke if the blades were sharp and they were in a duel. The other competitions stopped as they lined up for their third points, never before had he been equaled by any of the other gentlemen in the Club and he was most intrigued as to this opponent. A glance around he noted the crowds placing bets, some on his opponent, those who were his detractors, while one ill-dressed man with an old valise took his momentary attention. The third point was hard fought, neither could get the advantage. As if they had both taken the others measure the sabers struck, swiped, lunged all without reaching a target. The rush of one was met by a soft defense stepping back as the blades were turned, as he performed this and returned so his opponent did the same. The sweat of the exertion was beginning to show on his forehead, never had he gone this long before. His opponent seemed to be tireless, as of some superhuman stamina and when he began to feel his defense crumbling heard the voice ring out in the room. Time! Lord Byron called out, his voice loud and clear in the room. Stepping back he took off the mask and stepped forward, a very fine match, my good man. I don't believe I have ever met the like before, the crowd itself gathered around as his opponent seemed to look for a way out. Reaching out to take the arm, come, my good man. A sherry for your name, the other moved the saber in warning and he stopped waiting.