[Flashback] Learning to Tilt

[John Griffin]

Early Afternoon, Spring 49, 506 AV
Windmount Stables

There were laughs abound as John tumbled from the saddle, the sand filled sack of the quintain smacking him soundly in the back. John dropped the lance and shield he was holding and put his arms out to catch himself as the ground rushed up to meet him. The taste of dirt filled his mouth, and the heat of a blush hit his cheeks. The squire pushed himself up and scrambled after his horse, a borrowed Kavinka. After grabbing and mounting it he rode back to the group, seven squires and their knight instructor, who hadn't bothered to introduce himself. He was a rather cantankerous balding man, probably in his late thirties. Likely he thought he had better things to do than supervise the training of a handful of squires. They were in the jousting arena at Windmount, practicing their skill with a lance.

To add further embarrassment his cousin, Sarah, made a successful pass at the quintain as he rejoined his peers. She tipped her lance at him as she circled back around to the end of the line, a smug smile on her face. John and Sarah were nearly the same age, and John's father Robert and Uncle Wilhelm, Sarah's father, were fiercely competitive, something they passed on to their children. Sarah was a natural rider, and an equally talented jouster, whereas John felt awkward riding another living thing, and more awkward holding a ten foot long pole. He could best her in a duel though, being a superior swordsman. At least he had that little comfort.

John returned the smile with a good-natured one of his own, their rivalry was sportsmanlike and friendly, as befitted family and future knights. The passes at the tilt paused as John moved in to grab his discarded shield and lance. They were used to such delays, as nearly every squire, save Sarah, had taken a handful of falls already. Somehow it never got old, and all the other squires laughed. John's blushing faded quickly, and he joined the laughter as another squire was tossed from the saddle. A couple minutes later it was John's turn again.

He kicked the paint into action, his left arm shifting his shield into position, trying not to move the reins. He was unsuccessful, and the horse veered left away from the quintain. Jerking the reins left, he tried to adjust, again unsuccessfully. He had pulled too much, and his mount put him directly in line with the shield of the dummy. He was still trying to adjust back into line when the shield hit him full on the face, knocking him backwards, head over heels, off the horse.

Lucky for John the quintain was made to spin, so a lot of the force was dispersed. Still, his face hurt like crazy, and that was definitely the worst of his tumbles yet, and probably the worst amongst all the squires. For the moment, all he wanted to do was lay there in the dirt.

[John Griffin]

As John lay there, something moved over him and blotted out the sun. For a second he was quite confused, the blow to his head in combination with the change of visual stimulation severely disoriented him. After a moment, though, his eyes adjusted, his head cleared, and his cousin’s face came into focus, a worried look splayed across her features. "John, are you alright?" she asked, concern in her eyes.

"Yeah. Petching horses." He responded before rolling onto his side to push himself into a seated position. Sarah smiled, a laugh escaping. "Sure, blame the horse." With that she mounted her own borrowed steed, and rode back towards the others, while John clambered to his feet and took a look around. All his comrades had dismounted, and their horses were over at a trough drinking. The squires themselves were plopped down in the dirt, eating meals of bread and cheese, and washing it down with water.

John's own Kavinka was standing idly nearby, looking at him with a blank stare. "Petching horses," he said again, under his breath, before moving to grab its reins. He grabbed his lance, which had been lost in the fall, and walked the horse to the water trough, leaving his lance leaning up against the wall of the arena. The squire found his own pack and dug out a hand-sized wheel of cheese and a small loaf of wheat bread, as well as his waterskin. He took a few sips from the skin as he moved to rejoin his peers, then plopped down with them and began to eat. A few joking barbs were sent his way, which he took in stride, and then it was forgotten, just one fall in a day full of falls.

"Breaks over," shouted the supervising knight, "Start back up on the quintain." Knowing that if they didn't hurry, they might be running even more mindless drills, the squires jumped to their feet and retrieved their borrowed steeds and lances. Within a minute they were back at it, taking turns at the spinning dummy.

John was third in line, and his turn came quickly, his cousin and another squire having successful bouts against the quintain. He lined up the borrowed horse, made sure his lance was ready to be lowered and couched, and gripped the reins loosely with his left hand. With a kick he was off, racing towards the equipment. Lower the lance smoothly, he thought, doing so as he did. Couch it quickly, lest the lance be torn from your hand. He did. Aim, aaaand...

BAM! A jolt shuddered up the lance into his arm as he connected solidly with the quintain's shield, and he was racing past it. Did I just suceed? he wondered, bewildered. He turn the horse in a wide loop, slowing it as he did, and sure enough, the quintain was finishing its spinning, idling down to be motionless. He caught his cousin's eyes, and they shared a smile. He pumped his fist in the air and returned to the line to await his next turn.

[John Griffin]

John's success didn't hold. His next three attempts were poorly aimed, and he suffered for it, the large bag of sand slamming into his back on all three occasions. To his credit, he managed to stay in the saddle for two of them, and to roll to his feet on the third. It was going to take ALOT of practice for him to acquire the proficiency he would need to become a knight. Sword and shield? He had that covered. Horse and lance? Not so much.

As the others chatted atop horses when it wasn't their turn, John took to watching whoever was riding at the quintain, analyzing their moves, trying to pick apart their actions and guess whether they would succeed or fail, or fall somewhere in between. It made his head hurt trying to watch rein control, lance couching, shield placement, aiming and spurring all at once. After watching a few squires like that, he decided to focus on the lance work, as he was more familiar with the riding aspects than the martial ones.

His turn came again in a few minutes. Focus on the lance, let the riding be instictive, he thought, preparing for the run. A few seconds later his spurred his mount into action, and began to lower the lance, focusing on couching it quickly and securely. He got it under him armpit securely, but it took far longer than he wanted, leaving little time to aim. His blow was a wide, glancing one, but it was still a hit, and he was still mounted. Little successes, small progress, that was the way one improved. He would have to work on doing it a little faster each time, so that he had more time to aim.

[John Griffin]

After several more runs with only a little success, it was well into the evening. Finally their knightly supervisor said, "Alright squires, last run. Give it your all." One by one they charged down the line, trying to best the quintain. One by one they succeeded or failed. Second to last, it was now John's turn. He stared down the quintain, almost as if trying to intimidate it, for several moments, building resolve. With a kick he was off, straight for the dummy. He brought down the lance, couched it, and began to aim. But his arm was tired from a half day of jousting practice, and he couldn't hold the weapon straight.

He hit the quintain's shield wide, and sent it spinning. Realizing his mistake, he tried to direct the horse at an angle, away from the quintain. The bag hit him anyway, square in the right shoulder blade, and sent him tumbling, once again, to eat dirt.

After a full day, it had gotten old laughing at their comrades falls, so only a few chuckles issued forth from his peers. John pushed himself off the ground, grumbling. Why did lancework have to be so important? Why couldn't it just be swords and shields?

The squires took their mounts back to the stables, and under the guidance of one of the hands, they cooled the horses down, removed the saddles, and brushed them. In a storage shed they stowed the lances and shields they had borrowed.

Finally, after a long day of one of John's least favorite training tasks, he could head back to Ser Erindale's quarters. He was sure his patron had some more work for him anyway. Maybe it was polishing armor, or sharpening weapons. Perhaps he'd get lucky and it was an assigned reading, or a delivery that would get him out into the city.

All he knew was that it would be designed to make him a better knight, and because of that he would do his best.

[Ataraxia]

John Griffin XP Riding +3, Lance +4, Observation +2 Lore Extended Sibling Rivalries | Adjusting a steeds course while jousting | Well rounded in skill and spirit Comments I liked this training thread... very short, but to the point. Your descriptions of knightly activities are always pretty great, so I commend you. If you have any questions and such, I think you know the drill. Peace out!