Chapter 1: Festival and Fire
Moonday 22nd of Rova 4707 (Autumn Equinox)
Sandpoint - Light of the Lost Coast
The sun rises, a warm autumn light washing over the white limestone cliffs of the Devil’s Platter, over the ordinarily sleepy town of Sandpoint and out into the glimmering blue waters of the Varisian Bay. The town is buzzing with activity. The sounds of hammers, music and frantic preparation are drowned in a collective murmur of “Mighty big crowd this year.” and “Fine day for it, by Gozreh.” The excitement in the air is almost tangible.
The townsfolk gather in the Church Street square, along with merchants selling clothes, local crafts, souvenirs and all manner of food, filling the square with an array of pleasing aromas. Above is the majestic new cathedral, which will be sanctified today. The blue stained glass casts the square in a shimmering light as it catches the eastern sun.
Now you stand in Sandpoint’s Shipyard. The dockmaster, the young Bertram Vandemar welcomes you as you bid farewell to your crewmates. It seems the townsfolk are celebrating some sort of religious festival. The great Mengkare disallowed worship of the gods, but in your years on the mainland you’ve become acquainted with them. You walk towards the main square with a smile on your face. You have something to hope for.
You reach the top of the hill, and cross the bridge into town. Best you be done with this foolish errand and return to Crying Leaf as soon as possible.
A sigh of trepidation accompanies the first steps of a musclular figure as he appears on the fringes of Sandpoint. He stands tall moves with a long stride, but he bears a prominent slouch of which the modest load he carries cannot be the sole cause. He keeps his eyes on the ground as he approaches, lifting his face for only a moment to stop before a mirror posted on the edge of town.
"Stop to see yourself as we see you..." he whispers as he reads the words beneath the sign. He brushes back his travel-worn hood , revealing a squared jaw and prominent brow. Half of his scalp is bald and covered with scars and tribal tattoos, and the other half is covered in a long tangle of dark, unwashed hair. His steely grey eyes are distant - pained - as he gazes into a mirror, though his face quickly twists into a sneer as he stuffs his hood back over his head and quickens his pace.
Weaving through the crowd, the half-orc takes care to stick to the back streets, clearly wishing to escape notice as he scans the signs for an inn, but after several minutes of searching the raucous protests of his stomach remind him how long it has been since he's had a hearty meal, and with nervous shrug, he makes his way towards the larger crowd looking for something to eat.
"So, Bertram is it? I need to know where I can get a nice drink and some food. Is there a particular tavern this place is known for? Probably also need a place to stay for few days." Says the tall foreigner. His hair has grown a little shaggy from the long days at sea and it has also given his normally fair skin a nice tan. But he seems to be a gentle giant at a just over 6 feet, he greets the dockmaster with a handshake before introducing himself. After he gets the information he asks for, he will ask about the festival. "So what is the reason for this festival, exactly? What are you celebrating?"
Boiko spent a fair bit of time around the cathedral, contemplating the imposing stonework and fascinating stained glass images. He has seen quite a few churches in his travels throughout Varisia, but it was the first time he stood so close to a holy building of this grandeur. But strangely, he didn't quite get the feeling of consecration yet.
Must be because the ritual hasn't been performed yet., he said to himself. Can't wait when they start letting the worshippers inside.
As he wandered around, he started noticing that it was becoming crowded around the cathedral. Boiko started feeling uncomfortable and decided that he needs to rest a bit and prepare himself for the final gathering.
Across the street he found an establishment called 'The White Deer', but rather than walk in, he fancied himself a place in a small grove behind it, and, having settled under a large chestnut tree, unpacked his travel rations.
The handsome young man nods, politely, adjusting the sleeves of his well-worn sailcloth shirt. "Bertram Vandemar at your service. My father owns the shipping industry here, but I do most of the legwork... Listen to me prattle." he says, busily, eyes flitting from task to task. He flashes you a pained smile. "Well there's the White Deer uptown, but if it's food you want you can't beat the Rusty Dragon." he says, grinning. "Festival day means free lunch, too. The curry-smoked salmon and winterdrop mead..."
"As for the festival... -Just a second midshipman!- ... Just be in the square at noon. You won't want to miss it." he says, pulling you into another rough handshake. "I best get back to work. You have a good day now, friend." he says, as he rushes off to oversee the last shipments.
The square slowly fills as several of the town's dignitaries take the stage. A red-haired woman with her hair cropped short, a bald, heavyset Shoanti with a stern expression on his face, a foppish mostachioed dandy, a frail looking priest and three older men, one of Tian descent, one in sailor's gear and another adorned in finery and a smart top hat.
The churchbells send a dolorous note throughout the square as the red-headed woman takes the podium. "Greetings, one and all. I'm Kendra Deverin, as most of you already know, and I'm mayor of this small town of Sandpoint. I'd like to welcome faces both fresh and familiar to the Swallowtail Festival and the opening of our new cathedral. It seems even our local workoholic Lars has saw fit to slink out of the tannery and give his own hide a much needed tan..." she adds, earning a few chuckles from the townsfolk as the flustered man frowns at her. "I won't keep you any longer from the festities, folks, but first Sherrif Hemlock and Mr. Drokkus here would like to say a few words."
The bald, stern-faced Shoanti eases up to the podium, and already the crowd seems to wilt under his gaze. "I'd like you all to join me in a moment of silence as we remember those we lost in the late unpleasantness and the burning of the cathedral..." he says, woodenly. "I'd also like to urge each and every one of you to stay out of trouble, keep your children away from the bonfires and know that we have a full contingent on patrol detail, and any instances of wrongdoing will be dealt with to the fullest extent of the law."
A thick silence hangs in the air. The Sherrif gives a curt nod toward the crowd and paces towards the back of the stage, and the gaudily dressed man struts up to the stage and motions to the church. "Well, wasn't that just the cheeriest thing you've ever heard?" he jeers, motioning to the chapel behind him. "Now, ladies and gen-tle-men, sit tight and I'll tell you how they funded this bad boy; and believe me, they spared no expense. The chamberpots? Solid gold." he adds, covering his mouth in a mock-titter. "These fine gentlemen behind me, monsieurs Kaijitsu, Scarnetti and Vandemar have generously payed for the entire construction after the good father's cash ran dry. Let's give them a round of applause, people!" he adds. The crowd claps approvingly, glad to have somebody less serious on the stage. "Be sure to check out our new production of The Harpy's Curse tommorow night, folks!" he adds, shamelessly, as he steps theatrically away from the podium. "Now join me in welcoming our very own Father Zantus!"
The young priest takes the stand, seemingly abashed at the reception set up for him. He smiles, warmly. "Today is a day of new beginnings, not of long speeches. I hereby declare the Swallowtail festival underway!" he says, and before long the flocks of musicians and dancers burst into a dizzying array of performances.
Titus Scarnetti makes his way from the stage, approaching Lorghan and gently pushing him aside with his cane, sneering to himself and striding back towards his estate.
Lohrgan listens to the speeches from the back of the crowd, leaning idly against the corner of a building. He gives a nervous glance at the sheriff's mention of patrols, but for the most part, he is enthralled by the temple. Desna was revered by his people, but never in this fashion, and never with such grandeur. This display stinks of the crusaders' adornments, but at the same time, he cannot help feeling a measure of awe.
His gaze is broken as he feels the touch of a cane - a softer one than he's felt from them in the past, but still with a clear message. He spares a quick glance at the man holding the other end of it, but quickly returns his gaze to the ground and steps aside without resistance, tugging on the edge of his hood. With the festival declared open, he begins moving about the town. They archery contest catches his eye, as does the dueling ring. Combat for sport, combat for fun? Certainly an intriguing notion. Before he can even remember his desire for anonymity, though, his nostrils flare out as they drink in the savory aroma of cooking food, and he is unable to resist its lure.
"Yea, Chod. That's the last one. If you see my father, though, tell him I've got another one to get back in the woods. I wanna spend some time actually enjoying this festival instead of in that hot kitchen all day." Before the butcher can even respond, Akrem is out the door and heading quickly towards the square to hear the introduction speaches, wiping off the red paint as well as he can as he goes. He finds a spot near the back of the crowd, accidently brushing up against a much larger, rough looking man who's head is half bald and wears his hood up. "Sorry about that, friend. Just trying to find a comfortable spot to listen from." the youth says with a half smile.
Leaning up against the side of a stand that is not yet open for business, Akrem sets his pack and bow down before settling in to listen to the speeches. He nearly cringes at the completely serious tone of his uncle, the sheriff, and laughs just a bit at the foppish Cyrdak Drokkus.
When the crowd breaks up, Akrem starts heading to the beach to partake in the archery competition, but isoverruled by the smells in the air. Having skipped breakfast, it doesnt take much convincing to get him to head off to find something to eat. I wonder if Ameiko has a stand set up someplace, or if she is just serving out of the Dragon? He heads off to find out.
Lohrgan offers a simple nod to the youth at his side and takes a step back to make room. He remains silent throughout the speech, but cannot restrain himself from a few sidelong glances, unused to such nonchalance in his presence. As the throngs begin to shuffle about, he notices the young man sniffing the air, and makes a tentative attempt to engage the local populace. "It looks as if you're of the same mind as myself. Forgive me," he says with an awkward bow, "But this town, this region, they are unfamiliar to me. Could you recommend a place to eat?"
The handsome young man nods, politely, adjusting the sleeves of his well-worn sailcloth shirt. "Bertram Vandemar at your service. My father owns the shipping industry here, but I do most of the legwork... Listen to me prattle." he says, busily, eyes flitting from task to task. He flashes you a pained smile. "Well there's the White Deer uptown, but if it's food you want you can't beat the Rusty Dragon." he says, grinning. "Festival day means free lunch, too. The curry-smoked salmon and winterdrop mead..."
"As for the festival... -Just a second midshipman!- ... Just be in the square at noon. You won't want to miss it." he says, pulling you into another rough handshake. "I best get back to work. You have a good day now, friend." he says, as he rushes off to oversee the last shipments.
"The Rusty Dragon? That sounds interesting. What is this curry you speak of? I've never heard of it. Though it does sound delicious" Rohan responds with a smile as you hear a familiar growl of a stomach anticipating a meal.
Afterwards, Rohan thanks the man for his time and walks to the square where he witnesses the opening speeches. He lets out a small chuckle during the sheriff's speech. When it is over, he heads towards the Rusty Dragon to get some food and drink.
"It looks as if you're of the same mind as myself. Forgive me," he says with an awkward bow, "But this town, this region, they are unfamiliar to me. Could you recommend a place to eat?"
"My family owns the White Deer Inn, and we've got some really good food, if I say so, but I'm headed to the Rusty Dragon Inn. The owner, Ameiko, serves some of the best stuff in town. I can show you the way, if you'd like." Akrem responds in kind with a short bow, seemingly unfazed by the somewhat untraditional sight of the halforc.
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Colors. Colors everywhere. If it wasn't for all the humans running around, he could almost imagine himself back at Crying Leaf. Almost.
Zavac looked around the crowd, wondering how he would ever find his contact. Why would they send me here, knowing that such an event was to be taking place? Is it another jab at my pride? Of course it is. Bitterness upon bitterness growing within, he stalks through the crowd until he reaches a large group that had gathered in the square. He listens absentmindedly to the speakers, eyes ever vigilant, trying to see if he notes anyone fitting the description. (perception, taking 10)
As Boiko rests after his improvised lunch in the chestnut shade, he hears the rumble of the crowd near the cathedral, and makes it to the square just in time as Father Zantus is invited on stage. As the festivities begin in earnest, he feels dizzied and deafened by the commotion on the crowded square, and decides to take a stroll down the riverbank. His thoughts are tangled as he walks past the tannery and the lumbermill. Everything here is so unpleasant - the smells, the noises, even people's faces seem always worried. I might be getting old, but I guess still not old enough to welcome all this.
He is jerked out of his inner monologue as he hears a cheerful song in a female voice. He seeks out the singer in the crowd and notices a flamboyantly dressed woman of exotic beauty crossing the street in front of him. She carries a large crate of goods and is obviously in a hurry, but her face still radiates cheerfulness and a taste for life. Intrigued by this brief encounter, he follows the woman with the intent of helping her with her crate, but to his surprise, he is hardly able to keep up with her. As she strolls down the street he hears the locals greet her: "Another shipment of malt for your famous brew, miss Kajitsu? I'll be sure to pay a visit to The Rusty Dragon in the coming days!"
Boiko had a strange feeling, which he knew all too well. This incidental meeting and The Rusty Dragon inn were about to play a part in his future. He did not know what was held in store for him, but he used to trust the goddess guiding his fate. With a quick word of gratitude to Desna, he entered the inn.
Valeria wasn't in the best of moods. So far, her investigations had come up naught. So the half-elf was largely oblivious to the festivities as she pored over her journal, scribbling notes with a graphite pencil as she walked. Somehow, she managed to avoid bumping into anyone while she walked and wrote, no doubt from years of practice.
When she finally pulled her head from her journal, Valeria found herself at the door of the Rusty Dragon, having traveled there unconsciously. Stepping inside, she forgot her troubles as she ordered a bowl of spicy stew for lunch.
After she had eaten, perhaps she would explore the festival, take her mind off her frustrations...
"They Rusty Dragon?" Lohrgan nods in thanks and follows Akren's lead to the tavern. He stays near walls as he moves, seeming to be uncomfortable getting caught up in the crowd, and despite his sheepish demeanor, he is constantly spinning about to observe the various festivities along the way to the Rusty Dragon.
As he nears the tavern, his eyes widen at the scent wafting from within it, and his stride quickens as he forgets himself in his hunger. He steps through the door, but quickly moves to one side as he witnesses the crowd on the other side. He sniffs the air for a moment, and catches the scent of... fish? Yes, the scent of fish in the air. A rare treat in Mendev, with the only lake far from the front lines. He cannot restrain a slight grin as he begins to pick his way through the crowd, intent on discovering the source of the pungent aroma.
Qualin heads out of the Rusty Dragon, having broken his fast with a savory slab of ham, hashed potatoes, and a strong tea. The meal was satisfying, he would even go so far as pleasing, but nothing could feel the void of good imported Kalish coffee. Ah well, "no sense wasting time wishing for what can eventually be bought," He reminds himself of a saying his father was fond of repeating. Putting thoughts of his father behind him for the moment, Qualin dons his silver mask and makes his way down to the common area of the Dragon. There he makes some inquiries about an old friend who should be here about, but comes up empty handed.
"Where are you ol' Fox, this is far from a good time to be tardy my friend... he mutters to himself while walking to the main square.
Seeing that his new companion is having a bit of trouble with the large crowds the Dragon is drawing, Akrem turns about and tells the larger man, "Why don't you try to find us a seat. I'll squeeze in up there and get us some grub."
Assuming the halforc goes to find a table, Akrem slowly pushes his way through the crowd, trying to get towards the bar to place their order, calling out to get Ameiko's attention, Ameiko! Can I get two orders of the curry-smoked salmon and two flagons of winterdrop mead? It's for me and a friend...", he says, turning to point out Lohrgan still trying to squeeze through the crowd without causing too much of a ruckus. Turning back to the Tian woman he adds, "er...better make that three of each, please. And some extra bread, please!" The youth pulls out a gold coin and hands it to the woman before kindly thanking her.
After a few minutes, he brings the tray of bread and drink back to the table along the far wall. Despite every other table in the place being completely full, somehow the halforc managed to find one who had no other people sitting at it. Akrem places the tray between them and slides a chunk of the loaf to his companion. He raises a flagon in toast, "To good food!"
As for the Goblins, you heard little over their mad tittering and singing...
As you push your way to the bar you seea brightly dressed woman wipe sweat from her brow as she emerges from the kitchen. You get a whiff of an intoxicating aroma as the silk curtain opens. "More customers..." she says, catching her breath. Her face lights up with recognition. "Does your father know you're in here, Akrem?" she jeers, flashing him a wink.
She grins as she steps forward, slapping her hands on the bar and casting her eyes over the crowd gathered. "Foods on its way, folks, but I can fix you up some drinks if you fancy." she says, getting to work on the taps. Her snake tattoo seems to dance in the dim light on her glistening skin. "The first of the Winterdrop Mead, all the way from Kalsgard." she says, sliding five tankards onto the counter and leaning in conversationally.
"Enjoying the festival?"
"No, he doesn't know where I am. Please don't tell him either. I'd like to enjoy part of the festival.", he says with a grin.
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Zavac shruggs. There's far too many here, I'll never find 'em. Blasted Loremasters. Being hardly interested in what the speakers were droning on about, might as well see what else there is to do.
He turns, heading towards the Garrison from where ringing of steel upon steel emanates. Upon entering the area, a rare smile shines forth. Now this is more like it. His hands went to rest on the pommels of his swords, whilst a glint entered his eye as he watched the dueling combatants. He searches for the one in charge, easily locates the person, nimbly navigates through the crowd, and puts forth a blunt greeting.
"Hail. What's needed to enter?
Rohan walks into the Rusty Dragon and immediately notices the woman handing out food and drink at the bar. He walks up to the counter and sets down his equipment. "I hear you serve something called curry-spiced salmon. I've never had that and I'd like to try it, miss." He asks rather Ameiko rather awkwardly.
"Thank you," Lohrgan states simply as he accept the bread. Looking around, he gingerly pulls down his hood and breaks off a sizable portion of the piece and abandons all pretense of decorum as he wolfs it down, and then obliging his companions toast by chasing the bread with a hearty gulp of ale. He eats in silence for several moments, rapidly snapping up bits of salmon, though he is careful not to take more than half of what sits before him. He does his best not to make a mess, but with the gusto with which he pursues his meal, the drinks tend to slosh a bit and more than a few crumbs now cover the table before him.
With some food in his belly, he begins to relax. Leaning back in his chair, he realizes how little he's said to the man sitting across the table. "My name is Lohrgan," he offers. "I, uh... I apologize if my social graces have been absent through our brief acquaintanceship. They were never a priority in the north, and since moving south, I haven't had much occasion to practice them. I'd heard that there was a feast or a festival of some sort being held, but this," he throws out his arms, gesturing to the patrons of the bar. "This is more people than I've seen gathered outside a battlefield in years! You are a local, I think? What precisely is the call for such celebration?"
@Zavac You easily recognise the Shoanti from the opening speeches. The Sherrif stands in front of you, staring at you appraisingly. "You've come to join the duel?" he asks. "We don't get many elves around here..." he adds sullenly. "I only need your name, friend. And three gold pieces for the entry fee."
"The rules are simple. Three strikes or knocking your opponent down wins the match. If your opponent hits the ground or surrenders, the fight is over." he says, eyes narrowing. "The tournament starts in fifteen minutes."
@Rohan "Just take a number, hon'." she says, smiling. "Is this your first Swallowtail Festival?"
"Yes. I"m not from around here. What is it all about?" Rohan seems to almost blush when she calls him hon.
"Well I ain't a priest, but I know the tale well enough." she says. "They say that the goddess Desna-"
"... Miss Ameiko?"
You jump. You only just noticed the elderly halfling woman tugging at her sleeve. "Of course, Bethana. I'll be right with you." She smiles apologetically at you. "Sorry, stranger." she says, placing her hands on her hips and opening the curtain.
"Head to the square in an hour. You won't want to miss it."
"Well met, Lohrgan. My name is Akrem Viskalai, and yes, I'm a local. This is the yearly Swallowtail Festival, though it's drawing particularly large crowds in this year because of the dedication of the new Cathedral at the North end of town."
Akrem wastes no time getting to his food, downing a little over a plate of the salmon curry and half the bread, offering the rest to Lohrgan. With his belly full, he pushes back from the table a bit, and notices a few odd looks being thrown in the direction of their table. "Please excuse their curiosity. People of your...parentage rarely visit, and very few live here. Tell me Lohrgan, what brings you to our town today? Just come for the festival, or do you have other business as well?"
"It's alright, I understand. I will be at the square in an hour then." He says smiling.
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Zavac nods at the bald Sheriff, and hands him three golden coins. "Sounds easy enough. Simple rules, simple victory. Name's Zavac."
He stands back, eyeing up those to be his competition. We'll see how well they fight against a Guardian of Arsmeril. Throwing up a swift prayer to whatever Deity may happen to hear, his bitterness is temporarily dulled as he anticipates the fight.
Swiftness, precision, and luck be on my side. Honor be to myself, apart yet strong. He changes the wording of his personal prayer, no longer wishing honor upon his people.
After eating her food, Valeria escaped the crowded confines of the Rusty Dragon, and headed for the center of town, wondering at the kinds of festivities that would be featured. She was more tired than she had expected she'd be, so she was leaning on her carved ash staff a little as she walked, grateful for its support. She came across the dueling arena, and stopped for a moment, amused by the spectacle. She'd never been terribly interested in martial prowess, unlike her brother, but she enjoyed the bouts nonetheless.
Her eyes spotted what looked to her a full-blooded elf getting ready for a bout, and she called out to him in the native tongue. Elvish: "Good luck, friend!"
The challengers eye you nervously as they line up. Most of them are young and untrained. This seems to be as much a recruitment drive as it is a test of skill.
The ring is drawn in the dusty garrison yard, and your challenger enters the ring. He barely seems to fill out his chainmail, and he handles his blade like an amateur. He stares you down, jaw clenching as a tense silence hangs in the air.
"You know the rules, gentlemen. I want a clean fight." says the Sherrif, as he blows hard on his signal whistle. "FIGHT!"
The man charges desperately at you, bringing his blade around with surprising speed, but even in your surprise you easily deflect it. The man gapes at you, unable to raise his guard in time.
The challenger crumples under your powerful blow, hitting the ground hard. A concerned looking woman rushes in, tending his wounds, as the Sherrif helps to move the poor man out of the ring. "That's some sword arm you have there." says the sherrif, folding his arms. "I'd ask you be a bit gentler with my boys, next time."
Initiative for Zavac
Initiative for Sherrif Hemlock
Amid a chorus of cheers, the man brings his sword around in an arc. He misses, narrowly, but you can tell he's pulling his blows.
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After that sorry lot, this seems more like a joke than anything.
"I'll try to be nice, but it won't be my fault if you fall on my blade," he says to the sheriff. Ready for the large man, he narrowly moves out of the way. Better, then his counter.
(longsword) (damage)
(shortsword) (damage)
"You're a quick one, I'll give you that."
The Sherrif makes to trip you, and end the fight here and now. He pulls in close...
...weaving under your blade and grabbing you, though you manage to throw him off.
Lohrgan withdraws a bit when Akrem asks him about his business. "I had heard this was a merchant settlement..." he explains as his eyes turn down to the table. "I had been hoping to take up a trade - one that doesn't call for a sword." He follows Akrem's glances about the room and shakes his head at the attention he seems to be drawing. "I believe I need some fresh air," he decides. "So may people in one building stales the air. In any case, I thank you for the meal, and for your company." He gives a quick, shallow bow as he stands, and proceeds to make his way back onto the street.
"I hope you find what you are looking for." Akrem tells the halforc as he watches the large man get up to leave.
After clearing the table for Ameiko and passing the dirty dishes to Bethana, Akrem makes for the door, intent on getting to the beach for the archery contest before it starts.
As he comes up on it, he comes up to the person running the competition and asks, "Am I too late? Has it started already?"
Your blades clash furiously against each other, but to no avail. You match each other blow for blow as the small crowd swells with excitement.
@Akrem "You're just in time, my boy." says Jovar Pravalost, a balding varisian carpenter and hunter.
The beach is lined with sillhouettes of a scary looking winged horse, the legendary Sandpoint Devil. The firing line is drawn in the sand, 50 paces up the beach."Three silver for a try, you get two shots." he says, eyes twinkling behind his thick black moustache.
@Lorghan You walk amongst the stalls. Many of the stalls are manned by the wandering Varisians, who sell brightly coloured scarves, aromatic spices and cheap swallowtail trinkets made from copper while. Many of the townsfolk have also set up shop, selling pies, cakes, fruits and fish. You notice a weathered old Varisian woman sitting at a dark-velvet table. In front of her sits a deck of cards.
Akrem pays the man and goes to the line. He draws and fires when told.
The Varisian woman catches Lohrgan's eye. With only a single deck of cards before her, she's either been selling extremely well, or this is not a shop that trades in commodities. Shrugging, he stops before the stall with an arched brow. "What do you trade here?" he asks simply as he leans forward to get a better look at the cards.
In another furious flurry of steel, neither of you can land a blow.
"By the goddess, boy! That's the best shot I've seen all day!" he says, grinning ear to ear. There's a murmur of approval among the crowd, before a harsh voice slurs loudly, "Yesshh but can he do it again?". The crowd shifts uncomfortably as the half-orc speaks. Most of them had been quite happy to ignore him.
Jovar swears at him in Varisian. "Kak oudelic shoon! Be gone from this place!"
The fat, tattooed lummox wanders down the beach, bottle in hand. Roaring at Jovar to be quiet. He turns on you and throws his arms wide in challenge. "Let's shee... let's see it, chickenlegs."
The man lunges at you, and you feel the pommel of his blade strike you on the temple. You wobble a little on your feet a little but manage to dodge his next strike.
"That's one."