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Round 6. Fight 1. Milord Axel Von Himmel V "Milord" Galaharadron
"And why did I leave my grenade launcher at home?" - Sir Galaharadron probably thought, pulling arrows out of himself after the duel...
Milord Axel Von Himmel wins. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "No respect for women, nor for the elderly..." - one of the judge's girlfriends thought. "Everyone achieves results the best they can..." - another of the judge's girlfriends thought.
Ничто не возникает из ничего и ничто не пропадает бесследно. Если где-то чего-то убудет, то в другом месте добавится. (Закон сохранения).
Fate today was more kind to animal lovers than to tormentors...
Miledy Alsira Vecchi d'Arcrede wins.
Dabbing the blood welling from her eyes with a handkerchief, Alsira politely thanked the archer: — Bravo, milord, not a single opening for maneuver did you leave me. Only the fleeting current of fortune remained to rely upon.
Ambrose loses all his morale and ceases the battle.
Miledy Alsira Vecchi d'Arcrede wins with yet another zero on the balance sheet called "AP"...
This turned out to be the first battle that, by some miracle, went almost "by the book": first, drawing the heavily armored pet out of harm's way, and then its rider, without inflicting the slightest wound on either. — Not every knight has strength enough to topple the Moon with a single backhanded swing! Pray forgive me, worthy milord, that I feared to gift you an honest exchange of heavy blows: no chance for a fragile maiden to withstand a mighty knight's hand. Wherefore the humblest chance at victory came through nimble trickery.
Forgetting courtesy, Ambrose lay on the ground, his gaze turned to the sky. It seemed to him that he was an old and crooked tree, which remembers much but can do nothing, and only the soft breeze sways it, and it rustles in response, and leaves fall from its branches, turning into words. Spring will pass, the faithless words Will remain in the soul, like bitter poison in a wound Life's millstones will grind us down And gnaw at us until our final breath
Regrets of the past: here I held my tongue When I should have spoken, there I missed my mark... Like a heavy stone in the night hour they rob us of sleep The ghosts of mistakes — such is memory's price
The shadow of irreversibility lies upon the heart Life grants no second chance, accepts no bribes To another the blade will return after the fray Another will I meet the coming day
And life will whirl in a lunar dance Leaving only regrets of the past And I shall remember this day Until the final eclipse arrives
— I just need... to get up, — having restored a single point of morale out of one hundred seventy, Ambrose rose and bowed. — This was no easy feat, and you may rightfully take pride in your victory; anyone can shatter a body, but only a great soul can wound another's heart.
E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza, e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers
Ple-Sen
