Group 1 (nm) on Quidditch Pitch

Headmaster Regal

July 26, 2011 6:42 PM

Let the jousting begin! by Headmaster Regal

David Regal was excited about this particular activity. He had always fancied himself as a great jouster, he was certain he had been a knight in a past life. With great excitement, he prepared the broom jousting tournament for his students. The Headmaster had looked into the school’s rules to make sure that what he wanted to do was actually legal, he didn’t want a horde of parents’ sending him howlers, or the Board breathing down his neck for organizing fun activities for the kids. After he was completely certain that everything was legal, he started researching about what jousting entailed. It was a rather easy sport to master, and quite entertaining to be a part of. He wished he could participate. It was going to be fun! He hoped the students liked the activity.

Once again, the Quidditch Pitch had been transformed for the festivities. It amused David the multi-uses of the pitch. The bleachers stayed the same, but the goal hoops were gone. A big horizontal post cut through the middle of the pitch dividing it in two equal parts, and two other ones were on top. Each post had distance between them. Each one was for each group. The ground had been charmed to be soft, if any of the students were unfortunate enough to be dismounted of their brooms. The students’ safety was a priority for the Headmaster. The lances that would be used were also charmed to cause no injuries. If you were it by one, it would be like being hit by a pole with something really fluffy covering it. Also, the lances were flexible. No major damage could be caused by them. Quidditch players were more at risk during a game. Everything would be controlled by the Headmaster; there was no way for any of the participants to suffer something terrible.

He smiled as the people of Sonora began entering the Pitch and taking their places. “Welcome to Sonora’s First Broom Jousting Tournament!” David greeted once everyone was in their place. He used a sonorous charm on himself; it would make it easier to be heard. “Glad to see everyone has come out to support one or several of our participants.”

The rules of the tournament had been sent to everyone that had signed up. They were simple: No cheating, play fair and it was a 2 out of three to win. David had deemed important to separate the participants into three groups. It would be foolish to have a sixth-year joust with a first-year. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the outcome of that match. So, the jousters were divided into Group 1 (1-2), Group 2 (3-4), and Group 3 (5-7). It evened the play field for most of them. At the end of the tournament, Sonora would have three champions, one for each category. Each of them would receive a Trophy and big bag filled with an assortment of candy.

“Let’s the tournament begin!” he exclaimed with obvious excitement. He took his seat and anxiously waited for the kids to do their thing.

OOC: Posting rules apply. No godmodding. This is just like when a Bludger is after you. You decide what happens, but be realistic! Have fun!

Subthreads:

Group 1 (nm) by Headmaster Regal with Katrina (Kitty) McLevy - Aladren , Derry Four

Group 2 (nm) by Headmaster Regal with David Wilkes, James Owen

Group 3 (nm) by Headmaster Regal with Demelza Eagle, Charlotte Abbott

0 Headmaster Regal Let the jousting begin! 0 Headmaster Regal 1 5

Headmaster Regal

July 27, 2011 12:50 AM

Group 1 (nm) by Headmaster Regal

0 Headmaster Regal Group 1 (nm) 0 Headmaster Regal 0 5

David Wilkes

July 27, 2011 7:44 PM

Here goes nothing... by David Wilkes

It was, David thought gloomily, official. Certain relatives were right. He was nuts. They needed to lock him up in a padded cell and throw away the key, because the illusion of passable sanity he had upheld for most of thirteen years had just been shattered beyond repair.

At least, with all the Headmaster’s elaborate safety precautions, he didn’t think he had to worry too much about his sternum being subjected to the same treatment. Maybe if he’d been going up against one of the big guys, then that could have happened even using fluffy lances, but he wasn’t the shortest or scrawniest guy in the class, so he thought he should be okay only going up against other third and fourth years in their group of players. A little bruised at the end, maybe, but okay.

He hoped. It was too late to get out now, so hope was about as much as he could do for himself and his faint sense of being sick. Nerves, he guessed, because he’d been feeling that way for the past two days.

The whole set up, with groups running at the same time, seemed a little chaotic to him, but if anyone missed his likely abject humiliation, that was fine with him. He tried to be interested in the mechanics, like the handling of the lances when they weren’t mounted on horses – he had sort of picked up a few things about how this worked in the Muggle world from his historical fiction phase. He also tried to remind himself that he was actually jousting, with a lance, even if it was all charmed up. How many people did he know who could say they had ever done that? He was guessing the number was somewhere between zero and none.

It was his turn. Great. He tried to think what he knew. Different things could happen – someone could get unhorsed, or in this case unbroomed, in which case the one still standing was the winner, both players could totally miss each other, or every now and again, there was a Henry II situation where something went through a visor and hit someone in the eye and then it hit their brain through their eye and they kind of died horribly over the course of days, only that wasn’t really a problem here. At least, he really hoped it wasn’t. Something fluffy hitting him in the eye didn’t sound too fun, but hopefully no one would be aiming that high, and they couldn’t have random bits break off and fly up, could they?

He mounted his broom, handling the lance a little awkwardly from lack of experience and wondering if real knights had ever felt like this – a little foolish, perched up here like this, wondering what in the world they were doing and why they were doing it, because wasn’t this sure stupid? It was ridiculous to run at each other like this. Then, hoping to the skies that he was doing it right, he started flying as fast as he dared toward the other contestant anyway, aiming as best he could and figuring it was best to get the first round over with as quickly as possible so he could see what was going on and either get into it or else just get the whole thing over with faster.

16 David Wilkes Here goes nothing... 169 David Wilkes 0 5

Katrina (Kitty) McLevy - Aladren

July 27, 2011 10:10 PM

Brink me my horse…er Broom! by Katrina (Kitty) McLevy - Aladren

I can’t believe they’re really going to let us do this! Kitty thought with a small squeak of delight. It was the sort of thing she might have come up with but not something she expected adults to actually let them do. They’d even set the whole thing up. Wow, the magic world is just too great. No way would the teachers in her old school do anything like this. It was completely crazy, but the type of crazy that drew Kitty like moth to fire. She was super excited that they were letting girls play too, seems jousting was normally just a boy thing. Even though she would never admit it to anyone Kitty was also glad that they separated the groups out by age. While it might have been fun to take on one of the sixth or seventh years, Kitty knew she would most likely get hurt. Even though she might love to do things that could end in pain, she really didn’t like being hurt. That wasn't the goal at all, it was the fun. Pain just happened to be the price sometimes for pushing the limit.

Kitty walked onto the pitch with a jaunty step and a blinding smile. Cornflower blue eyes swept across the crowd who’d gathered to watch and her smile grew. This would be a precursor to Quidditch, and she couldn’t wait to hear the crowd cheer. It could be said that Kitty loved attention, if she’d been more of a girly girl she would have gotten involved in dance, or any other thing that got her up in front of a crowd. “And so without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you, the seeker of serenity, the protector of Italian innocents, the enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, Sir Kitty McLevy.” Kitty quoted with a giggle from one of her favorite movies, A Knights Tale.

Bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet Kitty waited for her turn. Her black curls carefully tamed in a French braid tied with a sky blue ribbon. The small fine boned girl didn’t look like the kind of person who would enjoy such things, but having grown up with three brothers hade quite an impact on the tiny girl. She would much rather play in the mud than with dolls.

Her heart nearly hummed in her chest with enthusiasm as she mounted her broom. The lance was a rather large unwieldy thing but Kitty didn’t let its awkward weight and feel bother her too much. It would be just as difficult for everyone else, well hopefully. Maybe broom jousting was a regular thing in the magic world, and kids did it all the time. Oh well, either way it would be great fun. With a wild grin Kitty surged forward, making sure to keep her lance straight and aimed at her opponent.

0 Katrina (Kitty) McLevy - Aladren Brink me my horse…er Broom! 0 Katrina (Kitty) McLevy - Aladren 0 5

Demelza Eagle

July 28, 2011 2:58 PM

Hi-Yah! (Joust to the death!) by Demelza Eagle

Mel had been preparing for this broom jousting tournament. Admittedly, it was hard to prepare alone (you could only joust with a goal post so many times), but she couldn't ask Jose to joust with her in case they had to face each other, because then maybe he would have already figured out her strategy by then. Mel had a very straight-forward, logical strategy--Joust to the death! It made sense to her. Jousting seemed a lot a like beating, only with more movement involved, and Mel was an awesome beater if she did say so herself.

The only things that really sucked about this was that everyone she was going up against was older than her. It was really quite unfair, but at least she had a chance to prove herself. Some kids were really smart, others were wicked duelers. Mel was neither--instead, she was a great flier and beater. This was her strong point; she really had nothing else going for her. She wasn't even pretty; it was almost as if her body knew exactly what she was destined to be, and that was why she was 5 feet 11 inches tall and weighed around 160 pounds, most of her weight coming from muscle. Although she did eat a lot (she must have had a might metabolism or something) because she was still skinny. Maybe it was all the working out she did every day after she finished with her classes? Then again, she was also rather flat-chested and had very small curves, so skinny didn't exactly look all the great on her.

The morning of the Jousting Competition Mel acted like she was getting ready for a Quidditch game, with the exception of not being serious. She was excited for the competition, but it didn't matter as much as Quidditch. Still, she was very determined to win. She wanted the glory! Plus, if Pecari didn't win the Quidditch Cup this year, then she would at least have something to brag about over the summer to her brothers.

After eating four eggs with ketchup (her vegetable for the day), a waffle with lots of syrup, and a peach, Mel's stomach was more than ready to ~~stab~~ joust! She ran up in her dorm to get her new, shiny Firebolt 750 she got a few months into term after her dad's wand shop started flourishing. She loved getting new brooms! She was saving up her own money for one, but her dad stepped up to the plate and bought her one. Mel loved her dad. He was the greatest person she knew!

Skipping down to the pitch as she often did, Mel started to wish that she had worn a bit more protection. Her long sleeved, tight black Under Armour shirt and black sweatpants were thin and not padded to better rebound an attack from one of the jousting sticks. Oh well, she would just have to not get hit. It was cool. Her outfit being a bit different than what she usually wore (as a lover of all things rainbow-y, black was the last color she usually wore), she also painted two black lines across each one of her cheeks, for dramatic effect. She had fun with this! Maybe, when she was captain of Pecari's team, she would make all the players wear black paint lines on their cheeks. She had a lot of things planned for her players when she became captain.

She stood with the rest of the competitors as she waited for a signal to start the tournament. When that signal was delivered by the nice Headmaster, Mel volunteered to be one of the first people to joust. She mounted her broom and kicked off the soft ground to hover in the area where Group Three, the oldest group, was to compete. She grinned at the person she was jousting, but quickly replaced that with her game face. As the whistle blew, Mel lifted her light lance, shot forward with graceful but swift pace, and leaned her whole torso and long extended arm forward so that it was all leaning over the edge of her broom. She cried, "Hi-Yaaaaaaah!" because it seemed like the right thing to say, and when out in a full-on throttle towards her opponent. Grinning, she was glad that she signed up for this. It was almost as fun as Quidditch!

0 Demelza Eagle Hi-Yah! (Joust to the death!) 157 Demelza Eagle 0 5

James Owen

August 03, 2011 8:25 AM

Here goes something... by James Owen

It was very strange to be doing something for the first time while being observed by most of the school. True enough, James' own yeargroup must have seen him fly in their first year, but he hadn't been spectacularly good or bad enough that he suspected he'd be memorable in any way. His sister, Josephine, had of course seen him fly before at home, but she had never seen him joust - simply because James had never jousted on a broom before. Luckily, the lance was sort of spongey and there seemed to be enough safety pracuations in place that should James be knocked from his broom he shouldn't suffer any sort of serious injury - in fact the tournament seemed to be safer than a game of Quidditch (which, considering the past few Quidditch games at Sonora, was definitely for the best).

As he prepared himself on one of the school brooms (they were of better quality than his own broom, which had been left at home for that very reason), James realized that he had been matched up with his roomate. That was sort of good, in a way, because a little healthy competition wasn't likely to do any damage to their acquaintaceship, and they were more or less matched in physique; true enough that James was all skin and bone to the eye, but he had well-concealed muscles and was stronger than he looked. In terms of skill, David had been drafted as reserve for the Aladren team for a couple of years, but that didn't really prove anything - for one because James hadn't even tried out, so couldn't be sure David was any better than him at Quidditch, and for another, Quidditch wasn't the same as jousting, anyway. It was almost impossible to predict which out of the two of them would be successful in their round together.

There wasn't much time left to make that prediction, either, as the boys readied themselves on their brooms and tried to figure out how best to hold a lance. James had just about gotten comfortable with his grip before it was time to fly. He set off at speed, and thought it best to look at his opponent. He managed it for just a moment befor he had to look away again, because he'd never been so intimated by David as right now, when the other boy was directing a lance at him and approaching rather more quickly than James would have liked. He'd had to look away, but just for a moment - he forced his gaze back to his target, as he could hardly expect to hit something he couldn't see. James aimed his lance, readied himself for a blow, and cowardly closed his eyes and the last second. He felt a firm but not painful brushing collision against his shoulder; it was sufficient to distract him from noting whether or not his own lance had made a connection.

Reaching the other end of the run, James collected himself, checked himself over to ascertain no actual damage had been done, and turned his broom, ready to go again. He could feel adrenaline pumping through him, and as this registered, he concluded that he was having fun.

0 James Owen Here goes something... 168 James Owen 0 5

Charlotte Abbott

August 03, 2011 9:06 AM

Not to the death, please by Charlotte Abbott

Charlie didn't start having second-thoughts about jousting until she saw her opponent. Why should she have second thoughts? She'd played Quidditch for seven years, was expert on a broom, was was of the oldest students in the school, let alone those who had signed up, and had rarely given up a challenge in her life. That it might not be considered 'ladylike' had genuinely never presented Charlotte with a problem; she was a pureblooded Quidditch player, and she didn't care what that WAIL group said about girls like her. She had somewhat of a reputation for dating boys, anyway, not girls - no group full of elitist, ignorant bigots could drive her off. She had absolutely nothing to fear from participating in this jousting tournament...

... Except that Demelza Eagle was a good half-foot taller than her, more heavily built, and had been training as a Beater for at least the past five years. Genuinely, Charlie might have been more concerned about facing Edmond, but she didn't think anyone else in the school other than those two particular students would have caused her any concern, and fate - or the organizing professors - had put her with one of them (she tried in vain to remember whether Edmond had signed up, because if he had she was sure she was going to have to joust against him next - that was just her luck).

Still, Charlie was a Chaser, and hopefully more agile on a broom, and more accustomed to being knocked off same - she knew tricks about hanging on, and maybe she could dodge round Mel's attacks much like she would a Bludger in a game. She was also reminding herself of those two years' extra flying experience (plus the couple of times she'd flown before Sonora that didn't really count for anything), and hey, maybe Demelza would be intimidated by the prospect of knocking the Head Girl off her broom? Charlie doubted it, but she could hope, couldn't she?

The gathered crowd didn't make a difference to the girl who was used to playing Quidditch in front of the school, and who actively sought attention, anyway. She'd worn the outfit she tended to wear to Quidditch practices - a plain black tracksuit with red branding over a red tee - and her hair was tightly braided to keep it out of the way. She hadn't been sure whether gloves would be allowed, so she'd worn them anyway and nobody had told her to take them off, so they were assisting in her grip a little. Not enough to make a difference, perhaps, but Charlie was often of the opinion that a little help could go a long way - especially when it could make the difference between staying on one's broom or being unceremoniously thrown to the floor. Of course she hoped that didn't happen, but time alone would tell.

That time was now. On the shrill sound of the whistle, Charlie leant forward as if she were making one of those mad dashes down the pitch, Quaffle tucked under her arm - except, of course, that there was no Quaffle, but a large, fairly light but still cumbersome lance held n her right hand, and extended forwards, hopefully to meet her oponent and send her flying without serious injury. That was about the best case scenario, Charlie thought. She kept her focus and her aim, realizing on some barely-conscious level that Mel's longer arms would mean her lance would hit its target first.

BAM! It didn't hurt like being hit with a Bludger, but moving at those speeds Charlie thought even a feather boa could do some harm. She wheeled her broom around at the end of the course, having held onto her it and her lance, and possibly her dignity, so that was all good news. She did push her left hand up to gently massage the sore patch on her shoulder where a bruise was probably already forming. At what point had she thought jousting would be a good idea, anyway? Still, only another two runs against Demelza, and then maybe she'd get a break and be paired with one of the teenier fifth years? Or Edmond. Merlin help her. Taking a reviving deep breath, the seventh year Crotalus looked back up at her oponent, ready to go again.

This time, she thought she might be better prepared. Instead of panicking at that crucial moment about who had the longer reach, Charlie closely watched the end of her oponent's lance, and, doing her best to keep her own aim true in the meantime, she leant a little this way then that, hoping to avoid the collision on her side. That's where the Chaser agility came in handy.

0 Charlotte Abbott Not to the death, please 135 Charlotte Abbott 0 5

Derry Four

August 03, 2011 1:28 PM

For the honor of Teppenpaw! by Derry Four

It had been kind of a relief, finding out he wasn't up against the older students. Not that he wouldn't have tried his best - jousts were a contest of bravery, after all - but when he read the part about first and second years being grouped together as their own mini-joust, he stopped trying to write the contingency letter to his mom explaining how he had been killed and that she shouldn't be sad because he'd died with honor and bravery but that she should maybe check into Amelia Pierce to make sure she hadn't had anything to do with making him go up against Demelza Eagle in his first match.

But the second scariest Beater in the school was in the oldest age group, and Derry only had to worry about other second years and the first years. And when he figured out which one of his classmates was Kitty McLevy, he almost felt bad about going up against her, she was so little. Derry was by no means large himself, but he ran about average for a twelve year old, which made him kind of a lot bigger than a small eleven year old.

He wasn't going to let that bother him though. She had signed up for the joust, which meant she wasn't the kind of girl he wasn't allowed to hit. He'd never heard of the McLevy family, either, so he was pretty sure his Mom wasn't going to yell at him if he took her out and the family found out about it. He would have had a real problem if Demetra was competing, but he hadn't seen her name on the list.

And now it was the first match of the competition, and he sat on his broom (the Derwent Three, a hand-me-down from his not-so-dead-as-previously-believed brother) at one end of the jousting field and tried to figure out how he was supposed to hold the lance. It was big and awkward and he wondered if he was using one that was the same size as the ones the Fifth through Seventh Years were using two levels above him.

But as big and awkward as it was for him, he reasoned, it had to be worse for Kitty.

Then Headmaster Regal was announcing the start and Derry lowered his lance, trying to hold it steady in Kitty's direction, and urged his broom forward. The Derwent Three surged along the central bar, gaining speed quickly, and Derry pointed the tip of his lance at Kitty. He tried not to jar it too much as he ducked under her lance, but he though his tip may have shifted a little with his movement. He didn't know for sure though because he had his eyes closed in case he misjudged where her lance was and it hit him, but he passed under it with only a whisper of air to show just how close it had come to glancing off his back.

1 Derry Four For the honor of Teppenpaw! 189 Derry Four 0 5

David Wilkes

August 05, 2011 2:31 PM

And now for something else. by David Wilkes

David felt a slight shock through his lance a second before he felt a firmer blow to his chest, not too far past where his arm connected to the rest of him. His torso went back, but he held on to the broom with his legs and a second later with his other hand and wondered what, if anything, this situation of them both being hit meant for the game. Was it a draw since they were both still on their brooms, or was one hit maybe being worse than the other enough for a winner of the round to be called? He had no idea.

For now, he decided to assume it had been a draw and that the next round was going to be taken as the one that counted toward the final score. This one and the next one. They had said best two out of three, so maybe if it was a dead tie, with the first not counting and maybe one of them winning the second and the other the third, they’d both get chocolate or whatever it was they’d been promised in exchange for winning this. Then, no animosity in the dorm, which was great.

Or maybe they’d just make them have a do-over. That, too, was possible. It was really all up to the guys above his rank, he supposed, and he’d just have to go along with that. Which was fine with him, really. David didn’t really have a burning desire to be the guy who made decisions. He wanted to win, and didn’t want to take orders from someone too much dumber than he was, but the staff was smarter than him and it was not a loss to have them be the ones flying this plane. Or broom, whatever. He wasn’t picky about terminology when it made things a lot easier not to be that way.

He reached the end of the lane and turned, adjusting his grip on his lance a little. The worst of it was over, that was the important part. The first pass hadn’t gone fantastically, but it had gone well enough that he now knew he could do this without making too much of a fool of himself, though he would have still felt this was more impressive and less clownish if he’d had at least a breastplate to wear. It didn’t feel quite like a joust without that sort of thing, more like a semblance of a joust with just the bare outline and a few touches without full attention to detail. That part, he might have liked to have been the guy in charge of, but no one went around asking third years their opinions on things. He guessed it was generally assumed they were too slack-jawed to have opinions; if confronted, he guessed he would have been too intimidated by the presence of elders to voice any he had, which would have only confirmed the theory, so maybe it was just as well.

“For death and glory,” he muttered, lacking the nerve to say anything so melodramatic out loud, under his breath, deciding King Théoden and Peter Jackson had better grasps of the dramatic than he did for adding some sense of occasion even if both of the things mentioned were impossible here. Then he pointed his lance, set his mind to the fact he was a fantasy knight instead of just plain old David Wilkes so he wouldn’t do something weird like try to twist out of the way when he and James met up and end up whacking his roommate across the face with the shaft of the lance because it turned too or something stupid like that and charged again.

16 David Wilkes And now for something else. 169 David Wilkes 0 5

Kitty

August 05, 2011 11:37 PM

For the honor of Aldr…Oooph… by Kitty

Excitement thundered though Kitty’s veins as she picked up speed, her large blue eyes open wide to keep the target in her sights. Wind roared around her from the force of her flight and Kitty had never felt so alive. Just before their lances crossed Kitty wondered if Quidditch would be as wonderful as this. She was certain that her lance was about to land a totally awesome hit when her opponent suddenly ducked under it That’s not fair! Kitty wailed in her mind. Distracted by his surprise move Kitty lost sight of his lance tip, which had chosen that moment to dip lower.

The tip caught her low in the chest and felt like taking one of her brother’s more enthusiastic throws of a nerf football. Soft, but still hard enough to almost take her breath away due to the speed she’d picked up before taking the hit. Panting a bit to get her breath back Kitty wheeled her broom around and retook her former position. She gave Derry a tragic wounded look, with huge blue eyes and everything. It was a compete feign to throw the older boy off, but one that had worked for the young girl before. And sometimes Kitty just liked messing with people. Even though she looked quite tragic, her blue eyes glittered with suppressed laughter.

When the signal was given Kitty shot foreword again, just as fast as the first time without the slightest hesitation for having failed the first round. That was the past, and no longer of any concern to the young girl, now was the future, and this time she’d keep her tip down low enough that he wouldn’t be able to duck again.

0 Kitty For the honor of Aldr…Oooph… 0 Kitty 0 5