Tent of Stepan of Lesser Poland

[Ace_General]

Here is the simple tent of Stepan of Lessar Poland. Inside is a few animal skins to sleep on, his weapons and armor, some bread, and a small cask of ale.

Outside the tent is a roaring campfire with a pot of stew on it at all times. Smells of cabbage and roasting meat waft across the camp, as well as "washer-women" who beckon the passerby into a tent, while young children run about, along with the murmurs of the prayers of the devout and repentant sinners. This assortment of men is not the pride of their realm, like the strutting and brave normans, no rather the unwanted, the destitute, or the truly bad in need of repentance or the truly devout

[MuttonChops]

A lanky Bavarian - his coat loosely hanging by his shoulders arrived accompanied by a modest score of soldiers, carrying the symbols of the Lord of Irmelhausen on their chest. They scowl grimly each brandishing a hitting stick. They called out, beating their chests in drunken anger.

"This Them!" he asked
"Yea, yea." the Bavarian answered, before falling on his knees retching green bile
"You think you can give us piss, and call it ale!! Get out here and fight us!"

[Ace_General]

A equal number of somewhat intoxicated poles walk out with wasters (wooden pratice swords) and stepan says in the mixed up german accents of settlers from Silesia

I apoloogize for the ale lads, we "liberated it" from some Serbs. Now, how about a little sport, my poles versus you Bavarians, using German tournament foot melee rules. If you win, we will give you a keg of our finnest Bock brewed by Saxon monks in Silesia. If we win, we get a keg of your Bavarian brew. What say you, mein gut menner?

[MuttonChops]

The conciliatory tone had a mixed effect on them. Buoyed and ready for a brawl, they gurgled into confusion and half questioning gaze, if the poles meant for a surprise attack it was the perfect set up. But it didn't come.

"Hehehe, you think you can take us. " Answered the chief sergeant amongst them, a tall Helveti mixed man, with a black beard marked with a spot of whites.

"No armor, No shirts, No tricks! Let's FIGHT!"

The Bavarians pulled away, forming a line of men with each holding the others belt, taking care to protect each other from being singled away. Even in haze of ale, they were still coherent in a fight - a credit to their training.

[Ace_General]

The Poles take off their shirts and form into line with perhaps a pace or two between the men, so that they may fully use their swords as well as have room to kick and grabble and all of the other means of fighting with a sword that arent slashes with the front edge of the blade.