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How Not to Fight Giants

There really isn't any metaphor in that title. It's just...when you're fun-sized like me, there are ways you should not attempt to fight very tall people.

Two people in medieval clothing and armour, facing each other with rattan weapons raised in a green park with tall trees. The taller person is in green and white, and the shorter in red and blue, with a long, dark leather armour coat.
Not an optical illusion.
Running straight at them is a bad plan.

Two people, one much shorter than the other, in medieval clothing and armour. They're swinging rattan swords at each other in a green park with tall trees; the taller person in green and white has a shield, and the shorter person in red and blue has only a sword.
Still not an optical illusion.
No, really.

Two people, one much shorter than the other, in medieval clothing and armour. They're swinging rattan swords at each other in a green park with tall trees; the taller person in green and white has a shield, and the shorter person in red and blue has only a sword.
He's literally twice my size. That's why I'm getting murdered for standing in front of him.
It ends in pain and death.

I should also note that with a bastard sword, I have approximately the same reach as my opponent up there using a single sword, and he has the advantage of an elbow in a location that's useful for wrap shots (where you roll the sword as it comes around your opponent, and smack what's normally the trailing edge of your sword on the back of their head/torso/etc).

So I have some new bruises to remind me that mobility is not just my friend, it is a vital and nonoptional feature of my fighting. Something about floating like a butterfly...

A young redheaded white woman, posing with arms outstretched on a sidewalk in front of a green, tree-filled park, in a long red caftan with thin yellow stripes marking the buttons and buttonloops, and wide blue pants, with old military boots peeping out.
I look amazing anyway.
And at last, I have some decent photos of the finished fighting caftan on a human! Many thanks to Lady Lina for humoring me (and making me laugh in every single one).


A closeup of a neatly pleated panel seamed horizontally to a much narrower side panel in a red caftan.A closeup of the fabric buttons and yellow cording on the front opening of a red caftan. The cord forms button loops on one side and diamonds around the base of the buttons on the other.
I am exceedingly proud of the neat little pleats at the sides—they add a ton of width to the skirts without very much bulk on the sides, and they happen to fall where a little extra padding is nice to have anyway. Swords to the ribs are killer.

The wee buttons, while they please me immensely, are not remotely accurate to 12th-century Persian or Turkish clothing. The flashy gold detailing is all lucet cord tacked in place, and so far seems to work very well with the cloth buttons.

A young redheaded white woman, laughing, in a taekwondo ready stance on a sidewalk in front of a green, tree-filled park, in a long red caftan with thin yellow stripes marking the buttons and buttonloops, and wide blue pants, with old military boots peeping out.
She said 'make a fighting pose.'
And a bonus photo of Why I Struggle With Ranged Fighting...taekwondo is my first and deepest-ingrained martial art, and some grumpy part of my brain continues to insist that if I'm out of leg range, I will be able to do absolutely nothing to my opponent. At least I've stopped trying to block shots with my arms—and someday, I will stop wanting to just kick people in the head and be done with it.

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