Knights of Anathaeum Well, Hello Boys...

[Julian Benavide]

Roll: 15

Julian pretended that his low score did not bother him, but his gaze shot daggers in Monroe's direction as she left the table, letting the blonde knight beside her read the scores instead. As he moved to the next event, leaving his shirt on the ground behind him, he thought the judging should have been left up to the audience. What was democracy for, anyway?

Julian watched the few that went before him, taking the time to stretch his muscles, especially his shoulders as he prepared to swing the hammer.

When it was his turn, he focused more on his form this time than pleasing the adoring crowd. If the judges (namely Monroe) were going to be picky, he better get his act together and not give them a reason to score him lower again. He adjusted his grip on the handle and wound up a couple of times before beginning his turns. He had never actually done this, but he had seen the right technique used before, and he mimicked it as best he could. It was how he had learned everything else he was good at, and it worked great then, it proved to work great once more.

He released the hammer and stumbled with the force of his throw. It flew high and far and fast, and Julian turned his proud grin to the judges table, nailing Monroe with his gaze once more.

 

[Nacht]

This next event was strange. They said something like hammer toss, but when Nacht stepped up, he was met with a small steel ball and chain. That was most decidedly not a hammer, but whatever. The technique he had seen from Syr Julian reminded him of a spear charge. The length of time the ball flew did not only depend on strength, but momentum and technique just as the force of the spear was aided by not only the momentum of the wielder's run but also how they held their weapon. If there was anything about this whole thing he liked so far, it was that they had picked events where the little guy had a chance. Brawn was not the deciding factor it tended to be sometimes.

Tuning out the screaming and clamoring around him, he focused on keeping his footing and just spinning as fast as he could while keeping stable. First, a few spins above his head using his rather lanky arms to keep the chain far above him, then he rather precariously moved it downwards, before continuing to add momentum. Finally pointing himself upwards, he would release it with a grunt, fully disoriented. The spinning had taken a toll but he managed to remain standing. Standing and watching as his throw went miraculously straight and far, landing at the end of the field and then rolling a bit.

ROLL: 20

Nacht smiled, pleased with his work. He turned just in time to notice some people watching him with an expression almost akin to awe. He waved and walked back, relishing in the feeling of being seemingly deemed impressive. That was cool! he thought, trying not to let just how much fun he was having show on his face.

 

[Faramund]

Rolled 18... Something don't feel right...

One event down. Two, three... however many to go! Ambling his way over to the other be-shirted contestants, Faramund followed along as they were led to the next area. The sun beat down upon their shiny, sweat-slick brows as he observed the scene. Usually, whenever somebody gave him a hammer, it was his job to use it on somebody else. Now, apparently, he was expected to throw one.

As high and as far as he could. Or thereabouts.

'Why did we sign up for this again?' He asked, self-aware and suffering because of it. The drone of female voices surrounding them on all sides 'cept the clear ground ahead drowned out his words, rendering them pointless.

And then it was his turn.

Stepping up to the plate, Faramund shielded his eyes as a hammer was pressed into one meaty palm by a nervous-looking attendant. 'Good-good luck, Syr Osuin!' She murmured, retreating to a safe distance, her face burning. Osuin? Shrugging, Faramund examined the hammer in his hand. The head was dull and dirty from the previous contestant, but it was nothing a good rub couldn't sort out.

Rolling his shoulders, Faramund took a few practise swings, a bit self-conscious of how sweaty he was beneath his shirt. He told himself it was nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone got hot when playing with their wood...

With a few staggered steps and a swing of his hips, Faramund sent the hammer sailing through the air. He had forgotten to build up his momentum by spinning, but even so... Lady Luck was with him, for the hammer flew straight and true.

Well, until gravity took it.

'Hey, that was pretty good!' Nodding to himself, Fara surrendered himself to the wave of applause washing over him. As he turned, taking in the crowd and their blurry faces, his gaze fell upon where the judges sat, judging. Faramund smiled.

And waved.

 

[Leofsige Burtone]

Log Event Roll : 17

The first event came and went. With plenty of different skills present in those that participated in the event. Leo had fallen into the practice of his village rather than try to make a spectacle of his work. The concentrated state of effort that had made surprisingly quick work of his task.

Maybe he'd put a little showmanship into it with the slight grunts of effort between each swing. Pausing long enough to adjust his grip on the ax with a slight toss that never let the handle quite leave his grip as he stared down at the log.

His hands flexed and spread across the handle with a flick of his head to get a stray strand of hair out of his face before beginning to swing again. Louder grunts with each swing as he heard a few ahead of him proclaim their task finished.

The next part was sawing the end of another log, and the wobbly thing at first fought him to find its bite.

Shedding the thin linen shirt when he felt it bind around his shoulders with the long reaching cut he'd made and finally found his rhythm. Hands once again wrapping around the handle confidently in a wide spread before tightening and spreading his legs wide to accommodate his reach. Like building day back in his village, he lost himself to the task, letting his breathing sync with each push and pull with a gusty breath between each bite.

Concentrated so thoroughly he'd not paid much mind to the others that finished ahead of him until the saw hit the floor and he'd finished his task. Sweating now as he pulled a sleeve from around his waist to dab at his forehead.

He spied the others, giving each a broad smile.

"Good go guys!" A quick thumbs up to everyone around him as the next event rolled around.

Hammer Toss Event: 5

Watching the others do what they called a hammer toss had sorely left Leo ill prepared for the task.

When they said hammer toss, he'd imagined throwing a blacksmiths hammer. Which seemed rather silly given the usefulness of the thing and the light weight of one. But the ball and chain that had greeted them made even less sense as he watched the others swing the thing round and round before letting go.

Each one getting a raucous round of applause from Leo as they swung and released. Excitement filling the air around Leo as he whooped and hollered for each one until it was his turn.

Grabbing the handle and awkwardly pulling until he felt the ball begin to move. Each person before him making a spiral as he followed their example. He wasn't entirely sure how to aim the silly thing, and that made him second guess when to let go. Slowing in his spin until he was certain he saw the field they were supposed to let loose as he let his hand slip free and watched the hammer arc high without much distance.

Almost stumbling as he tried to catch himself and laugh at his own efforts.

"You guys make that look easy!" Laughing the whole way back to what was considered safety behind the hammer toss area.

 

[Osuin]

Roll: 4

Well, he had made alright time, though not quite good time at the woodcutting event. He'd overestimated how far raw might could carry him. In hindsight, he concluded that he'd have done better to pace himself for the task, which required more effort than a single burst of strength could provide.

Reflection would only help him so much. The hammer throw was a test of might more than it was a test of endurance, though there was more to it than that. Technique and form would contribute a lot, but Osuin was versed in neither. Not towards this particular task, at least. With some thought, he figured that good angle, good timing and good spin seemed to be what would matter. Doubtful of his ability to fulfill that last requirement, Osuin opted to watch the others to see what good form should look like.

'Good-good luck, Syr Osuin!' As he contemplated his strategy for the event, he heard the voice out of the corner of his ear. The burly knight turned towards the source of the sound. It had come from the lips of an assistant, but it was oddly directed to Syr Faramund. Osuin gave her a strange look that she didn’t catch while she continued to watch Faramund prepare.

Osuin watched intently to see how he would spin.

He didn't. He just hurled the thing as best as he could with a single swing, though he had still gotten good distance. Osuin wasn't sure that it meant the form was proper, but it seemed to work for Syr Faramund. Perhaps spinning wasn't necessary. The display was evidence towards how effective brute force could be.

Osuin's turn came. He stepped up to the hammer that lay on the grass and knelt down to grasp it. The length of steel chain clattered as he raised the wooden handle, then widened his stance and looked down the landing zone where he was to aim his throw. It seemed his best bet was to treat it like throwing a haymaker, turning his torso to add the extra momentum into his swing.

Upon a moment to focus, Osuin swung with all his might, swinging the ball in a half-arc behind him as he stepped forward with a turn of his body to gain as much momentum as he could. The hammer sailed forward in an arc, and given Osuin's great strength it travelled a fair distance.

As far as he could tell it had been a decent throw. He hoped it would be far enough.

 

[Gunner Valenntyne]

ROLL: 2

Next up on the docket was... throwing a big ball on a chain? That didn't seem too hard! Gunner had done plenty of heaving lifting, and now his arms were all warmed up after all that sawing. There was a flurry of movement from the girls, like they were tallying something. Were they keeping score of this or something? He liked to think he'd done pretty damned good at the woodcutting business!

Gunner took a quick detour to one of the large water basins spread around for refreshment. Cupping his hands together, he brings up a scoop of water and splashes it over his face and hair. The icy chill makes his entire upper body shiver as thin droplets drip from his locks and run down to his waist, soaking the crumpled up shirt that still hung there.

Ah, that was much better! Now, it was time to get to work!

Jogging over to the little cage they had built around the throwing stations for protection, Valenntyne wiped his palms on his trousers to dry them of any water or sweat, then bent over to grip the handle of the 'hammer'. He didn't really get why they called a big ball on a string a hammer, but then he supposed anything was a hammer if you put your mind to it!

Giving it a slow lift to test its weight, Gunner slowly began to step into a spin, extending his arms as he let momentum do the work for him. Just like the logcutting, it wasn't particularly tough so much as it was about timing and finesse. In just a few seconds, Valenntyne had a pretty good speed going. There was just one problem... Gunner had some pretty big feet.

You know what they say about big feet, right?

They're easier to trip over.

Such was Gunner's dilemma, as shorty before he aimed to let go and watch his hammer fly, he tripped over his own foot and began to topple towards the ground. In a last-ditch effort to save his performance, Gunner released early, sending the hammer straight up into the sky and Valenntyne flat onto his back. He could only watch as the hammer soared up into the blue, arching slightly as it came back down. Maybe a bird would hit it? Something heavy enough to launch it forward a bit? No? Nothing?

Gunner sighed as he felt the impact of the hammer just a few feet above his head. What a bummer. He laid there for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest and fuming at himself, before springing back to his feet with a shrug. Oh well! Nothing to be done about it!

 

[Bebin Theros]

Roll: 8

Water spilled from the cup raised to Bebin's lips. Trickles rans down the side of his jaw, beaded amidst the scraggle and twist of his beard before they cascade down his chest as he bottomed out the beverage. Sprinkled and twinkled across the curls that sprung from his chest.

He pulled the cup away with a huff, and wiped his mouth away with the back of his wrist.

"Chopping wood," he muttered to himself. "Is thirsty work,"

The squire who attended the drinks, shakily offered Bebin another wooden cup.

Bebin nod his thanks, took up the drink, half drank it, and splashed the rest against his face. Shook off the droplets, and put back the cup with another nod.

Once he was up to the hammer, he took hold of the handle. Lifted the weight, and felt something in his lower back pinch. He muttered a sound through his teeth, and squinted, a dark dangerous look.

He was going to need a message after this.

One spin, two spin, three.

The hammer flew, and landed with a thud. Short of where he'd like.

A huff. A roll of the shoulder, and thumbs pressed deep into tight flesh. Rubbed circles in the dimples of his lower back as he walked away from the showing.

 

[Hector]

Roll: 17

Hammer throwing.

Wasn't that long ago since Syr Edelbert had taught his lesson on the sport. Said, the technique helped encourage a fuller physique, training strength, simultaneously with-

"Water, Hector?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," he said with a nod. Took a measured drink from the cup.

So what if his pants had ripped, and if he had improvised a kilt with the tatters that remained. The breeze was nice, and let his legs move more freely and that was-

"I think it's your turn, Syr," his attending squire reminded him.

"Thanks Lemock," he put back the cup. Nod to himself, as he stepped up to the plate. Let out a long huff as he bent at the knees, took hold of the grip, and drew taught the hammer's chord. Felt the tension there. The give and take of the rope. How it eased and tensed with the strength and ease of his arms.

His heart was strong, and his breath was full. His muscles warm with the work. Hoisted up the hammer, whirled the weight smooth. Followed the weight, found the momentum, let it guide him to that sweet spot. His core tought, his arms sure as he got lost in the movement.

Bright and hot, as the strips of his skirt flapped about, and the breeze kissed his bare thighs. He let go of the weight with a deep grunt-turned-shout.

He pant, and pant, as the hammer sailed free. It thumped as it buried itself into the soil.

Hector grinned. That was fun.

 

[Monroe]

Pitiful.

It had been her favourite event she looked forward to, other than the wrestling component, but not many had mastered the art. One even threw actual hammers.

Monroe was truthful when it came to scoring each competitor, as she would be throughout this ridiculous competition. More wine had been had during this event, almost as if each time someone failed to be spectacular earned a drink of her wine. She had received two refills during the event.

"Oh no. So you aren't playing favourites?" Saskia peered at Monroe's chart, then looked to catch Petra's gaze. "Look. Two zeros! One give to Syr Bebin!"

Monroe shooed the blonde dusker off, "If they didn't perform to the standard I expect, then I will score accordingly." She grumped. She even wore a pout, the wine skewing her mannerisms now.

Saskia made a face. Of course, she did have one score of zero... but she had every faith that Syr Osuin would pick back up in other events! The sunny blonde had faith in each of them, and had cheered and celebrated each competitor with her usual excitement she went about with her day. Saskia understood this was all in good fun!

"Here, drink up. You need to loosen up and have fun, Monroe. Aren't you in agreement, Petra?" Saskia beamed at the other panel judges. "Look, let's allow Petra announce the next event! Should we have you two volunteer to be carried?" A devilish grin stretched her smile, and Saskia got too excited at the idea!

"The scores for this round are..." Monroe called out, cutting off Saskia's exciteable energy.

HIMBO​	MONROE'S ROLL​	SASKIA'S ROLL​	TOTAL​
Julian​	15​	18​	17 | 20 ​
Nacht​	4​	3​	9 | 8​
Faramund​	1​	12​	5 | 17​
Leofsige​	14​	10​	11 | 7​
Osuin​	12​	1​	9 | 0​
Gunner​	3​	8​	0 | 4​
BABE-in​	1​	17​	0 | 16​
Hector​	16​	4​	19 | 7​
Breyer​	11​	10​	10 | 9 ​

---

===THIRD ROUND ===
loaded carry event
(AKA the 'carry your bestie over the fence' event)

This event will include one activity.


Please check the KoA Discord Channel for how this event will be paired!
I will update this space once pairs are finalised.


Please remember to roll 1d20 using the dice bot on the discord server
and state it at the start of your post!



It is never too late to join this thread!! Happy to have you jump in anytime, as long as you write a post with the events of each round, and the corresponding rolls. Any questions, don't hesitate to reach out to Tipsy or me, doonaday!​

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

Lorinna would never admit to watching Breyer or Julian as they took to the stage fot the show. Their reputation had spread not for their muscular form, but because they enjoyed the sight of themselves more than anyone else would.

She had trained alongside so many of the knights and never spared more than a few glances in anyone's direction. It was different when the entire setup was to let everyone have a good stare.

Then Hector came out. First for the wood chopping. It would be almost impossible to hide her presence; she stood a good head taller than most of the other women but made a good attempt to crouch down.

When it came to the hammer toss she rose back up and cheer his name to offer support. He was doing so well.

That feeling lasted as long as it took to notice that the two younger women on her left were cheering for Hector too. And staring. And whispering.

Suddenly it felt just a little less funny. That was her Hector.

 

[Selene]

Normally, Selene would be in the front row of and event such as this, cheering on the knights and squires as they trained so diligently. But she'd overslept.

Now the sun was high and hot in the sky, the lines at the food stalls were long, and the best views already occupied by earlier risers. Maybe there were better vantage points to be had backstage. Surely no one would mind the Captain coming to inspect the setup. For the safety of the contestants, of course...

"Ah, Captain, you're just in time!" One of the event helpers waved her over. "This way, the next event's about to begin."

"Wonderful," Selene said with a smile as she was led through a tent and towards the open arena. Someone must have saved her a good seat, how thoughtful.

 

[Hector]

It was... odd hearing his name cheered out. Brought a warmth to his cheeks and a fluttering to his stomach. Half a laugh too as he rubbed the end of his nose with the back of a knuckle.

When he saw Lori though, he smiled all the brighter. Her face an odd mix of emotions he couldn't quite remember seeing before.

His hand fell easy to his side, and his eyes locked with hers, if only for a moment. He grinned the wider and shot her a wink.

A bit of foolishness really. Though he never did mind being the fool for her.

"Alright Squi- Er," a clearing of the throat. "I mean, Syr," a laugh.

Hector's heart near jumped out of his throat as he turned about to find Syr Elian standing about half his height.

The dwarf grinned. "Still remember helpin ya get to sleep when the night terrors got their claws in, and now look at ya," she smacked him on the hip with the back of her hand, familial. "Twice my size, and half naked, shakin yer ass for this here... bit of training," she laughed some more as Hector stared on wide eyed. Half laughed himself.

"It's for a good cause, ain't it?" The half-naked half-elf asked.

"Aye, aye," Syr Elian said, and wiped a tear from her eye. "S'pose a bit of bawdy fun is in order every now and again," She handed him a slip. "Here, your, passenger princess,"

He blinked, and took the slip. Opened it as Syr Elian moved away. His eyes went wider. "Captain Selene?!" He cried out.

Syr Elian laughed the more.

Selene

 

[Nacht]

He had done well thus far, which was surely a surprise he didn't expect to happen. When he heard the next event, however, his spirits somewhat sunk. This was not good for him because carrying had significantly less technique he could copy, meaning success came from favorable physical attributes. That tended to afford obvious disadvantages when your body was pale and scarred and small from the sun.

It had been mostly shady miraculously, and remained that way for now. Would he have to drop out once the light got too close? He couldn't burn again, never again. The feeling of those clothes, the cloth that felt like a coffin for so many years began to come back to him and suddenly the boy was beset with an itch he had always felt, one that made him tempted to scratch his skin off to escape it.

Gritting his teeth, Nacht tried to ignore it and focus. "I feel bad for you. Should you be able to even get her off the ground, I would give that a 20," came a voice directed at him, not at all mocking but instead pitying. It was a knight nearby, presumably coming to give him his passenger. It was Syr Akana, who he had as a teacher for endurance training. He was one of the stronger students in that class in terms of pure stamina, which is why such a statement scared him.

Akana knows me. I'm not that weak. Why such a tone, then? He received the paper and very slowly opened it, as though that would change the inevitable inside. His jaw fell to the floor as he read the name. I see, so I'm kind of....fucked, he thought, grimacing. There on the card read the name of someone who famously had trouble getting through doors because of their height: Gruki. He actually laughed at first, imagining someone showing somebody else a picture of the pair of them.

"Hey there, who's carrying who in this drawing?"
"Well, obviously the giant orc is carrying the little grey guy, right?"
"No."
"For fuck's sake, really? How broken are that dude's shoulders?"

He sighed and accepted his fate, unable to get past the realism and be optimistic unlike the last two events. "Let's do this." he told himself, realizing that feeling sucky about it didn't mean he couldn't still try. Why not go out fighting as opposed to being crushed mentally as well as physically?

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian had been doing pretty good so far, if he said so himself. He felt confident in his chances at winning, even though he was usually always confident and he had only done two events. The next, it seemed was the... loaded carry event.

And evidently there had been many eager to sign up to be carried by the contestants in this event, a fact that amused Julian.

His slip of paper was handed to him, and he had many guesses of whose name might be on it when he opened it, Monroe being top of the list (though he'd be damned if she signed up willingly). But he certainly wasn't expecting the name on his slip when he opened it.

Byanka. Julian would be carrying Byanka.

His head snapped up and his eyes almost immediately found Byanka in the crowd, standing off by herself as she was wont to do. Julian cursed under his breath, but his shock was quickly overtaken by joy. At least he knew Byanka. He knew she was light and would make for an easier load to carry. He also knew she would be a blubbering mess which he found cute.

She must have sensed someone was watching her, because she shifted her gaze to him. He gave her a smirk, wiggled his eyebrows, and lifted the hand holding the slip with her name on it in the air. She got the gist of it, he could tell- her face went beet red.

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka was good and fucked.

She really ought to learn how to say no. On her way into the area the festivities were being held, an attendant had asked her if she'd like to volunteer for the carry event. Naturally, Byanka had said yes, and now she was paying for it.

She met Julian's eyes across the crowd of people and when he lifted a piece of paper in the air and smirked at her, she suddenly remembered that she had signed up.

Byanka cursed under her breath and she was sure her face went red. Who had made these pairings? Someone with a grudge against Byanka? Someone who just wanted to watch the world burn?

Soon Julian was meandering towards her, the slip with her name on it still in hand. She moved towards him as well, wishing her body wasn't so eager. Was he... glistening?

Byanka set her mug of booze aside. If she was going to be berating herself for her decisions, she might as well start at the beginning and berate herself for sleeping with Julian in the first place. She was certain that was why his smirk was so wide, that bit of knowing in his gaze. He was going to have too much fun with this, but what Byanka hated most was that she didn't altogether hate him either.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

If someone tried pointing out the way Petra's cheeks flushed at Faramund's easy smile and charming wave, she would deny it. And then probably also punch them. Because mind your business.

But that was beside the point, she reasoned. Instead, she looked onward to the following himbo contestants to glean who could impress the panel enough to be awarded points and bragging rights.

Instead, and Petra wasn't sure if this was residual dazzle from Faramund's smile or not, but the following men that spun that chain and ball and tossed to the best of their ability.... as... sad yet gallant that that all was, was rather... lackluster. Hell, one of them even ended up on their back and staring up at a concerned event scribe.

But at least Hector ended the round with promise, in a kilt no less. His joy infectious and fetching as he walked off the field.

With the round finished, Petra leaned across Saskia's front to show Monroe the proof of her own given zero, she would be changing her bets momentarily. Another flash of coin between them that was married with a toothy grin.

A scribe runner with hair like silver minnows flitted to her side like a fractious breeze, depositing the random pairings for the next event into one hand and snatching the judges' scores from the other, sprinting off with a spry laugh to record them on the large board at the main tent.

Taking a long dreg from her cup that never seemed to empty, Petra stood and cleared her throat, trying to focus on her call sheet and avert her gaze from the distracting glint of sweat that suddenly seemed to be present on countless a masculine buxom.

In a steadier voice than she felt, the Dawnling called out each pairing to the rowdy and whistling crowd:

CONTESTANT	PASSENGER PRINCESS
OSUIN	PETRA
JULIAN	BYANKA
HECTOR	SELENE
NACHT	GRUKI
LEOFSIGE	TORCHE
BEBIN	FARREN
FARAMUND	AARNO
GUNNER	MONROE

---

Estrella was the runner's name and with a flourishing script they transposed Petra's scores onto the board next to the other two and totaled them for contestants, secret bonus points included, adjusting the new placings as they went.

PETRA'S SCORES:

NAME	ROLL	MODIFIER	PANEL ROLL	TOTAL
FINN	16	+3	13	16
JULIAN	15	+2	16	18
NACHT	20	+5	10	15
FARAMUND	18	+4	6	10
LEOFSIGE	5	-3	12	9
OSUIN	4	-3	10	7
GUNNER	2	-4	3	-1
BEBIN	8	-1	1	0
HECTOR	17	+3	9	12
BREYER	6	-1	6	5

---

=== ROUND TWO FINAL SCORES ===​

NAME	FINAL TOTAL	CURRENT STANDING
NACHT	80	3rd
BREYER	36	9th
FARAMUND	52	7th
HECTOR	92	1st
JULIAN	89	2nd
GUNNER	48	8th
OSUIN	53	6th
BEBIN	74	4th
LEOFSIGE	58	5th
FINN	16	10th

Congratulations to our NEW current leaders: Hector, Julian, and Nacht!!! Keep ON Himboing!
Monroe Saskia Kerraelas Lorinna Astarel Byanka Valkas Gunner Valenntyne Bebin Theros Faramund Finn Glider Leofsige Burtone Reynald Nacht Aarno Farren Lóthlindor Breyer Julian Benavide Osuin Torche Selene ​

 

[Faramund]

The scores were in. 'Ten points? Not half bad.' Not half good neither. Someone on the panel had it in for him, it seemed. But who? Roe! Definitely Roe! Picking the dark-haired dawnling out from amongst the crowd of adoring fans wasn't difficult. For one, she was sat talking with the other judges, most likely about Bebin's chest hair or Syr Hector's wardrobe malfunction.

Speaking of...

He blinked, and took the slip. Opened it as Syr Elian moved away. His eyes went wider. "Captain Selene?!" He cried out.

'Where?!' Faramund shouted, glancing about for any sign of the Dusk Captain. She was one of a handful knights that could put the fear of God into him. Knowing her, that was exactly how she liked it.

'O'er yonder, Syr Mund!' Elian pointed. 'By the stage there, see?' Shading his eyes, the dawnling found he could indeed see the Captain appearing from a tent behind said stage. How Elian had seen her before he had was anyone's guess. Stumpies had their ways.

'Is she joining the panel?' He asked, mind curdling at the thought.

'Oh, goodness, no! This'un's set to carry her.' Syr Elian laughed again. Clearly, she found the whole thing quite amusing.

'Shit! Tough luck!' Glancing at Hector, Faramund gave him a companionable slap on the shoulder. Selene wasn't exactly a weighty specimen. Slender but strong. Okay to look at. But scary as all get-out. That's why she's the Captain, the dawnling mused, taking a moment to refresh himself. 'Say, Syr Elian,' he turned, water dripping from his now-wet hair. 'Who am I set to carry?'

The dwarf's wicked grin grew wickeder.

'About that...' She drew another slip from a drooping sleeve. Taking it, Faramund unfolded the small slip, his jaw dropping as he read the name scrolled there. Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me! 'What was that 'bout tough luck?' Elian asked, chuckling to herself as she waved the two goodbye.

'Good luck~!'

Aarno Hector

 

[Leofsige Burtone]

For as underwhelming a performance as it had felt, he'd had fun at least.

A glance at the board to see who was where and finding himself squarely in the middle of the rankings. Though not by an astonishing amount of points. Still, this was meant for fun and charity, and getting worked up over fun and games wasn't in his wheelhouse. Satisfied and nodding to himself, he looked around to everyone to guage their moods. More than a few around him awkwardly glancing to one another as the next event match-up was announced.

Confusion danced in his thoughts, wondering if they believed they would simply draw from the crowd rather than the readily available ranks they had at the monastery.

"Come on guys, don't disappoint your ladies now! All for a good cause!"

Finding himself laughing with a wide smile as he realized that not everyone was getting a lady to carry. They were even drawing in the higher ranks it seemed as he spied Selene standing by. Another thought to the names making him nod thoughtfully.

Either they hadn't garnered a lot of lady volunteers, or some were simply too shy to have themselves carried. Then again, who didn't want to feel like a princess on occasion.

He just hoped he wasn't being saddled with a living boulder to carry.

Rolling his arms as the stupid grin kept itself plastered across his face and nodding once more. The only break he allowed himself was to wipe the sweat from his brow as he waited for Torche to appear. Letting the sleeve fall and settle around his waist before watching everyone stumble over themselves.

 

[Gruki]

The buzz of the crowd was not enough to distract Gruki from her work. Sitting well away from the viewing stands, in a spot not many would think to look, the half-orc continued humming to herself as she went about preparing colourful garlands for the participants and their lady loves to wear, should they so choose. Jasmine, chrysanthemums, tuberose. Sweet scents to hide the sweat-stench. That was what she had been asked to find.

Plus, they were pretty to look at.

Much like the contestants themselves. Gruki mused, weaving another base layer for Sen to decorate. The number of wicker baskets they had filled in preparation for today's events beggared belief. Hells. She'd even had to recruit Lou and Millie to help her, though both had somehow managed to find more pressing matters elsewhere.

'Probably watching the throwing.' Sen had surmised sometime before. 'Wish we could join them.'

'So. Do. I!' Gruki confessed, a kindly smile creeping onto her face. Pausing, she cast a sideways glance at her friend. 'Why don't you go let Élyna know the garlands are ready. Maybe find out what all the... um, commotion is about, while you're at it!'

'Really?! Are you sure?'

'I'm sure.' Nod-nodding, Gruki tried to hide her smile as Sen rushed off towards the showgrounds. An almighty cheer heralded her departure as something mighty interesting happened over yonder. It was almost enough to make Gruki jealous. 'There'll be time enough soon,' she sighed, continuing on with her task.

Then, she heard it. The soft crunch of footsteps on grass.

'Oh, Sen! Didn't I say you could-' Looking up, Gruki fell silent as she took in the figure towering over her. Well, towering might have been too strong a word. Squire Ingomar was a few inches shy of five foot, after all.

The slip of paper he held in his hand was even shorter.

'What's that?' Gruki asked, surprise and confusion making her face seem all funny. 'Marching orders,' replied Ingomar, picking up a garland to thread it between his hands. Thick fingers, she noted, greasy too. 'The time has come for you to make good on your promise, princess!' Laughing, Ingomar turned to leave as Gruki studied the name on her slip, happy to see he had left the garland behind.

'Nacht, huh? This'll be interesting.'

Shrugging away her worries, Gruki tucked the slip away in her trouser pocket, made to stand. That the lad happened to weigh less than three full sacks of spuds didn't worry her so much as his ability to actually lift her. Then again, he probably wasn't the only one who would have struggled.

Maybe he'd like a garland to raise his hopes? Hmm, let's see!

Nacht

 

[Gunner Valenntyne]

Gunner hadn't let his failure in the hammer throw dampen his spirits for long; Already he was back on his feet and back at the water basin, taking a long sip from his cupped hands. Valenntyne hadn't come into this little shindig knowing what would be going on, and he definitely wasn't expecting a perfect score. So far though, he'd been having a good time, and that mattered way more to the young man than winning did.

Behind him, he heard an outpouring of whoops and hollers as the next event was announced. Moving along already? Gunner had to wonder how many games they had lined up. Surely they'd give them some hot food after all this was said and done, yeah? His gut felt like it was about to eat itself! Cupping another scoop of water into his hands, Gunner lifted it up and dumped it over his head, shivering as it rolled through his long brown locks and streamed down his back, washing away some of the dirt from his graceful landing in the last event.

Whipping his head side to side as though he were a wet dog, Gunner turns around and makes his way back to the crowd just in time to have a slip of paper thrust into his hand. The person passing out the papers was kind enough to fill him in on the announcement he'd missed, and even pointed him towards the lady he was paired up with! And what do you know, it was that sour-looking lass he'd wanted to meet earlier!

Monroe, huh? Pretty name! She didn't look particularly pleased to be there, even now, and even Valenntyne had to question why she'd be included in the pool of participants when she so obviously wasn't thrilled with everything going on around her...

Maybe she just needed some warming up to?

Clutching the paper tightly in his fist, Gunner made his way over to Monroe, showing not an ounce of fear for the unwelcoming expression she wore beneath the frame of her dark hair. "Heya! Monroe, right!" He called out chipperly, waving his empty hand with a bright, toothy grin. "Name's Gunner! Looks like we're paired up for this one. Don't worry, I won't drop you-- I've got a great grip!"

Gunner flexed an arm and raised his other hand to clutch his bicep dramatically.

"I mean... unless you'd rather get up on my shoulders? I'm down to negotiate here, we can work out a deal!"

Monroe

 

[Aarno]

Before he knew it, he had already been firmly clasped and dragged along, to where else but to see properly what was about to begin at full force. He hadn’t a single protest for it, not for the better view nor the warm touch that commanded him to follow, the hand that so readily took his.

It felt— terribly nice, all the way within his chest. Made one readier to accept the excitement in the air, to just surrender to it and give away the anxieties and overt propriety that so often kept people hostage and therein, apart. For there was, definitely, nothing to do with restraint in the spirit of this event.

And thank Gods for that. He had all but forgotten about his square of cake as the proceedings got properly underway, with flourish or hideously professional lack thereof, more of less competently. Or was some of it a matter of luck, perhaps? There certainly appeared some mishaps, unfortunate all the way to comedic.

He hadn’t laughed this true for a while, wantonly tossing his head as he barked in both shock and amusement, having to stroke his fingers through his hair that it might sit right upon his head once again. The sun was glaring, but it mattered none, radiance enhancing the sharp shadows and therein form of every last inch of meat. Lending staggering definition, even.

Though hard it was to tear one’s attention away, he glanced down at his company everyso often, catching her mid-cheer or fussing absently with whatever spot on her dress or her hair. She wore it different, red string tying it into a bundle, the silver bells chiming with every jostle. A constant reminder.

“ Not terribly surprising, the placements so far. “ He muttered, eyeing her sidelong. “ Though I will admit I didn’t expect the lone squire to keep up this well. It’s almost frightening. “

Bodes well for the other high sports—

“ This is getting me to really anticipate Spell Breaker this year— “ Especially after two consecutive summers of having to skip the games due injury. “ It’ll be— “ Carnage. “ Thrilling, am sure. Figure you’ll join in? I don’t believe I’ve seen you play, yet. “

The sincerity quickly blended to confusion on his face as his attention was commanded, from significantly below his eyeline but none the less forcefully via a clearing of a throat.

“ You’ve both been paired up. Get ready. “ All in a grin as slips of paper were professed and deposited into their hands.

“ How exciting. “ He responded, watching the messenger flit away as fast as she had appeared. In her wake, his look happened upon a man who appeared to be standing rather— forebodingly.

He met eyes with Syr Faramund, expressionless. Unfolded the slip and read it, despite already having made a rather educated guess at the name within.

Right you are, clever bastard. Congratulations.

“ Oh, fuck me. “ He almost laughed, sweeping a lock of loose hair behind his ear. There was nothing for him, but to smile wider, all sharp teeth, first at Farren and then at Faramund. To the latter, he gave a little wave, effortlessly cheerful.

The day was too damn fine for anything less.

Farren Lóthlindor Faramund

 

[Torche]

Many among the members of the Knights of Anatheum had the misfortune of not knowing of Torche’s brief part time job as a model Salvatore’s Secret, a well known boudoir shop in Elbion that had spread all across Arethil in producing many tantalizing designs for men and women to wear when trying to impress a partner late at night. The designer, Salvatore, had labeled Torche as a man with a rustic bear manliness. Torche just assumed that meant he was hairy, which he was, and this was something that Salvatore liked to show off on the catwalk.

“Gonna be the best fucking passenger princess ever.” Torche whispered to himself, looking behind at his bum to make sure his assless chaps were in place. He wore the black with red stitching Pyro-Storm bikini-cut one-point-five pantaloons to help highlight his supreme beefiness.

“Hell yeah, brother!” Torche shouted as it was time to reveal himself in all his Salvatore’s Secret glory. He wore nothing but his pantaloons, assless chaps, wizard hat, and adventurer’s boots. In his hand was a twig he had picked up from the ground only five minutes ago, perfecting his cosplay of Sexy Selene (minus the baldness and lack of facial hair and cloak/normal clothes.) With his wizard wand, Torche poised with a hand on his hip, placing all his weight on his front leg as he leaned forward, expertly extenuating the narrowness of his waist and width of his hips and thighs. Only those behind Torche would truly be able to enjoy the poise.

He circled the tip of his wand around Leofsige Burtone as if he had put the man under a spell.

“Some good luck Gris Gris, hot legs.” Torche said, unaware that Gris Gris was the sort of magic used among those in the Bayou. “Now carry me like the little fucking princess I am.”

 

[Osuin]

After wiping the sweat from his brow, Osuin realized that he could've done better on the hammer throw. Much better. He’d managed to move the thing a fair distance, but he'd also seen plenty of other throws with far better form. Those reached much further. Most had swung the hammer around several times to build up momentum, which, in hindsight, seemed like a far better method. He now felt a bit sheepish for following Faramund's example without much forethought.

Well, he could hopefully make up the score with the next event, the loaded carry. And it involved....carrying someone. While throwing hammers and chopping wood were hardly skills he'd ever honed, carrying heavy stuff was a talent he'd honed since his formative years in the forced labour ‘industry’.

Granted, he still moved heavy things as a Knight, but now he was most asked nicely. Usually.

There was a substantial difference between this event and the other two – an assigned partner was involved. Osuin moved to the board where the list of pairings had been displayed, finding Petra’s name listed beside his. It seemed he’d be taking Norvyk's for the event – sans the flying, and the snark.

“Petra!” Osuin called out from afar, hands cupped to his mouth in her direction. “Looks like I’ve got you for the next event.” He continued, meandering through the crowd towards her.

“Are you set?”

Petra Darthinian

 

[Nacht]

Nacht was worried about how everything would unfold, but those worries were quickly swept away when he noticed colorful necklaces of flowers among the crowd. They were very pretty, but where had they come from? A flower accessory would be welcome, for though the scent of "manly man" that permeated the main arena was not unpleasant, it was certainly not better than flowers. In fact, he suspected the floral accoutrement was for that very purpose. In order to calm his nerves he looked around at his rivals and their passengers.

Quickly, he found he couldn't help but laugh a bit upon witnessing Squire Leofsige finding himself in quite a similar position as he: The passenger seemed more likely than the carrier to do the carrying. Torche, as he had seen on the paper, had the body of a strong, wild beast and seemed almost as clothed as well. Pants without a back were a rather avant-garde fashion choice, he had to admit. Nacht grinned at the man's self-confidence, his own problems momentarily forgotten. Next was a man he hadn't seen around much who appeared to be trying to chat with Monroe. Such a venture seemed foolish to him, but who knew? Today was truly odd.

Finally came Osuin, a name he did know. The face attached to it was handsome, the body strong but not Faramund levels of buff (though really, who else was?), which was honestly nice. A kindred spirit in this game, perhaps. He called out to Petra and suddenly Nacht was, rather childishly, imagining the Knight flying through the sky like Norvyk usually did. Turning away, he would offer a smile to the crowd and hold a hand above his eyes from his space in the shade, searching for Gruki among the audience. Now was not the time to get worked up over something like a disadvantage.

Why had he been taking this game for a good cause so seriously in the first place, anyway? He chuckled and leaned back against part of the circular wall that made up the coliseum. Gruki would get here when she did and he would do his darndest to actually carry them and everything would be perfect. The sun had just passed above them and remained blotted out by the Eldyr Tree, making existence safe. The threats he faced inwardly and outwardly would always be there, but they could be ignored...for the time being.

Gruki

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Farren had turned to giggle alongside Aarno at a joke they had shared, but when she turned to answer him with another quip—she was distracted. Her grey eyes catching on the bright glare of sunlight that backlit the hair he tossed about his crown like a halo. A few white strands draped fetchingly across his dark forehead and a distinct pang echoed softly in Farren's chest.

But she was saved from her suddenly dry mouth by the appearance of one of the many event helpers. In a flash her hands cradled a small missive with curling script.

Syr Theros, it read.

"Huh." Farren wondered aloud. "I don't exactly remember signing up for this?"

Aarno's curses had her leaning against his side to peer at what his note said— only to snort a moment later and match his strained smile with a gleeful grin of her own at his torment. "My, my. And you say fate is for fools."

Farren bounced forward and twirled in a small pirouette to face Aarno, idly enjoying the feeling of her skirts billowing around her and the music of bells as she walked backwards. "But you know? Something tells me I won't mind participating so much." She wiggled her eyebrows at her friend, altering their new path towards the new event area. Her eyes peeled for her dark and mysterious partner of Dusk, her smile ready and bright from the festival's infectious joy.

Aarno Bebin Theros