Pirknok gets up, watching the man with a new-found respect. After leaving the ring, Pirknok waits for the man and says, "You're reel good... kin you teach me ta be like that?"
The graying man wraps an arm around (or tries to at least), your broad shoulders.
"Practice my boy. Years and years of practice."
"You're a good sport even after I whipped you. I like that. Let me get you a drink. Do you like berry cider? It's a festival favorite around here."
Doran nods politely to the young boy he is paired with. I betta not lose t' 'is kid, I'd be a laughin' stock, the man thinks to himself, before readying himself to compete.
Round 2:
Round 3:
Round 4:
Round 5:
Round 6:
Round 7:
Round 8:
Round 9:
Round 10:
Ensu sets to the task quietly, and is privately relieved that he doesn't make a total fool of himself for all that he tried not to care one way or another about that.
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 2
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 3
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 4
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 5
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 6
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 7
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 8
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 9
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 10
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Pirknok's face lights up, and he smiles at the man. "Ah ain't tried et... 'sit good?"
He accepts a mug if offered, thanking the man and drinking deeply. "Yum."
After another swig or two, he asks: "Ah dun spose you know uv eny jobs 'rund here, huh? Folks dun like me much, seems like... can't find nuthin."
Pirknok's face lights up, and he smiles at the man. "Ah ain't tried et... 'sit good?"
He'll accept a mug if offered.
The older human leads you to a stall selling his favorite drink and orders two mugs. One he offers to you.
"You'll love it. It's sweeter than honeydew but with a kick that'll get you going", he boasts.
As Ysmerelda takes up a bit of an observing position, she finds herself adjacent to the old woman acting as the contest's judge.
She looks you over with nearly blind eyes but smiles warmly.
"Well you're not just going to watch are you? I don't see a ring on your finger. A pretty young thing like you just has to join in! Go on now, get in line. You don't want to end up like me do you?"
She puts a bony but gentle arm around your shoulder and walks you a couple steps closer to the stage.
And father Zanthus did encourage you to make some friends...
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Ysmerelda steps up onto the stage when her turn comes round. Smiling a touch uncertainly, she begins reciting 'The Rose, adorned in thorns', a Shelynite poem on the importance of lasting emotional connection, rather than simple physical attraction, in a relationship.
Doran nods politely to the young boy he is paired with. I betta not lose t' 'is kid, I'd be a laughin' stock, the man thinks to himself, before readying himself to compete.
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
Doran's sharp eye and quick reflexes make the contest a complete shutout as Abadar's faithful nails almost every target (minus one that neither archer manages to hit) ending the contest nine to zero. The boy tosses his bow to the ground and pouts.
He scowls at the tall Abadaran until his mother emerges from the ground and wags a finger at the child.
"Be a good sport Thomas!"
The boy flinches as if whipped and bows his head.
"Nice shots mister..."
With his head still bowed dramatically he offers his tiny hand.
Ensu sets to the task quietly, and is privately relieved that he doesn't make a total fool of himself for all that he tried not to care one way or another about that.
The young woman looks a little sad when the contest begins and the person she was scouting the crowd for has not appeared.
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
vs
It's a close match and the girl proves to be very skilled but in the end Ensu pulls ahead by a single point, ending five to four!
The girl doesn't even stop to hear the results of the match and quickly she puts down her bow, offers Ensu a brief "Well played...", and departs into the crowd.
Doran nods to the child again, thoroughly content with his showing in this event. Almost feel bad fo' th' li'l scamp, though... he thinks to himself, but tries not to let it show on his face.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Ysmerelda steps up onto the stage when her turn comes round. Smiling a touch uncertainly, she begins reciting 'The Rose, adorned in thorns', a Shelynite poem on the importance of lasting emotional connection, rather than simple physical attraction, in a relationship.
Despite your initial jitters and cold reception from a few individuals in the crowd your poem is met with resounding applause and whistles.
As you exit the stage you're overwhelmed by the wealth of attention you get from the assembled young men and many of them eagerly take your hand and deliver a gentle kiss. A few even wink suggestively.
Ten... fourteen... seventeen!
The applause dies down as you reach the end of the crowd and the next girls takes the stage.
It's a close contest but the last girl to take the stage is a hit. Apparently she's been catching the eye of many of the local boys for years now and they eagerly shout their approval at the end of her soft ballad. As she exits the stage she quickly begins collecting kisses of her own.
Before you know it, it's done and the old crone officiating the event lays a wreath of white roses around the last young woman's neck. The pale flowers frames her blushing cheeks nicely. The bulk of the crowd follows her as she exits the scene, overwhelmed by her newfound celebrity.
That's not to say you're lacking any attention. A half-dozen young men (ranging from sixteen to mid-twenties) close in around you, eager to earn your favor. They seem oblivious to the less-natural aspects of your appearance.
"Honor me with the first dance tonight!"
"Let me sit across from you at dinner!"
"Come with me to see my parent's farm!"
Doran nods to the child again, thoroughly content with his showing in this event. Almost feel bad fo' th' li'l scamp, though... he thinks to himself, but tries not to let it show on his face.
His mother half-smiles and extends her hand.
"Come on. Your father would be proud anyway. Let's get some of that sweet ice you love."
Already forgetting his defeat and scolding, the boy grins wide, grabs his mother's hand and skips away.
Ventus made his way through the crowd, soothing his bruises and his pride with a damp rag, until his ear caught a rather melodious poem being recited on a stage. Some sort of competition of a less violent nature was playing out here. It was one Ventus had no place competing in, he was neither handsome nor charismatic enough to stand up to the men waiting patiently to the side of the stage. There was nothing keeping him from enjoying the efforts though.
Regardless, it seemed that it was the women's turn at the moment and standing on stage was a rather short and somewhat plainly dressed young lady. She was very pretty in a strange, otherworldly way, she certainly made Ventus painfully aware of his own shabby clothes and now disheveled appearance. It seemed reciting a poem on stage had made her a little nervous and she was second-guessing herself on some of the lines but her voice was clear and carried the rhythm well.
The other performances came and went and it became clear just who the winner of the competition was. After the competition he hung back, enjoying a bit of street theatre as the local boys swarmed the poor girl. Despite the fact that she had not won the most flowers, she certainly seemed to have won some attention.
"You as well." Ensu replies briefly as he silently offers a prayer to Nethys. That done, he waits quietly for the next round, half watching any remaining matches of this round.
Though obviously touched at the attentions payed her by the young men in the contest, Ysmerelda's reciprocation is equally obviously civility & good-will rather than genuine interest. Her gaze frequently shifting in unguarded moments to the other young women in the crowd, particularly the contestant even less sure in her performance than Ysmerelda had been. As the men's competition begins, she edges her way next to the other teen, observing her as she observes the young men.
Marysin smiles politely at Ysmerelda's question. She watches Eli go, then gives the young woman a pat on the arm that feels light as a feather. "Oh, no. It's not like that. I'm just a little out of sorts and he's trying to look out for me. I don't fault him for... that."
After Ysmerelda moves off to participate in the Bachelorette competition, Eli returns with a couple small tarts filled with raspberry and drizzled with icing. "Who was that?" he asks, not unkindly.
"Oh, a sweet young woman. She was just saying hello." Marysin replies.
Eli smiles, but looks after Ysmerelda as she vanishes into the crowd, his eyes lighting up with concern. "Let's go watch the pie eating contest then, Marysin. That'll be good for a laugh, and maybe tonight we can watch the fireworks, if you're up for it?"
Pirknok's face lights up, and he smiles at the man. "Ah ain't tried et... 'sit good?"
He accepts a mug if offered, thanking the man and drinking deeply. "Yum."
After another swig or two, he asks: "Ah dun spose you know uv eny jobs 'rund here, huh? Folks dun like me much, seems like... can't find nuthin."
The older human leads you to a stall selling his favorite drink and orders two mugs. One he offers to you.
"You'll love it. It's sweeter than honeydew but with a kick that'll get you going", he boasts.
A few minutes later, Ensu and Doran are called to the front again. You're each given a new batch of bolts and brought to the firing line.
Your opponent is a fairly tan Chelaxian man that handles his crossbow with practiced expertise. He wears a holy symbol of Abadar proudly and studies the wall where the targets will be arriving carefully. He seems overly serious as if he's not accustomed to relaxing at an event like the Swallowtail festival.
Your opponent is a short gnome (they're all short!), with a curious glimmer in his bright green eyes. His clothing bears the trapping of a worshiper of the god of magic.
[dice=Diplomacy]1d20-2+2
The old soldier laughs at your company and after a few more rounds of hard cider, he comes to appreciate your rough dwarven nature.
Over the course of the next hour he shares some stories with you about his time serving the Sandpoint city guard and some of the tougher scraps he's gotten through.
Doran nods politely to the gnome. "Good luck, mate," he speaks to the other man.
Round 2:
Round 3:
Round 4:
Round 5:
Round 6:
Round 7:
Round 8:
Round 9:
Round 10:
As the girl who's performance he had caught approached, Ventus leaned his sword and shield belt against a nearby wall. To speak clearly he had to remove the cool rag from his face, revealing the worst of the bruising on his chin and jaw. Still, she was talented and he was pretty sure she would appreciate some praise that did not come attached to an overenthusiastic young man trying to secure her affections for the evening. He had no real illusions about himself and was not going to pursue a minor celebrity. Spending a few minutes unconscious due to the ministrations of a large Shoanti man is certainly a good way to clear out such illusions.
"You did well there," Ventus said idly, trying to remember what little he mother had managed to impress on his about poetry years ago. None of it had really stuck, obviously, and even if it had, the skull rattling he had just received did not exactly put him in a position to remember fine details very well.
Pirknok enjoys the cider, and gradually relaxes a bit under the combined influence of the beverage and the friendly company. He listens carefully to the man's stories, seeming especially enthralled by the mishaps and adventures described.
Knowing that he's never been very skilled with words, he's fully content to allow the man to do all of the talking, though he makes sure to thank the man and get across the street in time for the pie-eating contest.
At the words of another admirer, Ysmerelda, Ventus managed to catch at least that much of her name as the local bucks were clamoring for her attention, turned, her head already cranked up in the interests of meeting the speaker eye-to-eye, rather than eye-to-sternum. She is easily a foot shorter than he, though at this closer proximity the marks of habitual armor use are clear to one who also wears it. Her smile brightens just perceptibly as she fully processes that this is not another play for her romantic attention. "Thank you, etiquette & poise are next." At Ventus' likely look of bemusement, she laughingly explains, "master Albus felt it of more immediate importance that I improve my discipline, in hopes of preventing the 'kinds of unfortunate lapses of character which lead to falling'." It is obvious she is referring to someone & something of importance to her, but ther rest of her meaning seems to make little sense, though from the cadence she seemed likely to be mimicking words she had heard many times before.
"You as well." Ensu replies as he tries to focus on the task at hand.
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 2
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 3
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 4
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 5
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 6
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 7
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 8
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 9
Perception
Initiative
Attack
Target 10
Perception
Initiative
Attack
In an amazing display of reflexes and marksmanship, Doran wins again with a near shutout ending the match nine points to one.
As the targets are cleared and reset for the next pair, the two contestants have a moment to speak.
Doran extends a hand to the gnome. "Ya did well, mate. Me name's Quickstep. Doran Quickstep. Pleased t' meetcha," he cordially addresses the shorter man, though his politeness doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Ensu. To be honest, I'm a bit surprised I made it this far; the crossbow, or combat or any kind for that matter, is not a strong point of my skills. Good luck on the next round."
Doran nods at the gnome again. "Aye, 'anks mate. Take care o' yaself." The tanned Chelaxian starts to examine his crossbow, making sure it's in good working order for the final round.
"Unfortunate lapses of character? Pretty sure that's what these lads are hoping for." Compared to the delicate allusions and metaphors of her poem, such simple innuendo was pretty direct.
"Speaking of which, the wolves are out around here and you look like a fish out of water, if you'll excuse the mixed metaphors," Ventus paused, meeting the eyes of a would-be suitor until the young man got the message. "You need someone to look scary for you, kid?" With the weapons in reach, armor and more than a few obvious bruises, he certainly looked the part.
One of the bigger young men vying for Ysmerelda's attention notices Adventus moving dangerously close to his prey.
"Hey, bugger off. Can't you see I'm working here."
Ensu hangs up his crossbow and heads off to see what else there is to see. Coming across the pie eating competition, and enboldened by his surprising success in the archery tournament, he signs up.
As Eli and Marysin make their way past the archery field, Marysin pulls on Eli's arm, making him stop to watch the last round of the contest. She applauds the winner and the runner up just like the rest of the crowd, and Eli smiles to see her happy. He looks closer at the finalists, and narrows his eyes slightly. Though he hasn't been in Sandpoint long enough to know everyone in town, he is still quite aware of its inhabitants, and there are not many Gnomes. The runner up stands out to him. Interesting. he thinks. Marysin looks over at him and smiles fondly. "Find another puzzle to solve, darling?" she asks. He smirks and nods.
Sometime later, after several other pairs of competitors have finished, the contest comes down to two individuals - Doran and a young male elf, Zael. The crowd is torn and can't seem to figure out which archer to get behind. From the audience it becomes known that Zael is local, an apprentice to a famous bounty hunter here in Sandpoint.
As both Doran and the elf are brought to the firing line a hush goes over the crowd.
The elf looks to the Abadaran and readies his bow with supreme confidence, "Good luck".
You can smell the pie eating contest long before you see it as tables and tables of sweet and savory confectionery treats are spread out across a cleared expanse of the Sandpoint Market.
Surrounding the tables, all manner of eaters wait impatiently to be seated for one of the festival's most popular traditions.
One by one each interested man, woman, and child is pulled from the crowd and seated. In front of each sits a warm pie (with unknown contents). Six long double-sided picnic-style tables are filled to seating capacity and three more tables are unseated but covered with pies waiting for a home. The rules are briefly explained.
The pie eating contest is a battle of endurance but also of will. The treats stacked up as tall as a man are donated by bakers from all across Sandpoint but no restrictions were given. Some of the pies are airy, crusty and light while others are heavy greasy and dense. What's put in front of you is random and you can't get a new pie until you finish the one in front of you. The contest is about quantity, not time, but those that fiddle too much with their food will be disqualified.
Finishing each pie requires a fortitude save. If the Fortitude save is failed, you can try to force it down with a Will save. If both saves are failed, you've reached your limits - you're done. The only thing left to do is lay down and take a nap!
The DC starts out very low but increases by a random value with each pie consumed.
Fortitude
Will
Pie 2
Fortitude
Will
Pie 3
Fortitude
Will
Doran gives the elf man, Zael, an especially terse nod, as his mind is mostly on the task in front of him. "You too," he states. He turns towards his targets, weapon loaded and ready.
Round 2:
Round 3:
Round 4:
Round 5:
Round 6:
Round 7:
Round 8:
Round 9:
Round 10:
Pirknok rubs his rough hands together and waits for the signal, then digs in.
Pie #1:
Pie #2:
Pie #3:
At 'Ventus' words Ysmerelda's smile becomes more of a ?smirk? of bemusement. "Not these lapses of I character I suspect, not unless they secretly hew to the 'dark brother's' inclinations..." As the implications of her own words sink in, Ysmerelda's face loses it's smile, good humor and surprisingly what little color it had as well. "Please excuse me" she mumbles as she bolts from the crowd, only just avoiding slamming into Ventus in her haste.
'Uugh! How could you even think such a thing Ysmerelda!' While imaginings of the supposed carnal delights Zon Kuthon's followers might enjoy spring to her mind & how it would be all too easy for her to supply them...
After she calms down enough to realize her flight is likely to attract attention, Ysmerelda slows & makes her way back to Shelyn's chapel at the cathedral.
'Here it comes' Ysmerelda thought to herself.
"Father Cecil sent you to me because he feared that without the proper training & discipline, the power bestowed upon you by our Goddess' touch would surely twist you until you fell, likely to the sway of the Sting. I must admit I have similar suspicions, given the corrupting influence of your mother's blood."
"What?! My mother..."
Your mother. Not Betheda. That you have resisted the call of the Hag for so long is a to the love & care of your Halfling parents, make no mistake. However, you are the of Rapine & Murder."
The bald, flat statement is like the impact of a granite floor, without mercy or spite. In the shocked silence of Ysmerelda's horrified comprehension, Ursion continued. "The vast majority of Paladins gain their gifts as a result of training, dedication and piety. That you have piety, even can not doubt. That you have dedication, I trust Cecil's judgement."
"But without training, without self-discipline you fall!"
"When you struck that man, wholly unsure of his actual guilt or innocence, you proved the truth of that statement."
You manage to lose all of your admirers including the battered rugged man that appeared to be trying to come to your aid.
You escape into Shelyn's chapel seeking a place of quiet solitude. The holy site is completely empty minus a young couple passionately making out in one of the pews. They don't even seem to notice your entrance.
The exotic young woman departs, at a sprint at first but slowing to a brisk walk after getting some initial distance. The would-be suitors groan in frustration. Most of them depart in search of other prey.
"Look what you did. You scared her off!" the young buck addressing you shouts in anger.
***
That was unexpected but now that he did not need to look galant for the young lady, he could deal with the local chauvinists as he pleased.
"Boy, you're being short with a man carrying a sword and enough armor to make two more. Take a breath and calm down before I decide to start taking it personally. Already been in two fights today and I'm more than happy to make it three." As he said this, Ventus smiled what he thought was his most disarming smile.
"Now, I am going to partake of the fine smelling pies if you don't mind, if you're still angry because she turned you down, you can come find me after that." With that he turned and made his way through the crowd toward the pies.
He sat down, a bit late to the proceedings and tucked in as quickly as he could.
Pie #2
Pie #3
Apparently more bluster than action, the young man falters before Ventus's brief threat.
He snorts derisively before turning around and running off.
Eli and Marysin make their way around the festival, and Eli is relieved to find a seat to watch the pie eating contest, as Marysin seems to be wilting by the late afternoon. He finds here some spiced wine and sits with her as the final contest gets underway. His eyes go to the various people in the crowd, noting those he recognizes, those he recognizes to be townsfolk, those from the farms outside town, those who have traveled from farther afield, and then once he has done this, he singles out those who stand out as unusual. Already the Gnome and the odd young woman are on his mind, but then he notices the other Archery contestant, the bruised-looking soldier, and the tattooed Dwarf. He cocks his head as he watches the Dwarf settle in to participate in the contest. Shoanti tattoos on a Dwarf? Curious.
Doran nods politely to the gnome. "Good luck, mate," he speaks to the other man.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
The crowd is utterly silent as the final round of the contest occurs. Both men appear to be equally skilled with their weapons but Doran's reflexes are slightly sharper, enough for him to hit many of the targets a fraction of a section before the elf can. When the last target has been hit the contest ends, six to three. Doran is the winner!
The crowd cheers and the elf stares in disbelief as the Abadarn is announced the champion of the archery contest and many from the audience swarm around the outsider congratulating him on the victory. Zael forces his way through. New respect is written across his face as he offers Doran a thin graceful hand.
"Well done stranger."
Doran is awarded a fine silk sash embroidered with images of arrows in flight alongside swallows and a bundle of expertly crafted crossbow bolts.
Doran shakes the elf's hand firmly. "Yer a good shot, mate. Gave me a run f'r me money." The Chelaxian man turns back to the crowd, trying to calm them.
Once he has accepted his prize, Doran stores the bolts in his quiver and wraps the sash around his waist. It's mostly hidden beneath his cloak, however.