The contest begins with a bang and all across the market square men, women, and children eagerly begin digging into their pies. Rather quickly people begin bowing out as they realize that eating several full pies is a much greater a challenge than it would seem. Soon the number of contenders is down to less than half and the survivors are consolidated down to a couple of the long tables
More pies are brought out!
Once he has accepted his prize, Doran stores the bolts in his quiver and carefully deposits the sash in his satchel.
Pie #2
Pie #3
Fort
Will
Pie 5
Fort
Will
Pie 6
Fort
Will
The contest continues as more and more pies are consumed and quickly (and in some cases messily) more and more competitors submit as their bellies reach maximum capacity.
Pirknok himself thinks he's reached his limit after a particularly dense meat pie stuffed with liver and onions, but through sheer force of will forces himself to start on another.
Ensu, although struggling, also manages to continue. Fat beads of sweat are beginning to pour off of him and each breath becomes a struggle.
Adventus himself seems to have found his limit after his fifth pie. The crowd cheers and claps him on the back as he struggles to stand after being so uncomfortably stuffed. The ranger finds the pain in his gut was quickly overcoming whatever residual pain there was left in his bruises.
Soon there's only four eaters left.
An enormously fat chelaxian man.
A towering musclebound shoanti warrior.
A less-towering musclebound shoanti-tattoo clad dwarf.
A decidedly not-towering gnome with bright green eyes and a mouthful of pie.
Fort
Will
Pie 8
Fort
Will
Pie 9
Fort
Will
Ensu think he's reached his limits but, after undoing his belt, manages to get his eighth and ninth pies down. Pirknok and the fat man keep going strong but the dwarf can feel himself starting to slow down.
The big shoanti warrior belches loudly and pushes himself away from the table. He waves his hands in the air as the crowd cheers.
"That's all I can take. I'm done."
He claps Pirknok on the shoulder as he departs.
"Good luck brother."
Pirknok nods once at the other Shoanti's words, but does not allow himself to become distracted from the work at hand.
I am peaceful. I come first with a rose. I act to prevent conflict before it blossoms.
I never strike first, unless it is the only way to protect the innocent.
I accept surrender if my opponent can be redeemed-and I never assume that they cannot be. All things that live love beauty, and I will show beauty's answer to them.
I will never destroy a work of art, nor allow one to come to harm unless greater art arises from it's loss. I will only sacrifice art if doing so allows me to save a life, for untold beauty can arise from an awakened soul.
I see beauty in others. As a rough stone hides a diamond, a drab face may hide the heart of a saint.
I lead by example, not with my blade. Where my blade passes, a life is cut short, and the world's potential for beauty is lessened.
I live my life as art. I will choose an art and perfect it. When I have mastered it, I will choose another. The works I leave behind make life richer for those who will follow.
Over & over again, Ysmerelda recited the words master Albus had intoned countless times, during weapon drill, during prayer, while on circuit guarding Father Cecil as he attended to the smallfolk of Pitax' outlying communities...
Eventually, the very sameness of the words achieved what their pious intent could not, Ysmerelda calmed herself from her panicked revulsion.
Enough. This is funk, pure & simple. In the highly unlikely event that one of those boys did have such desires of me, it is still my choice whether I fulfill them or no. As I see no furtherance of my Goddess' ends to be found in that fulfillment, I simply choose no.
There.
Having found her peace, Ysmerelda says a prayer of thanks & contrition to her Goddess' alter and makes her way back to the festival.
After Ysmerelda finds some measure of inner peace once again, she returns to the festival in time to see the final moments of the pie eating contest.
***
Fort
Will
Pie 11
Fort
Will
Pie 12
Fort
Will
Pie 13
Fort
Will
Pie 14
Fort
Will
Pie 15
Fort
Will
Ensu gets his tenth pie down and suddenly realizes, without a doubt, that he cannot fit another bite.
The fat Chelaxian gets through a few more until. Sweat pours down his face and his many quivering chins as he watches the dwarf intensely from across the table. It isn't until his thirteenth pie is presented to him - an aromatic apple pie with a glazed lattice top that he snorts in anger and stands up from the table.
"You win dwarf but I won't soon forget this!"
He storms off somewhat shakily, forcing his way through the crowd. Those watching the event break into rousing applause as Pirknok is announced the winner! The crowd that had been maintaining a respectful distance move in closer to congratulate the dwarf and his pie-consuming prowess.
"I wonder if he shares that appetite for other pleasures?" you hear one say quietly to the other.
Not more than a handful of minutes later, a bell tolls and trumpets blares.
"Lunch time!"
The crowd disperses, all headed in different directions.
The gnome quietly fades back into the crowd as he gets up, apparently oblivious to any of the other competitors for most of the challenge. Not particularly hungry at this point, he wanders about the different places, trying a nibble here and a nibble there.
Given that Venison is a fairly common dish in Pitax, Ysmerelda chooses to sup at the Rusty Dragon, lightly.
Besides, Father Zantus mentioned the proprietor was a rather accomplished musician.
Ventus worked his way over to the dwarf's side as the other competitors dispersed, suppressing the odd bit of gastronomical distress as he did so.
"Not the first time I've heard a Chelaxian threaten a fella over pies. 'Course the first time involved my mother and a nasty looking cleaver so it was a bit more poignant. There is a well over yonder where we can get some water and let things settle. Care to join me?"
Pirknok frowns briefly at the dirty Chelaxian, but quickly forgets the fat man as the well-wishers approach. He remains seated to allow the baked deliciousnesses (some of which were rather heavy) to settle a bit, but dons the sash and beams happily at the crowd as they congratulate him.
Blushing, Pirknok smiles shyly back at the ladies and waves, patting his stomach proudly.
As Adventus approaches, Pirknok looks up and grunts. "Ah ain't uhfraid uv him... Ch'laxyuns're cowurds. Ef he tries enythin, he's ded." As he processes the invitation, he nods and hoists himself to his feet. "Water'd be gud."
A couple of the girls frown at the dwarf's pie-filled protruding belly and wander off.
"I wouldn't say all of them are, my mother was the one with the cleaver and doing the threatening. A mighty terrifying woman if there ever was one. Easy there, friend, I ain't holding your beard back if you manage to disrupt the delicate equilibrium in your guts," the taller and ostensibly more visible human led the way over to the well and set about hoisting up a bucket of water for them to wash the heavy pies down with.
Marysin laughs faintly at the contestants dropping out and applauds the winner like all the rest, but her hands seem to make no sound whatsoever. Eli's enthusiasm is muted, but he laughs heartily and good-naturedly at the Dwarf's achievement. As the crowd starts to disperse, Eli stays sitting with his wife until it thins.
"Are you hungry Marysin?" Eli asks. "People have been raving about the curried Salmon at the Rusty Dragon, but..." he hesitates. "It'll be very crowded there today."
Marysin smiles weakly.
"It sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime pleasure. How could miss a chance at that?" she responds as she slowly climbs to her feet.
"Delkit? Me?" The dwarf's deep chuckle echoes from the well.
Doran enjoys the various contests, and when lunchtime arrives, he finds himself heading to the Rusty Dragon. Having heard that the salmon and mead are possibly the best dishes of the festival, the tanned Abadaran cannot find it within himself to pass such a meal up, and being able to see the Tian proprietress of that inn didn't sound so bad, either.
I'm gettin' sloppy, the Chelaxian thinks to himself, sighing, I shouldn't be wastin' me time on tryin' t' see a goo' meal an' a pretty face...
Eli frowns slightly, but he does not have enough cause yet to oppose his wife on this. "To the Rusty Dragon then!" he says with some reservation. "I hope it's as good as they say, and if it looks too crowded for you we can go home until the fireworks instead."
So you came here for lunch? Was it the food or the company that brought you back?" She asks with a coy smile. "Come inside. Festival champions get a special seat."
You're seated at a special round table, at the center of the Dragon's common area near the bar. At the table with you are a few of Sandpoint's celebrities that you recognize from the opening ceremonies.
The food is every bit as good as you've heard and the mead is so amazing, you begin to understand how Cayden got his divinity.
***
A few minutes later, angry shouting can be heard at the door. A rugged burly man (a mercenary or soldier of some kind) stumbles inside, forcing his way past the couple at the front of the line eagerly waiting for their turn to be seated. He stinks of spirits and other fouler smells.
"I want a f!#@ing seat!" he shouts.
"Sir, you need to wait in line like all these other people", the halfling woman acting as the Dragon's greeter says with a worried look.
"I ain't waiting in no line!"
Hearing the commotion, Ameiko comes out from the kitchen.
"What's this about? You need to wait in line like every-"
"Where's Lonjiku? He owes me!"
"My father is not here. I am, and I am in charge of the Rusty Dragon. Now please wait in line. There should be enough fish and mead for everyone. I prepared-"
Suddenly there is a crash as the drunk trips a server ferrying a barrel of mead from the storeroom to the bar. The stressed container shatters upon impact with the wooden floorboards spilling gallons of the Dragon's famous winterdrop mead across the floor.
"That is enough. Leave this instant!", Ameiko demands. "Bethana, summon the guards."
The halfling woman nods and darts out the door.
"I ain't taking orders from a whore like you! If I can't have the damned mead, nobody can!" the drunk slurred as he pulls a corked glass flask filled with a viscous clear liquid from a pouch at his hip and puts the cork in his teeth.
Doran springs from his seat, his weapon already shouldered, but not currently aimed at the man. "Ah ah ah, I wouldn' if I was you, mate. Put i' down." The look of cold indifference on the tanned Abdaran's face proves he's not even remotely joking with the man. "I don' wanna hurt ya, but I'm not gonna le' ya endanger all 'ese people," he says, his hands holding the crossbow steady without an ounce of trepidation.
Taking in the scene quietly, Ensu frowns as the man gets belligerent, and out right freaked out at the alchemist's fire. Swinging into action immediately, he moves up to the scene. "Now, good sir, there's no need to so impatient; I'm sure that everyone will be able to get their share of mead if you give these good people a chance to serve it."
[dice=Sense Motive check]1d20+8
Doran grimaces hard, raising his weapon to aim directly at the drunken man's chest. "I SAID PUT I' DOWN, MATE. DON' MAKE ME REPEAT MESELF."