[b]Steer[/b]:

[i] {Am I the only NORMAL guy here?} [/i]

So there were plenty of oddballs, weren’t there? All of them seemed tall, some of them seemed medieval, some powerful, some well-armed and then there was Steer Cottonworth. Make no mistake, he was odd in his alright, snow white hair and skin and strange shade of blue eyes and all but some people here took the cake, didn’t they? It also didn’t help the mans appearance was everything that should have been out of place. Having the look of more of a casual tourist of passing by watcher then actual combatant, the whimsical fellow none the less found himself in the entrance lobby of the apparent tournament to be entrance, invite in hand and pale white faced somewhat baffled. Drama seemed to be the word to describe most of the entrances here, confusion to, demands of respect, and well luckily one normal, much like himself. Hands in the pocket of a somewhat fluffy hoody, the chubby five foot ten fellow paced forward when most if not everyone else had done so first. He had received the invite on the tail end of an assignment he got from his work place. A little surveying and excavating and boom, there was this slip of paper. Believe it or not he DID leave early to get here, a transport ship having left weeks before to get him here on this day, and somehow he was still, from what I can see, last to second to last getting here. Aw ell, such was the ways of normal travel without hints of technological or magical based help! Despite the appearance, Steer himself liked a good fight and challenge and Tournaments when he could get to them. He never one the last one, someone always outdid him in the end but that didn’t stop him from trying. The warning on the invite though was headed, and before coming he wrote down the map and location names to his liking, and well, here he was! Red sock and sandal clad feet carried him forward and when he reached the receptionist he nodded.

“Busy crazy day, eh?”

She looked like she had one and a half at that. With a sigh she nodded, smiled and accepted the invitation he provided letting Steer through then blinking and watching him go ‘into the lions den’, so to speak. HIM, in this, with all of THEM? Well, it was his funeral… [i]or perhaps his to win[i]. Such was hard to tell right now, but for the moment, hands stuck in pockets again, a few little trinkets left at home (namely the ten coins…along with imposed limitations Steer mentally was keeping in mind) the chubby smiley fellow could only help but glance at all those involved. In smart fashion, most kept to themselves here, without scoping others out. Normally this would bother Steer, being the social little creature he was but it made sense given the circumstances. Intel gathering, direct and indirect was prevalent and the more you knew, the more you could get a grip with those you could be facing. Steer didn’t exactly like that, most of the time he liked the surprises that came, made him think of ways to react and experience stuff he might not have before BUT he could see why others ‘played it smart’ or so to speak. Finding a nifty little spot to lean against, IE, a wall, the jolly fellow leaned on it, brandishing a ‘Ginger-Soda’ he had stowed in his pocket and sipping through it. Open to conversation, eyes watchful of all those about, Steer didn’t look the part but he was ready to mingle, ‘dingle’ but most importantly [i]tussle[i] when the bell finally rang.