[@lunarius][@Arthanus]

Tim felt hurt and mocked a warrior's manly tears but he was taking their questions and comments in stride.  [color=green]"You two are breaking my heart.  Coming at you with partnership and you're spitting it back in my face.  Once we got some gold on the table you'll be changing your tune Sol.  I'll show you both when I get my winnings I'll get enough to go anywhere and everywhere in my own ship."[/color]  He got up from the table and gave both of them a grin, as if challenging them to get more than he does.  [color=green]"Lets meet back here for dinner.  Its gonna be a hell of a festival."[/color]

And with that, the morning festivities would start.  Rather informal affairs with people gathering to take their crack at the skills needed to really compete that night.  The first night of the festival was always the best, but there were mini tournaments to eke out those with the skill.

For Soltana, the gutted deck where he found some dueling practice was now much more crowded.  There'd be onlookers sitting out over the lip of hold, looking down into it, and the hold itself was set with benches, making it more like a boxer's fighting arena, but those weapons people had, spears, axes, armor, swords and stranger things, they were real.  Already people were saying that contestants sit in file, and the fight was only to first blood.

For Kiris if she would follow the suggestion of the archery tournament, they were at the far end of the floatilla, all located on a side of a fancy looking multi decked ship, so that everyone could get a clear view of an old junker that was being dragged along the Floatilla.  There was a number of dummies straped to the mast, in the rigging, along the deck, on the mast head, and hanging from the cross irons, swaying in the breeze.  All the contestants would be given colored arrows.  Anyone who hit one of the dummies would move on til there was a certain number.

If they needed to make any prep work, nows the time.


[@rush99999]
The cascade of stinging diatribes upon the man met him with a stumped expression and a claim.  [color=orange]"What are you talking about?"[/color]  He grabs his rotund stomach and gives it a rather unappealing shake, even the sound of morning grog rings in their ears.  [color=orange]"I'm sexy.  This is a show for all you ingrates who don't know style."[/color]  He puts his arms over his greasy hair to show off.  He gives a laugh, of course he would have thick skin considering he was one of the openers for this particular pit of punctuating punishment.

[color=orange]"You're in you're in, make em cry!  From laughing!  From how tragic they are!"[/color]

Jacoby is welcomed in the typical sailor way, offered pints as some of the blustier fellows tried out some warm up jabs at peoples mothers, their purse size, their waist line and their face.  The judge settled them down, and before anyone knew it, it began.  It was just a mob, a mob with two people in the middle and they just started shouting at eachother.  

A dwarf managed to get the upper hand.  [color=brown]"Yer so weak, if you were alcohol, an Elf could drink ya' and stay standin'!"[/color] His lines had a racial tendency to him, which was completely in bounds.  He managed to beat out a half drunk halfling who sputtered, disqualifying him.  It was more for fun than anything else and the cheers brought that forward.