Contest! (April 13)
Into the tavern enters a short and extremly portly man in a finely embroidered, and brightly coloured, purple and yellow vest. He places a small crate in the middle of room, barely wide enough to fit the feet of a small child. As he steps up onto the crate, you hear audible cracking noises. Wobbling back and forth a bit, he stands up in the best uptight posturing he can manage, with nose extended to the heavens. From within a sachel slung around his chest he pulls an ornate scroll and begins to read.
"Hear ye, hear ye!
On Thursday the 13th day of April, of the year 2006 of our most esteemed lordship, there shall be a contest of skill and bravery. It shall be held at the usual ranger time of ..."
*Stops for a moment and seems to be checking the wording*
"... whenever the heck we get together, but hopefully just after 5pm on the coast of the Pacific, but may change at a moments notice. The goal is to collect as many feathers by whatever means neccessary within the timeframe of 30 minutes. And the rules of the contest will be thus:
1. All entrants shall pick at least 1 or more partners and declare their partnerships here. Or if they are a ranger, they may choose to pretend they didn't see this rule and show up late at Que's Tavern to declare it then.
2. The total amount of feathers each partnership collects will be their final score. Partners will share all winnings equally, with some more equally than others depending on how generous each is.
3. No feathers shall be bought or traded for, they must all be newly plucked. However, there will be no officiating judges to determine their origin.
5. Each formed party must stay together and not run off without each other. Again, there will be no officiating judges.
6. There will be one more rule to be announced after everyone is gathered. Other than that, there are no restrictions.
The winning partnership with the greatest number of collected feathers shall win the prize of ..."
*Again stops and peers at the scroll. Reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of tiny reading glasses which he places at the tip of his pudgy little nose*
"... nothing, other than the feathers they collect. If the winners wish, please see Sybeus, the organizer for this event, for a pat on the back if you so desire."
As the portly man lifts a foot to step down, the crate beneath him collapses completely under his weight. Unfazed, he trots out the front doors of the tavern and disappears before anyone can catch which way he went.
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- Sybeus - Grathil - Docosamien -
Last edited by Sybeus; 04-13-2006 at 12:50 AM.
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