Eye on the Prize - RPLOG
Participants
Date
26/2/479
Log
A light breeze flutters flags and pennants in the harbor along the bay. Posters and flyers announcing this event have circulated around Firmament and all sorts of beings have arrived both to watch and to participate. A table has been set up under a banner marked "SIGN IN HERE," at the gangplank of the Snowmark ship, Aurora. Looks like Sven is funding this.
A well dressed, young squirrel being walks towards this ship called the Aurora. "Ah, the smell of the ocean." he says in a distinct trill that any well-travelled being can trace back to Andrussya, "A contest of marksmanship, dear friend. Pity that I did not bring any rifle from the homeland." he adds with a sigh as he signs his name on the ledger before walking up the gnagplank.
Lucas walks up to table fully armored and equipped, perhaps a little more than one might expect for a shooting contest, but he seemed comfortable, ready. He came up behind Rokarion and waited his turn, signing his name and following up behind the familiar squirrel. "Heh, didn't see you with a gun yesterday." He pulled out his pistol and ploshed it on a shirt sleeve. "I hope I do well with this little thing, but it's served me well so far." He holsters it and claps the squirrel on the back. "I wish you luck."
The pygmy elephant accompanying Aloysius does likewise, signing his name on the ledger. "I suppose it's as good a source of entertainment as any." He peers at Lucas and offers him a smile and a curteous nod. "If you do as well as you did yesterday I'm sure you will do well." He looks back at his squirrel compaanion. "Now do try not to show off too much, and I'm sure a local rifle will do just fine. Or a bow for that matter."
Another much larger otter is present in the spectator gallery, near the back, for he's just over seven feet tall and not wanting to block anyone's view. The aquatic mustelid is clothed in a black tunic with similar trim to Lucas's outfit. If that wasn't a big enough give away for who he's here to support, his sledge hammer has a wooden signboard tied to it reading "Go Lucas" in a practiced hand in white paint. Other than that he has a matching headband with an embossed heavy clan mark on it, brown pants, and a mug of sugar roasted almonds in his non sign paw.
Kazel is wearing her leather armor and trenchcoat and a decorated musket on her back. The rat twitches her nose at the ocean air and brushes a lock of crimson hair out of her eye as she ponders the unfamiliar faces that surround her before stepping forwards as well and signing her name with her left hand.
A small ermine sits at the table. She wears simple clothing with the Snowflake insignia of House Snowmark on it. "We are glad to have you join in the contest," she says pleasantly as each contestant signs up, "Please remember that you are responsible for your own weapons and to follow all safety precautions." She has obviously been saying this over and over all day. "Please go up the gang plank and follow the signs," she says, waving toward the beautiful ship.
Spectators (And there are quite a few) are seated along the rails of neighboring ships and all along the docks. Out in the bay, there seems to be some activity as a number of beings in small rowboats and coracles finish preparing bouys with mounted targets affixed to them and make their way back to land.
On the deck of the Aurora, beings of all sorts mill around, many of them examining pistols, crossbows, rifles and all manner of ranged weapons. It is quite the varied contest. Servants in Snowmark livery are walking about, handing out cards to every contestant. Looks like it is time to draw lots for firing rounds.
The squirrel quirks a brow as the otter claps his back, before quickly shaking his head at his companion, "I would rather break my hand before I use a rifle of inferior quality. An Andrussian with a foreign rifle is a Thera'Doran drinking vodka made in Cliffside." the squirrel adds dramatically before he gets on the ship's deck.
"Excuse me. No, I am afraid not, good sir, now leave me be." the squirrel says as in one of his many apologies as he tries to dodge everyone who is pestering him about joining. "I fear I do not have a ranged weapon, unless throwing my dagger is an option." the squirrel says to his companion in teasing tone.
Lucas looks to the elephant and nods, patting at his hip. "I hope so, but it's just a pistol. Not going to be quite so accurate as a bow or a musket." He sees his brother in the stands, and chuckles, the huge otter standing out with his hammer and sign. He waves at the large otter and boards the ship. His eyes scan the crowd of people, swallowing down his anxiety. He takes a card from one of the servants and checks it. "Fifth, I'm not sure if that's good or bad."
Jugu takes his card as he reaches the top of the gangplank, quirking a brow at the number on it. "Hm.." He looks over the selection of weapons appreciatively. "Oh, I know my friend. But we're hardly going to find anything of good make here. Best enjoy it however we can, no?" He looks at Lucas. "Hm... second for myself."
Tezky gets a mouthful of almonds, very excited for the contest to begin. Although it was a hassle getting a place on a boat to watch, so far he had enjoyed the feel of the gentle rocking and the cool breeze from the ocean reminded him of home. He waves back happily to the otter, stating proudly to the being next to him that his brother was competing, and that he was sure he was going to win.
Kazel draws her card and smirks as she pockets it. She retrieves her rifle from its holster on her back and takes some time to make sure everything is in order with the weapon before nodding to herself. She eyes the competition once more, now that she is on the ship. Shouldn't be too bad.
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that, my foreign friends," says a friendly voice beside Jugu. A bent little old tortoise has tottered aboard after the Squirrel and Elephant carrying a long case. He stops to get a card for himself and smiles. "Round 4," he says, then seems to remember what he was saying, "You really ought to take a look at the prize before you jump to conclusions." He then totters off to make his preparations.
An exhasperated servant is still trying to get Rokarion, er, Aloysius, to draw a number. "Sir," he says, "You may use any weapon you like. But you must either take a number or try to find a place to sit with the spectators."
Meanwhile, the first round of marksmen are called up. "The rules are simple," a stately reindeer is explaining, "There are seven numbered targets and seven numbered firing spaces. Whoever manages to strike their target in this round will progress to the next. For this round, there is only one shot per contestant." Seems simple enough.
On the upper deck, Sven Snowmark lounges in a seat among the spectators. Not in front of them, but right in the thick of things. "Is very exciting, da?" he asks Tezky, helping himself to a sugared almond from the otter's mug.
