>>6089712“Oi, mate.” A nearby shiphand had called out to you, a tone of concern in his voice. “Ya’ doing alright there? It’s too early for ocean madness…”
>“Never been better, my friend!” You salute the bewildered sailor, offering him a swig of your grog. “Here, have yourself a sip. Soon you’ll be able to tell all your mates that you shared a drink with none other than the King of Morfis!”“Ahh…I see.” Though he seemed unenthused by your words, he was more than happy to liquor up while on the job. “You’re one of them uhh…’contenders’ I been hearing so much about…”
>“Not just a contender. THE contender.”“Oh really?” The sailor says through squinted eyes, rum dribbling down his chin. “And just what makes you so sure that you’re THE contender? Seen a lot of you continent folks jabberin’ about making your way down to Morfis and beddin’ our fair Princess. Hell, you ain’t even the only one on this ship with that idea.”
>“Wait just a minute!” You interject, the man’s words ringing importantly in your ear. “Are you saying that the Princess is, in fact, fair? Because that is important.”“Ehh…I don’t know.” The sailor admits. “Ain’t ever seen her myself. Ain’t actually ever been to the city. They keep it locked down pretty tight from us ‘desert-dwellers’. But she’s a princess, ain’t she? That’s gotta mean she’s easy on the eyes, right?”
>“That’s what I’ve been thinking myself…”“Ayy wait, don’t change the subject!” The sailor barks. “I hear a lot of nasty monsters are crawling out of every hole in the ground to come fight in that thing. Shouldn’t ya’ be at least a little more…scared?”
You took a moment to consider the various fighters that you might compete against. While you were unaware of any warriors from foreign nations, you were loath to admit that there were a handful from the Kingdom of Fodlan that could present a problem. Cyril the Dragonhunter. Thunderstrike Arios. Lady Leonora Gloucester. Should any of those three have chosen to make the journey to Morfis, you may find yourself having a difficult time.
>“Nah.”“Bullshit!” The rum-filled sailor blurts out. You weren’t sure if you’d merely worn him down or if the rum was exacerbating his aggression, but he was now standing menacingly close to you. An impressive gesture, given that you were several inches taller. “Somethin’ tells me yer’ all talk! Bet you ain’t ever even been in a fight. What kinda weapon do ya even go into battle with?”
>A): The Spear, of course. It was the weapon of my father. With its range, there is hardly an enemy that can get near me!>B): The Sword, a natural weapon for a hero such as myself. With blade in hand I’m a match for any in a duel.>C): The Axe, obviously. I’m strong as all hell, and I’ll smash whoever gets in my way! 