The ease with which the drinks came saw Bandur possessing one, or another, or some after with almost little action on his own part. Some redness coming onto his face with the gentle casting he did with the brew. Its taste being one that he would remember for so long as sobriety remained, Bandur paced his drink to keep his handle on seeing, hearing, and feeling. If not for his pride in contests, then for all the jovial entertainment that abounded today. His eyes flicked towards the group, amidst the heavy-set, the lean, and the bodies thin that betrayed ruthless efficacy. Though such martial escapades were beyond his ken in life, he could vicariously grow heady on the thoughts of their deeds.<br/><br/>The good humor of the day brought Bandur a smile, accepting enough the attention of men who descended their platform of ale and board. The jovial back and forth of idle dialogue between all of them would've gotten equal response from Bandur, were that he had the time in which to do so. Bandur wore little more than any common man might. Linen garb of undyed cloth, but with furs for warmth in places where they might show good clean pelts. Such were of Bandur's pride, being a skinner with careful hands, and enjoying the passtime of throwing as much as any of the others that men sought oft. Such would Bandur praise the games of today in sporting, with many options for different sorts, with Bandur's eye on winning the most point out of anyone in throwing. He'd already be well along his way.<br/><br/>There was a moment where Bandur's own enthusiasm matched that of the men he was there surrounded by. The revelry was contagious, to which he drank and fell in amongst them as red-haired daughter who appeared half-kin to the gods as she easily fell around the whole of her entrusted folk. Her lingering words of a young night echoed in his ears, making the heart race with eagerness as to all the possibilities that lie underneath an open sky.<br/><br/>Her invitation to a challenge brought some gravity to Bandur's situation. Making interest from a wager was something that roused both arousal and nervousness within the man. The arousal of succeeding a great prize from a woman of such prominence, and the nervousness of being deemed unworthy of such. Having little exposure to anything but the tribal society of his people, Bandur answered honestly. "<span style="color: #bfbfbf">The Allfather has given me few treasures of gold or gain, but Bandur is not one to rebuke a friendly offer on the point of glory. I will wager with you, as you might, on three tosses each at a given number of paces from a target - depending on what we might use. I throw with all manner of things; knives, axes, spears, and stones.</span>"<br/><br/>The moments flickered only briefly before an idea flashed down into his mind riding on one of Thor's lightning bolts. Bandur's face shot up as he thought of it.<br/><br/>"<span style="color: #bfbfbf">The cloth of my garments is most of my wealth, or at least, most of that which I do not need for my living.</span>" Bandur began, smiling honestly. "<span style="color: #bfbfbf">Were that I could wager all the clothes off my back, down to the furs, I would wager this. To make such friendly, you might do so as well, good woman. None could scorn your naked beauty, and if any thought to, well - I need not count the number of hands that would protest it! This Bandur, son of Benmagr, would be one of them!</span>"<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>-=-=-=-</b><br/>
​</div>In the given distance, Gundahar gave a small smile, watching the events proceed with no small amount of interest in both characters present. Though, primarily, his eye fell to the woman that stole about as the grandest figure presently arrived. Though, Gundahar wasn't one to be idly forgotten in a crowd, or left to his own devices by others. The deliberate, methodical cunning wanted to place him in certain company as the festivities grew later. So, with little hesitation, Gundahar bided his time in ways that might further this.<br/><br/>While liberties were taken to address the beauty of passing women, and to savor a certain amount of drink, his primary interest was maintaining a presence at a separate contest, wherein the grappling was done by men in their clothes with no weapons. Gundahar aimed to show some virtue in such exploits, as well as those of a running gauntlet. But, limited to so much space and so much time, Gundahar presently preoccupied himself at the wrestling ground against opponents who approached him, or won their own bouts, with an interest in maintaining the fullest of his aesthetic quality.<br/><br/>There were of course bigger men, there were louder and more confident men, there may have been more crafty men, but Gundahar stood amongst them with muscles tight like iron, with a humility enough to avoid any grandstanding or besting all opponents for name-sake. His aim were those whose skills shined the best, and who were proud enough to make a claim of invincibility. These were the prizes he wished to tangle with, and who he intended to have humbled at the end of such bouts.<br/><br/>Perhaps even more particularly than this, his intent was to find the wrestling champion denoted by Skngyrd Frostaxe, and if fate would be so kind, give him the distinct honor of challenging this man on such grounds as would satisfy Gundahar Yngvesson's honor.<br/><br/>And sure enough, there he was. A massive man, which most assuredly earned him his name as Tobjorn the Tall, with thick muscles about his torso which spread down his abdomen, with swelling upper arms and upper legs. His was a jaw that rounded slowly below a predatory nose that might've been hawklike save for its width. His eyes were a sharp blue though, and the only hair he had was a platinum blonde beard that was kept short about itself. His voice seemed to be a mid-range tone clamoring most often with laughter or boisterous curses. Issuing individual challengers against those whose names were not privy to leaders or chiefs or the Jarl Skngyrd.<br/><br/>One particular bout against a young man new to the festivities, who seemed to come from a Germanic tribe quite far to the southeast, whose loss was in being thrown from the circle they'd drawn, he'd boasted what he thought to be a raw foolishness. "Come back when your people can say Thor's name properly! None but another Norse here could beat me in this ring."<br/><br/>That was when Gundahar turned, needing no time to appraise the man, approaching the circle that made his ring, smiling as he made to enter it. "<span style="color: #ffffff">I'll take that challenge, countryman. Wotan is how we say Odin's name where I'm from.</span>"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>