<br/>Garland's feed shifted as Rose charged, but, whatever moment and angle he'd planned to dodge at, was belated or useless. Midmove the guisarme edge knocked his  head back crazily; the helm flew off. It spun through the air, quite visibly so thanks to the two curved metal horns, and bounced off the edge of the force wall - to the dismay rather than relief of the fellow it would have hit, for he'd been reacting to catch it as a prize. The helm instead ricocheted, and rolled upon the field.<br/><br/>The audience roared and laughed and cheered; the stone of the circus resonated with it; rare was the outpouring of spectating voices so singular and sudden, but then, so was the blow and, it seemed, the match.<br/><br/>Garland the man flew to the ground with a clang. Absent the nonlethality field, his head would surely flown off with the helm. Such as it was, his face lolled back unconscious, sweaty brunette hair spilling above knightly and arguably handsome but somewhat severe facial features.<br/><br/>Tymoran priestesses let the cylinder of force walls drop, and rushed out to him, casting spells of healing. It wasn't that such a contestant was in mortal danger, but that they'd no wish to leave them aching and weary for a day.<br/><br/>"Victory to Rose Longstrider!" Rosa had recited such words after a number of matches, but there was genuine mirth in her voice. "I said we would see...and it seems we have."<br/><br/>She tossed her scarf into the air. "'Tis worth little but a memory, but then, those may be more precious than many tangible things." The scarf flew higher and further than it ought without magic, for the day was no overly windy. Rather than drifting down onto the stands just beneath her  balcony, it sailed out over crowd and then field, before drifting down in a lazy zigzag like a falling leaf above Rose. "If you would wear it until your future battles, traveling Rose, it is<em>I</em>who would be honored."<br/><br/>One of the coures tossed another die, observed it, and then drew out an object far larger than the pouch procuring it, to comic effect in the eyes of some. The thing, oversized in the coure's arms, was a lute of darkwood and mithral. The chocolaty and metallic-emerald colorations combined to evoke the shades of deep misty forests, through which the coure might well have been a Prime pixie flitting, as she flew to Rose to hand the random prize.<br/><br/>A dizzy-headed Garland rose just in time to be pounced upon by a redheaded lady dressed like a dancing gypsy, who'd sprung from the stands and raced across the field on her sandals soon after the knight fell. She sought to push through the priestesses and cling to the vanquished knight, but he seemed to heed the dancer little as she clung to one armored arm.<br/><br/>The other arm punched to the sky, "Some luck, beastwoman," he begrudged Rose, then, still ignoring his redheaded admirer or consort or whatever she was, turned his chiseled face high to Sara. "No!" he growled as he marked the descended scarf, but made no cheating move to move to Rose or snatch it, though the suppression of such an instinct was writ upon his fine features. Then under his breath he muttered again, "No...too swift, too soon..."<br/><br/>He looked side to side, blue-gray eyes lingering a moment on one of the archways which gave spectators entry into the stadium, when from it burst a squawking chicken. The bird seemed high-strung and terrified even by the standards of its species, racing across the field with wings flapping and feathers a-flying. A few spectators laughed and made jokes about refreshments or 'catching some lunch', others wondered aloud if it was some jester-prank for some act to fill time in between matches.<br/><br/>A murmur rippled about as a horse raced in a few seconds later. The saddle and tail of the metallic-gold-haired equine were aflame,and the beast was whinnying and rearing wildly, prancing and bucking wildly and dangerously. The Tymoran priestesses drew back with gasps,and Garland at last acknowledged his clinged-on by pushing her behind him and failing the horse. He glanced again at the archway whence it came, eyes wild and somehow furious. The coure who'd handed the lute shrieked as the wild beast nearly hoofed her, and she flitted higher out of reach.<br/><br/><br/><br/>crit, Garland KOed!<br/><br/>Nicely done damage math, and yep, he's KOed even at the minimum base damage.<br/><br/>Miss chance: in this case there's no rounding, 1 - (1-.2)*(1-.2) = 1 - .8^2 = 1-.64 = .36 exactly. There might be other combinations where one would have to do multiple rolls or round (or use a "d10000" as is possible with E's and some other dicerollers).<br/><br/>Ignoring checks you're guaranteed to make is fine. I like to call it "taking 1". (Like with the 36%, it's a nice simplification for getting mathematically equivalent results with fewer rolls.)