Pyr didn't see why Bierfest was such a big deal. A full day dedicated to consecrating the existance and consumption of beer, which was a foul beverage distilled from a mixture of malt and dog piss, as far as Pyr could tell from the taste. Just to think of it, Pyr scrunched up his nose in disgust. Curse the Kerwonian vendor for having no qualms about selling to someone who most definitely did not look old enough to drink, and curse himself for not having had the sense to empty his glass onto the ground after the first sip. At least it had only been a half-pint; he couldn't have finished a big jug like the ones most revellers were drinking from, no matter how much gil he may have spent on it.
He waddled around the stalls, only the tiniest bit unsteady on his feet, looking for someone he knew or something to catch his eye. As luck would have it, he found both. Some five minutes after he murdered his beer, he saw Storm surrounded by several adults, fighters perhaps. They were playing some sort of game; as Pyr approached, he saw the pins. Skittles, though what rules they were using was anybody's guess.
"Hey, Storm!" Pyr gave the other squire a grin, perhaps a tad too enthusiastic. "Can I play, too?"
“Pyr!”
Storm raised his eyebrows at the other squire’s disposition. More aware of the embarrassments that came with inebriation, he had avoided drink this time around. It was an odd feeling, he decided, to be on the other side of the story.
“Of course, you may play,” he continued hesitantly. What were the chances of Pyr’s damaging anything? “The game is Kerwonian skittles.” Storm handed Pyr a ball and gestured at the set-up: a wooden table, atop which were set nine wooden pins. Behind it arched a framed net. Pyr took the ball and let out a giggle. “One begins with three lives. Each player attempts to strike down the pins with the ball. The pins will be reset once they have all been struck down. If a player fails to strike a pin, he loses a life. The winner is then the last one ‘alive’, so to speak.”
"I can do that!" It sounded pretty easy—even if staring at the pins for more than few seconds made his vision blur. "So I just have to strike down as many pins as I can, right? Or do I have to go for one pin in particular?" Pyr grinned at Storm. "I like a challenge."
One of the adults standing nearby guffawed in response. "Being inside a lit room come morning's gonna be enough of a challenge, lad." His companions joined in laughter, but Pyr shrugged. If anyone was going to have trouble in the morning, it would be those men; they were each holding full pints, and a dozen empty pint glasses were on the table behind them.
“As many as you can,” Storm said, ignoring the adults’ japes. (And wondering, perhaps, if it was rude to do so, although he had no intentions of arguing with senior officers.) “You may go first, if you wish, Pyr.”