Try to throw him

All he has to do is charge, just once, you think to yourself. You feel confident that you can redirect him into the ground if he comes at you fast and hard; as long as he approaches slowly, he can use his strength, but if he comes at you like a bull then you can use it against him. The problem, of course, is getting him to do it - and keeping on your feet until he does!

But, you can't just stay on the defensive; if nothing else, the crowd won't have it. You drop down low and move in, looking to grab an ankle; but this time, he keeps his balance, and gets one arm around you from behind. If he gets that other arm around you, the fight is over! Bending your knees all the way down, you pull him up on top of you and then - with an involuntary grunt - push upward as hard as you can, momentarily lifting him off the ground. You don't have enough leverage to pick him up very high, but it's enough to startle him into letting you go, and he rolls off your back, giving you a blind shove as he does. It doesn't do anything except make you stumble forward a bit, but it does prevent you from moving in while he's ****.

"That's the stuff!" he shouts, and then his enthusiasm gets the better of him - he comes charging at you, just like you had hoped! You have only a split second to get ready, planting your feet and reaching for his outstretched arm. You get a good grip on his wrist, but when you duck down to get a shoulder into his gut, he's off-center of where you expected him; it seems he realized his mistake at the last minute, and tried to dodge. It's not good enough, though! His momentum carries him over the top of you, and once again you push off with your legs, hard. His feet leave the ground and he flips over your head, falling to the side and landing hard on one hip. The crowd cheers wildly, and you pull back away - moving in to pin him could end with your feet swept out from under you!

He rises up on his hands and knees, then stands, shaking his head. "That... that was a good one, I'll give you that!" he says.

"There's more where that came from," you say, with more confidence than you feel; he recovered from that throw a little more quickly than you would have liked!

"That's what I like to hear, friend! Show me what you got!"

He comes lumbering in again, and though your instinct is to go low, you've done that twice already and he'll be expecting it now. Instead, you spin out of the way - but then a heavy hand comes down on your shoulder, and another one smacks into the small of your back, and before you know it you're lifted high off the ground, facing up into the sky! You try to roll out of his grip, but he's having none of it - he steps in the same direction to keep you over his head, and then spins around, once... twice... and then you can't keep count anymore. You try once again to struggle out of his grip, and his hand slips off your sweat-slicked shoulder; unfortunately, this leads to you tumbling down his back to land heavily in the dust, not quite head-first but close enough to make you see stars! Before you can even think about getting up, the big man casts a shadow over your face, kneels down, and almost gently places a fist on your chest.

"You want to yield now, or should we do that again?" he asks conversationally.

You recall a lesson about fighting you learned not from the Kingsguard, but simply through experience in your younger days: Know when you're licked! "I believe I'll yield," you **** out.

He smiles a gapped grin, then stands up and shouts to the crowd, "Another one down! If anyone here thinks they got half as much fight in 'em as my new friend here, I'll take you on - otherwise, I'm havin' me a drink!" He laughs out loud, then offers you a hand. "That was well-fought... you went down, but you're no pansy-ass rich man's son! Gave me a run for my money, you did."

"Ten years ago, I might have done better," you tell him, accepting his assistance and rising to your feet, "but I've had less opportunity for practice at this, lately! Hurts more than it used to, I'll admit that much," you add, rubbing the back of your head where it knocked against the ground; you'll have a knot there, most likely.

"Come on, let me take some o' my winnings and buy you a pint," he says. "Name's Bull."

"Bull?"

"Aye... had another name once, I'll warrant, but none have called me aught but Bull since as long as I can recall, so that's me name now. What do they call you, friend?"

"Xavier."

"What, like the King?" Bull snorts back a laugh.

You shrug. "I've had the name longer than the King's had the crown. I never had reason to think it would be anything special someday. Thank you, Father," you say to the priest, who offers you your bundle of belongings.

"Well, so long as you don't start thinking I'll bow down to you, Xavier. C'mere, this pretty lady's got the good stuff." Bull indicates a cart with a barrel, sitting under a shade tent made from a simple sheet of linen, where a blonde woman with startlingly large bosoms draws ale into wooden cups. "Maureen! One cup fer me, and one fer the King here!" he shouts.

You laugh along with Bull, wondering what his reaction would be if he knew he had hit the nail exactly on the head. Perhaps you ought to have given a false name, but it's not in your nature to come up with quick lies. "Many thanks, Maureen," you say to her, accepting the cup.

Bull slaps a few copper pennies onto Maureen's cart, then picks up his ale and downs half of it in a draft. "Ahh, that IS some fine brew," he says with satisfaction. "Maureen charges a bit more, but you're paying for nothin' but real ale. She don't water it down like the rest of 'em do, and when she pours a pint she pours a pint of drink, not drink and foam."

"Have you had a cup in the tavern yet?" you ask him.

"Nah, me coin purse has its limits. But, if you're buying, I'll drink anywhere you like!"

"Ey, are you trying to take my best customer from me?" Maureen asks you.

You sip your ale, then take a longer drink - it's surprisingly good, certainly stronger then Melisande's brew at the Dancing Maid. "Not a chance," you tell her appreciatively. "In fact, if you'll be staying after the festival, I imagine you could give the tavern a run for their money. This is indeed a quality ale!"

"T'wouldn't be so much, if I stayed. I needs my own grain and hops to brew that up. We brought two score barrels up the mountain with us, and once it's gone, we go back down."

"I have some connections in town," you tell her. "Maybe something could be worked out."

Maureen looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "Can't say as I wouldn't be interested... but I don't see how I could work the fields back home and serve the ale here."

"We have fields here. Most are claimed, but I know for a fact that the King keeps some land under control of the Crown so that newcomers to Elyssia can establish themselves. I guarantee that once he tastes your ale, he'll be only too happy to gift you with a large plot."

"He must really like your brew, Maureen!" Bull laughs. "Either that, or he loves yer barrels!"

"Just 'cause they're more than you can handle, it don't mean some men can't appreciate 'em!" Maureen retorts, holding up her generous breasts in both hands. You were trying not to stare, but you can't help but look when she calls such attention to them, and "barrels" is certainly an apt description!

"I can definitely appreciate your ale," you tell her. "Another for each of us, my Lady?"

Maureen glances down and sees that you have laid half again as much on her table as the refills would normally cost, and she smiles a little wider. "Coming right up, good Sir."