Reggie adjusted his winner's chaplet to the back of his head and considered his surroundings. Three hundred or so medieval battle enthusiasts in varying states of disrepair and sobriety. He'd only come for the ale, on his roommate’s recommendation. The regulars took one look at Reggie's size and wingspan and marched him to the armory for a "fitting." Hockey mask and helmet, some PVC to cover the soft tissue, a "genuine" bamboo practice sword; which mattered little to Reggie. Reggie wanted to sample the beer. If he had to brain a few Renaissance geeks in the process, so be it.