Captain Leafy was the first to enter, walking with the kind of swagger and bravado that spoke volumes as to the sort of man he was: moronic. It was wholly unwise to presume so much upon yourself; you'd have better luck just pasting a big red target on your back. He'd be the first to go down, if Ulrin Grimsparrow encountered him in the field. You can't let a walking meat train like that breathe for too long, because it'll inspire his peers to take on like-minded lunacy, which in turn could cause a sea of nonsense right when you didn't need it. With a bolt in his neck, the men would realise their invincible hero was just an idiot with a big axe, nothing more, and fear would take them. 

Men did not like being reminded that they weren't special, that any life could be snatched at the teasing of a trigger. 

Still, that the Captain had survived as long as he had, doing what he did, and spurning promotions like a true martyr to morondom, was somewhat of a surprise to Ulrin when all things were considered; indeed, he felt himself doubting his initial analysis, if only for a second. Brave and skilled warrior, or a walking abomination from the realm of Luck, it mattered little - the Captain would no doubt have his uses in the times to come, even if that just meant using him as a distraction. 

And who was this pretty little creature? Oh! Indus Horologium, of course. The aspiring soldierette, and what a wonderful set of armour she was wearing. Ulrin allowed himself a snicker, finding her youthful ambition amusing. Sadly, she'd learn soon enough that it wasn't the gleam in a breastplate or the dye of your cloak that kept the enemy away, no, it was your preparedness to sink to any level to ensure you walked away from the battle - not they. He'd seen men join the army, all with that same silly enthusiasm, and he'd seen them leave a hundred years older with gaunt cheeks and dead eyes. War could do terrible things to someone, if they were not prepared to do what had to be done. 

Aside from her ambition and her cute little outfit, Ulrin knew little else about her; his probings into the matter were met only with a few bits and pieces, but nothing solid. She was a skilled fighter, known for reckless acts which he assumed was associated with her apparent want of advancement. Recklessness could be a hindrance, but it could also be a problem solver. He'd have to study her further, and establish her worth. 

Ezri Annabelle Hartwig was next, another soldier from another solidering family. Ulrin detected a certain masculinity to her gait, something he doubted she'd picked up in the drill yards; her father most likely had a hand in her training from a young age. People were impressionable when they were young, more likely to emulate their betters on a subconscious level. He'd no doubt that she was walking into this thing with the means to do some serious damage to some serious people, but unfortunately, he knew even less about her than he did Indus. Perhaps he was getting lazy, or perhaps she was very much an unknown.

A woman, a Hartwig no less, with the hint of a man's strength to her movements. It could go either way. 

The trio marched by Ulrin, and he glanced up at them - disguised as he was in the bed of a lazily left aside wheel barrow. After the two guards had escorted them off, Ulrin emerged from his soil-ridden grave and gave quiet pursuit. Now that he'd seen his fellow contestants in what was no doubt an exercise in political intrigue, it was time to meet the Game Master. 

Emerging between Ezri and Indus, Ulrin pushed by them with a brief "excuse me," and slumped himself into the nearest seat - a few spaces down from Captain Moron. "Your grace," he said with a slight smile and a bow of the head towards the King. "Scout Chief Grimsparrow, present as requested."