Randal was relatively new to all this. Cities I mean. Most of his life had been spent with his orcish tribe a fair distance from Sandpoint. He knew two things in life, a great respect for dragons, and a hatred of giants. Hearing the roar of the crowd as the speech came to a conclusion served to put him on alert as he reached behind his back to grasp his great sword, eyes darting from side to side. He was eventually able to realize it was something akin to a cheer after a successful hunt, and he was calmed. Naturally, his hulking form found its way to the strength competition. He watched with great interest as this fellow orcish man walked over to the weights and seemed to heft it with ease. "Not bad." he muttered under his breath. "I wonder how he likes giants." He made his way up to the weights with some gasps from the gathered crowd. Being as large as he was drew attention often, even from his own tribesmen. Bending down to pick up the bar he may have overestimated himself, much to the crowd’s confusion. Pulling with all his might, he was entirely unable to lift the bar! Turning to the other orc with a baffled look on his face he says. "You, what is your name? You are very strong. I would like to know more about you. My name is Randal!" All of this said in a challenging, rushed voice despite the instant respect gained for the man.

Rolls:

Strength: 1d20 + 4 11