All morning the swineherds have been preparing the nine wild boars for the hunt, rubbing them down with grease until the creatures are sleek and glistening. The boars are also in extremely bad moods, not appreciative of their glossing. One of the swineherds has a nasty wound on his thigh, gored by the smallest and nastiest of the creatures. But now their work is done. The boars snort, stamp and squeal, their snouts twitching with pent-up fury.

People start to gather to watch or participate in the hunt. I yell out a warning so no one gets trampled in the rush. Then I throw open the gates of the boar pen. Nine horrible boars, putridly greasy and very very distressed, roar from their prison and make a dash for the woods.

The hunt begins! Whoever can capture (USING NO WEAPONS - ONLY BARE HANDS) the largest one and bring it to the feasting hall WINS!!!!