...watching Widimir's uneasily, as both of his throws seem to have had near-unfortunate incidents, Ahren stants up and stretches. He then slips over to the bar and theives an unmanned mug from it.
"Er..I suppose even if it's too late to join in the contest, there's nothing stopping me from throwing anyway, right?"
He pulls out of his boot a smallish dagger with a wire-wrapped handle, and finds a throwing path clear of bodies and heads. Downing the mug, he grimisces.
Just please, let me not hit anyone....
He balances the blade on his hand and throws. It slides cleanly into the wall about four fingers from the target.
"Better then...ah, never mind."
He ducks under a table, jumps over a chair and walks to the wall, retrieving the dagger, and puts it back in his boot after looking it over.