D&D 5E Gladiator: Round 2 (Shayuri vs River Song)

It has been a day since Round 1. Colden skewered the poor gnome, and poor Chomley seems to have died from a blood vessel bursting in his brain, unexpectedly. Either way, it means the little girl, Alpha, will be forced to go up against another brutal fighter.

The Game Master of Small Town looks over the profiles of each gladiator, studying them. He would have to take one of them with him to the Regional Games in the far off city of Big Town. He rolled his eyes once more at the idiocy of the naming scheme the current Emperor of the Realm had come up with. The man was an idiot. But he was the Emperor, so who was the Game Master to argue?

When it was time, the Game Master simply arched a finger, and warped to his pedistal above the arena. The crowds had come once more, and they were a little larger than they were the day before. The one battle, with the strange little girl, was uneventful. So much so, the Game Master had wondered if it had even given enough entertainment to be called a battle. He had worried that some of the patrons would want more.

But no, they were satisfied that someone had died and they had free ale and bread. The other fight had been a little more entertaining. Time would tell if this one proved a match.

He looked over the field, which was slightly altered from the day before. The lowest tier battles always favored those who preferred ranged weaponry rather than close combat (though Colden had proven the exception with that). It was flat, open, and the gladiators far apart. Now, there were large divot in the ground, creating spaces for characters to find cover to hide from their opponent.



Each groove is dug into the earth and the excess dirt is piled towards the middle of the arena to create a small wall, perhaps two and a half to three feet tall, with the two grooves in the middle simply being ditches that drop three feet down. They do not provide much cover, but some cover can, at times, be enough to change the outcome of a fight.

The Game Master looked at the sky and judged it was time to get this show going. He stood, and the crowd became silent as his voice once more boomed over the area, introducing the two combatants once more.

Previously:

Alpha, the first iteration, paused as she exited the arena and looked around the room just beyond where fighters of various types prepared themselves for their own struggles. They wore clothing, and Alpha understood this from her journey here. Skin exchanged energy too freely with the air, making internal temperature harder to regulate. Also, there was a social element to consider. Here though, the clothing was often different than in other places she'd been through. Not cloth.

Alpha delved into the minds of those around her, sampling memories and experiences from unguarded thoughts. Much of the 'armor' was a mineral...iron...that had been heated and purified and shaped into various configurations that attempted to find different balances between protective value and weight distribution. Other 'armor' was made from skins of animals ('cows' - she had encountered several previously, but had been unaware of this utility) that had been altered by a chemical treatment that toughened them.

In the past, Alpha had determined that conforming with trivial social expectations of garb was a lower-energy solution than having to constantly deal with the consequences of nonconformity. There was no reason to assume that the arena would be any different. She would have to acquire 'armor.'

Similarly, though she had no need for a tool to inflict harm, the vast majority of other participants did make use of them. A minimal investment in such a tool seemed appropriate.

Alpha was familiar with how exchange worked. Numerous individuals had requested her attention to items they were attempting to 'sell.' Her initial assumption that these items were simply being offered turned out to be in error. Therefore, she was aware that to obtain a 'weapon' and 'armor' would require a medium of exchange. Small discs of a purified metal...but not the same metal used to craft tools, which was vaguely interesting...were used by others she had observed.

It was right about then that an officious man flanked by a pair of guards 'ahemed' at her, and succeeded in getting Alpha's attention. He held out a small cloth bag that jingled.

"Your winnings," he sniffed disdainfully, "Though for that dismal performance, I'd say you probably owe US coin rather than vice versa. Ah well. If I were in charge, many things would be different, you can be sure."

Alpha gazed at him, then slowly extended a hand, palm up. She had learned that simply grabbing things that seemed to be offered often led to suboptimal results.

With a roll of his eyes, the man plopped the bag into her palm. "Congratulations," he sneered, and flounced away.

She opened it. Inside were small discs of purified metal. A quick browse of nearby minds confirmed that they were of the most sought-after sort as well. 'Gold.'

Not knowing precisely how to determine who was a 'merchant' in the absence of a stall with a shouting man or woman in it, Alpha chose a nearby person at random and said in her quiet, monotone voice, "Do you exchange metal for 'armor' or 'weapons?'"

It took a couple of tries to find someone willing to give her directions.

Now

When Iteration Alpha stepped out onto the field of battle, she immediately noted the structural differences though had no preconceptions for how they might change the oncoming test. Determining such considerations was one of her reasons to be. She had changed as well. Sort of. Draped loosely over her slight frame was a leather hauberk reinforced with metal studs. A pot helm, also too big, sat atop her head. She had to sometimes reach up and adjust it so it was tilted back a bit, or else it was low enough that it fell over her eyes. While not a child by any means, she was small enough that the armor sort of made her look like one in comparison.

In her left hand she gripped a dagger, though she held like she'd never used one before.

The announcer called out her name...and she waited for her opponent's name to be called as well before beginning her attack.

Init: [roll0] or [roll1]

Action: Alpha moves around the north end of the berm directly in front of her to get within 60' of her opponent, then unleashes a Psionic Blast upon him for [roll2] psychic damage.

Colden heard the Gamemaster announce his opponent and grabbed his axe, "Alpha, hmm. Probably some big bastard. He mumbles to himself.

As his door opens and the light floods in he looks across the arena at the little girl in ill fitting armour.

"Oh for f$%^s sake!" he yells. "What is this? Date night?"

He looks at the dagger in her hand, held like a ranking amateur, no that was not the weapon. Oh well, he'd find out sooner or later.

With a grin to the Games Master, "For me? You really shouldn't have." and he begins to move forwards. "I do prefer brunettes though." he added with a laugh.

[roll0]

Colden feels the beam hit him and grunt, "What the ....."

No time to play with his food he gathers himself and races over to her and launches an attack.

[sblock=actions]

Bonus action = second wind [roll0]

Move Action = move 30ft closer
Action move into melee with Alpha

ACTION SURGE
Bonus action shield bash [roll1]

Action = attack
[roll2]
[roll3] << if prone

[roll4]

[/sblock]

[roll0] to stay up.

Colden fights through the pain, the icy claws burrowing into his skull, and charges across the battlefield! Alpha attempts, belatedly, to get out of his way, but his combat experience vastly outstrips hers. His shield catches her squarely and sends her tumbling to the arena floor!

His followup blow is poised to strike, when suddenly there's a horrible screeching in his head; the sound of hot metal pressed against ice. He flinches back instinctively, and the blow misses!

(Reaction: Psychic Backlash - causes disadvantage which nullifies your advantage. 2 more psi points spent!)

Iteration Alpha then gets back to her feet and focuses her mind again on the attack. Half-glimpsed memories of impossible things, and voices like metal barbs flood Colden's mind, trying to tear it apart!

(Mind Thrust: Intelligence save DC 13 or take [roll0] damage.)

(nope! You take no damage!)

Colden felt the strange girl flittering through his mind, "Stay out of my head!" he roars with spittle flying, his body falls into the practised routine.

[sblock=actions]

Bonus yep, shield bashing [roll0]

[roll1]
[roll2]

[roll3]

[/sblock]