((Sorry, was busy today.))
You set the roster up so Aquilas fights Vitus, and Isith shall fight Tacitus. The gladiators are taken to small rooms away from the rest of the crowd, and you look around at the disgusting dredges of human kind that are almost nearly as barbaric as the warriors who will fight here today.
You will eventually work your way up, but you dare not touch any alcohol lest you go blind and start withering. Your guards stand close, eyeing the crowd cautiously as you walk up to a balcony where you can oversee the arena. You take a seat, and the guards take posts around you, and you wait.
The first round is a built, medium-sized man with a vicious looking whip and claw-like weapon on his other arm versus a somewhat smaller man with a curved dagger and small shield. The fight begins slowly, and the inexperience of the smaller man soon becomes evident. In minutes, the poor soul is riddled in cuts and tears, and with a mighty boot to the face, he is knocked out of the ring, tumbling onto the crowd of people below.
And that is how the matches progress for the next few hours, either horrendously one-sided, like the one you saw first, or very bloody, very evenly matched to where even you get excited for the eventual outcome. But eventually, it comes time for Isith to face his foe. You can only sit back and hope that Bascus' training would serve the large man well.
------------------------------------
Perspective Change: Isith
You struggle to bring your ample form onto the top of the ring, where your opponent sits, his trident braced against the floor. Gripping your steel club tight, you can only hope that this armor will be able to shrug off the blows from that trident.
You and your opponent take your respective places at the ends of the ring, waiting for the bell that would announce for the fight to begin. It's an agonizing wait, and you and your opponent stare each other in the eyes, one trying to intimidate the other. You can hear the yells and shouts and boos of the nearby drunken crowd, but you shrug them off, for they are no matter.
Suddenly, the bell rings out. DING-DING-DING! And Tacitus lunges forward with his trident, seeking to impale you through the throat. You were too slow to try and get the first strike, and now have to act defensively, and the armor will surely be a help with that. Time seems to speed up, and you quickly deduce the only option to try and protect your neck from unwanted ventilation would be to try and dodge, or parry the strike.
Author
Topic: You own a Gladiatorial School! (Read 4810 times)