Otenzel does not whisper. It gleams. White marble steps rise from the harbor road in patient tiers, and every step glints with salt and sunlight. Bronze victories stand over the boulevard, green with age, spears lifted toward banners that snap in the sea breeze. Vendors sing out over the clop of mule hooves. Steam slips from the mouths of public baths. Mosaic gods watch the crowd from every facade. The war is a rumor here and also a fact. A recruiting placard hangs beside a fresco of Mars. Priests in red hems pass sailors shouldering amphorae. At every city gate and portal arch a Black Orb sits on a plinth, like a polished night captured in stone, and the line keeps moving.

Ahead, the coliseum rules the district like a second sun. Rings within rings of pale stone, hooked with awnings and pennants, it throws a cool shade across the plaza. Trumpets practice a fanfare in short bursts. A chalkboard lists today’s cards in a scribe’s tight hand. Shackled novices shuffle under handler eyes. Free blades swagger for sponsors. The smell is sand, oil, wine, and the iron ghost of old blood.

And here you stand before the arena, the massive marble coliseum, famous for hosting legendary fights that echo through Otenzel. Perhaps you came by your own will. Perhaps you were forced. Either way the truth is one. Blood will be spilled in the coliseum, yours or your opponent’s.

At a distance, something small tilts its head at you. A cat, knee high at most, with a head too big for its body and eyes round as coins. The pupils catch the sun and glitter.



“So, you are the jabronis getting ready to join this hurtbox, nya?” it chirps with a grin that is half cheerful and half conspiracy. A few lower guards glance over, then look away. Not worth the pay.

“Well, you arrive just in time, nya. The novice league is about to begin. But before you even dream of stepping on that sand, I gotta see if you know the basics.” The creature bounces left, then right, tiny paws flicking out a quick one-two that would not trouble a fly and yet somehow feels like a coach’s test. “Follow me. Let’s see what you got.”

You are led inside. The city noise falls away to stone hush and a low drumbeat. The staging halls are a river of bodies, all flowing toward the light of the gates. Neco-Arc hooks a turn into a side chamber.

Training room. Sand floor. Straw dust in the air. Tool racks and practice marks everywhere. A narrow visor slit looks out into the arena’s under-tier, where curious faces cluster.

You have space to breathe and choose.

Training dummies stand in rows, reed cores bound with twine and fresh straw sleeves. A few wear cracked bronze helms.
A weapon rack holds blunted options: gladius, spear, trident and net, cudgel, a dented buckler.
A chalk bowl waits by the door for grip.
A water jar sweats on a stool.
A bell rope hangs beside a small gong with a dent shaped like a fist.
A balance beam crosses a shallow sand pit.
A sealed crate of caltrops lurks under a bench with a wax tag that reads property of the beastmaster, do not touch.
A rope post with painted circles at shoulder, heart, and knee height dares you to test precision.

“First, we start simple,” Neco-Arc says. “You gotta hit the dummy like this.”

The cat becomes a tiny storm. Paws blur. Straw sprays. The reed core creaks. One last pop and the dummy spins a quarter turn on its stake.

Combat Notation for Neco-Arc's attack: Strength B (5) + Natural Weapons C (4) + Fighting Style [Catting Around - Natural Weapons] C (4) = Base Effectiveness = 13 Base Effectiveness.

Neco-Arc lands primly, paws on hips. “There. Now it is your turn.”

Perform on your attacks, trying to make the same notation as I did with Neco-Arc, but considering your character's stats, skills and weapon grades.

From the corridor a marshal’s voice carries. “Novice check-in in five.” The drumbeat picks up a notch.

You can go for raw force and try to crack a core. You can trace those painted circles with needle-precise taps. You can put on a show and make the watchers at the visor slit gasp. You can grab a tool from the rack. You can glide the beam and strike mid-step. You can ring the bell to mark your rhythm. The sand keeps your secrets until you choose.

Neco-Arc’s eyes shine. “Remember. If they parry, you party. And the crowd loves style points, nya.”

After being led into the training room and issued the challenge, Don Krueger took a deep breath. Breathing in the scent of sand, oil and iron.
“So we hit a dummy, crack a core and then we get to fight?”
It was clear that despite the cat’s diminutive size, it packed a fair amount of power into its strike. Don was also acutely aware that he was getting on in age, and no longer in his prime. Twenty years ago, the grizzled man could have fought a bear with his bare hands. This dummy would have crumbled under a single blow.
He reached out and placed an open palm on one of the reed cores. Feeling its rough texture. Pressing lightly to get a fell of the hardness and give.
Twenty years ago he would have easily put his fist right through it. Now he wasn’t so sure. Don had more or less retired from the adventuring business more then a decade ago when he lost his left eye. He grew lazy with his training and age has caught up to him.
He had been in a bar fight a couple weeks before, and won, but it made him realise just how far he’d fallen. If his younger self could see him now, Don was sure it would be a look of shame.

Reminiscing about the past isn’t going to make you stronger.

He snapped back to the moment. This tournament was the first step to getting back to his former glory. Hitting a dummy should be the easy part.
Don drew his hand off the core. Made a fist, and threw a solid straight punch. Aiming right at the core.

(Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) = 6)

Varius had followed in after the other two, as he studied Don's form, watching from the side lines. Arms folded listening to the faint sounds of cheering he was used to hearing long ago. It was about a year since he walked out, now he was back. He stepped forward after Don's attempt going to a fresh Dummy looking over it's human homage as well as it's reed fashioned core, he unsheathed his Gladius as he reared back into a forward stepping heavy thrust into the core.
(Strength D(3) Fighting Style E(2) Weapon E (2) =7

The straw room answers with the sound of work.

Don’s straight punches land centerline. The reed core bends, creaks, and takes the shock. Straw coughs out around his knuckles and a pale scuff blooms over the painted heart circle. The stake shivers in the sand but holds. A narrow split spiders along one reed where the wrap is tired. Solid impact that moves the whole frame without toppling it.

Varius steps to a fresh post and drives a gladius thrust home. The blade parts straw in a clean wedge, bites the reed bundle, and pops two binding turns. The dummy jolts, turns a quarter on its stake, and settles with a dry crackle. A shallow puncture sits dead center, just off the painted heart. A couple of faces at the visor slit murmur at the neat placement.




“That is how you do it, nya!” The tiny cat throws both thumbs up, all teeth and delight. “Clean hits, clean hearts. Now listen up. One thing you wanna keep in mind. You will not always fire the biggest beam in your pantry, nya. Sometimes you probe first, feel their armor, count their teeth, then you drop the big guns, capisce, nya?” Tiny paws pump the air in a rapid bap-bap-bap.

“Do not worry those pretty heads, jabronis. You always have your basics.” Neco-Arc pads to a third dummy, flexes comically, then scratches once. “Tap.” Scratches again. “Tap.” And a third time, faster. “Tap-tap.” Three quick lines ruffle the straw in a tidy group. “See. Basic attack. Then basic again. Then one more for the road. Same target gets grumpy when you keep knocking. Gets real grumpy when you all knock together, nya.”

Combat Notation for Neco-Arc's triple attack:
Action 1: Basic Attack - Strength B (5) + Natural Weapons C (4)
Action 2: Basic Attack - +1 (combo)
Action 3: Basic Attack - +1 (combo)
Total = 11 Base Effectiveness. In addition, different characters attacking the same target bump the Base Effectivness even further. If Don and Varius had attacked the same dummy, both of them could have granted an extra +1 (team-up) each, to the maximum of 13 Base Effectiveness. (Team-ups are limited to +1 for each character joining the assault)

The cat leans back like a tiny professor. “Block is a friend. Dodge is a cousin. Sometimes you hug the friend, sometimes you dance with the cousin, sometimes you do neither and let them whiff so you style on the return. But today the clock is hungry.”

From the corridor a crier’s voice rings bright. “Novice league. To the queue. First bout forms now.”

The drum picks up. The air cools as a draft draws toward the tunnel. Sand whispers underfoot. Lanterns gutter once as a gate chain clanks somewhere ahead.

Neco-Arc’s ears perk. “Alright alright alright. Hands chalked. Drinks sipped. Buns in, fangs out. Follow the coach to staging, nya.”
The little silhouette hops toward the mouth of the passage and pauses, letting the light from the far end paint a thin gold edge on the stone. The arena itself waits beyond, but not yet. Only the thrum of the crowd leaks through, steady as surf.

Don cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders.
“Time to fight. Time to win.”
The older fighter followed behind the self proclaimed coach. He knew he probably should have read up more about how this tournament would run.
“Coach. How is this gonna run?”
There were a number of ways a tournament like this could run.
“To the death? First blood? Teams? Free for all? Round robin?…”

Varius followed behind cleaning his Gladius, as he sheathed it into his waist scabbard, keeping his head down as he followed. To him these murmurs were familiar, that day fresh on his mind the rooms feeling familiar more and more as he looked at every corridor, every stone slab echoing to him of past victories but of his great mistake, his rage flooding back as not anger but depression his steps losing iron as he slowed down, stopping to look at a door… his eyes grew narrow with familiarity unable to hide it any longer as his hand touched the door “Why did I come back?” Varius said to himself yet loud enough for the other two to hear, his voice soft filled with sorrow, and sadness
“Why did I come back after what happened a year ago? What drove me to come back, to such a dishonorable thing in my life?”

Varius looked at them, as he stepped forward. “I don’t know if I can do this…” Varius said uncertainly but his voice held this conviction like a hidden fire waiting to burst, he just needs encouragement to let his fire burn once more.

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The cat’s ears flick. “First blood? Oh no, that is not what this crowd wants, nya.” One stubby paw lifts, index wagging left and right. “Death is a seasoning, not the stew. If someone dies it will be because the fight demands it, or because the Imperial game maker wants it. Do not pick fights with the sky seats. If they decide your foe needs finishing, you finish. Capisce, nya?”

Neco-Arc pivots to Varius, eyes huge and shining. “Fame, glory, money, and admirers, both men and women, by the armful, nya. Win pretty and the city remembers your name. Win ugly and they still pay, just less.” Tiny fists pump. “Time.”

The little terror scoots behind the pair and shoves. The handlers at the arch catch the handoff. A guard drags a brush over your breastplates, red paint in a rough stripe that drips as it sets. Red Team marked. The portcullis rattles up. Light punches in, hot and bright. The roar of Otenzel pours through the gate like surf.

Sand takes your first steps. Heat lifts sweet and harsh smells. Wine. Oil. Trampled straw. Old iron. Above, rings of stone packed with bodies, slaves standing behind silk cushions, cheap benches heaving, shaded boxes calm as ponds. In one such box a man in black cuirass and red cloak rises, laurel bright against dark hair. The Praetorian Prefect Magnus Salinator rests both hands on the rail. He does not smile. He does not need to.

Two boxes over, a foreign lord in brocade and fur edging lifts his staff and gives the crowd a genial nod. Grand Mayor Maffeo di Albrisis enjoys the show like a man inspecting a fine ship. Flags ripple behind him, colors you do not see in local fleets.

A brass horn blares. The Announcer’s voice rides the whole bowl.

“Good people of the Imperial Capital, welcome to the Grand Coliseum.” The cheer peaks, then holds. “Today, we are honored by the Praetorian Prefect, Magnus Salinator, the hand that shapes the games.”




Salinator lifts a palm. His voice is iron and gravel. “Fight clean. Fight hard. Obey the marshals. Impress me.”

“And we are joined by a guest of the sea. The Grand Mayor Maffeo di Albrisis.” The elderly dignitary rises, smiles, and gives a small wave with the staff’s finial. The noble boxes applaud in a warm ripple.




The Announcer cuts the air with his next line. “For our first event, we bring you action. We bring you blood. Rookies of the Red Team against rookies of the Green.”

Across the sand the Green gate yawns and three figures slouch out to the drum.

A dockside bruiser, bare chest roped with old scars, a salt-stiff fishing net looped over one shoulder and a boat hook sanded to a mean point. A green rag is knotted at his wrist. He flicks the net once and lets it puddle at his feet.

A shield thug, squat and bull-necked, with a dented round board painted a sloppy green and a weighted cudgel in his free hand. He thumps the shield rim twice and grins through a chipped tooth.

A knife runner, lean and jittery, twin knives reversed in his hands, patchwork leather strapped over a tunic that has seen too many alleys. A smear of green chalk slashes his chest. He draws a lazy zigzag in the sand with one blade and bounces on his toes.

Green scraps tie their arms and chalk streaks mark their chests. A marshal strides between teams, checks the spacing, then steps back. Nets and shield edges rasp. A gull cries over the awnings. Somewhere a child laughs, then hushes when the crowd leans in.

“Let the battle commence.”

The gong answers. The gate locks behind you with a clean bite of metal. Whatever happens next is in your hands.

Don turned to Varius. His words struck a cord. The older fighter could understand doing regrettable things. His questions about the fight to come forgotten. This clearly more pressing.
Don placed a calming hand on Varius’s shoulder. His mind going back to some of the things he himself had done.
Early in his career, Don was a swordsman in a militia. However, after being ordered to slay what he thought were insurgents, only to learn later they were civilians. Don swore never to use a sword again.
“The path of a warrior is seldom without regrets, comrade.”
He looked up as the red gate opened revealing the opponents. He released his hand from Varius’s shoulder.
“Prove you’re a better man than you were a year ago.”
Don stepped into the arena. Looking back at Varius.
“You wouldn’t let me take them all on by myself?”

Varius unsheathed his Gladius, fully aware that this was a two verses three. He stared at their opponents, as he glanced at Don in his peripherals, then to the crowd and the two head surveyors, it was palpable the sands at their feet and the growing roar of the crowd. Varius returned his gaze to the three adversaries laid before them. "Hey, bruiser. What's your name? I am Varius. Lets give them a show, of strategy and control. We strike the shield one together, judging by the other two, I can handle the twitchy one with the daggers, while you out strength the big guy with the hook. Their strategy will more than likely be to try and use the shielded one to make their fights easier... lets show them why that's not a good idea." Varius cracked his neck, as he spun his gladius in his ready as he stared at the Knife wielder, his gaze showing his shifted feelings from before to that of resilience, knowing he can't be weak in this arena, as he ran right for the Dual Blades combatant's right side further off from their comrades (Action 1, running towards the Knife wielder's right side), Once Varius was in position, he delivered a jumping strike towards the knife wielder, driving his gladius down like an eagle (Action 2, Eagle's fury Fighting Style F, Strength F, Jumping F), after his attack he'd rear back with the pommel of his sword as the main focus, striking the Knife wielder with a follow up bash with his pommel (Action three, Pommel strike, Fighting Style E, Strength D Knockback F, Drain SPD F)

Actions 1 Movement towards the Dual Blade’s right side
Action 2 Eagle fury F
Action 3 Pommel strike E

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Remember to use the full notation for attacks, just as you guys did during the training post, like - Combat Notation for Neco-Arc's attack: Strength B (5) + Natural Weapons C (4) + Fighting Style [Catting Around - Natural Weapons] C (4) = Base Effectiveness = 13 Base Effectiveness. This will be useful in every RP you participate in and makes the narrator verification of results easier.

The knife runner comes fast, blades flashing for the cross-parry. Varius drops the gladius like a hawk stooping. Steel meets steel with a loud bite that jars the thug’s wrists. The angle is wrong by a hair. The edge skims past his guard and the pommel blooms under his cheekbone a heartbeat later. He pops off his heels and skids three steps, sand pluming. His stance loosens, footwork lagging as if his boots suddenly grew heavy. [Knife Runner takes 2 damage, Knockback F, Drain Speed F.] (Varius E Grade Abilities are now on cooldown, only being avaiable in the next round. Cooldown 0/1)

The dockside bruiser whips his net for the catch the instant Varius lands. It whistles over a shoulder and snaps on empty air. He yanks to tangle legs and gets only sand. The boat hook jab streaks low for the calf and carves a furrow instead. The crowd hoots at the near miss. Varius shakes free of the press with no strings on him.

At the red gate line, the shield thug chooses Don. He barrels in, board high, feet churning, trying to drive the older fighter backward toward the rail. The rim thumps for center mass and the cudgel lifts over the top for a collarbone chop as soon as the board finds purchase. Then he plants behind the round shield, squat and braced, daring a counter while he screens the lane for his mates. (4~7 Base Effectiveness attack incoming VS Don)




From the corner of the mouth of the tunnel, Neco Arc cups tiny paws and hollers, “Buns in, fangs out, remember to party when they parry, nya.” The drum keeps time. The knives flicker again at range, but the knife runner’s bounce is gone. Don has a split second to choose his line into the rushing board.

Action 1.
Don makes a split second decision to move in toward the shield barer. Dodging not away, but closer. Closing the distance to throw off the timing of the shield thug. “Good charge. You are truly a worthy opponent.”

Action 2.
Now in close, Don went for an ear clap. To discombobulate the shield thug.
Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) = base effectiveness 6 + Flare F

“VARIUS!” Don called out. “My comrades call me Don.”

Action 3.
He delivered a sharp, hard jab at the shield thugs head.
Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) + Combo (1) = base effectiveness 7

“Don Krueger!”

Varius held his footing, listening out for Don as he smiled softly under his helmet, having placed himself in a two versus one situation he knew he had to get ready, as he pressured the Dock Bruiser with three consecutive strikes.

Action 1 - Lion's claw(Fighting Style F) (1) , Strength D (3) , Fast F (1), Gladius (E) (2) ) = Base Effectiveness 7

Varius then targeted the Bruiser's net as he went for a basic strike upon it to limit their options

Action 2 - Basic attack (Accurate (F) 1 , Gladius (E) 2, Strength (D) 3) = base effectiveness 6

Varius then holds stance staring down the Bruiser "Take a man with his back turned, you dishonor what ever hole you crawled from. If it were me I'd execute you here right now for your disgraceful display. Yet I don't want to keep sullying my sword with your sludge you call blood, nor do I want to dissatisfy the audience." Varius's steel gaze held obvious history, and his stance was strong, confident like he's been through this before both in an arena and outside of it.

Action 3 - Intimidation (F) 1, Strength (D) 3 = Base effectiveness 4

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(F Grade Abilities, despite having 0 Post Cooldown, can only be used once per round if the character doesn't have Energized F)

The first clash comes like surf on stone.

Varius drives in. The knife runner meets him, blades skittering against the gladius with a bright scrape. The dockside bruiser reads the lane and dumps the net, both hands on the boat hook as he barrels in. Wood bites at Varius’s guard while steel checks at his wrist. The double pressure smears his rhythm just enough. A hooked jab rakes his cuirass with a hard rake that grooves leather and kisses the plate beneath. Sand slides under his heel and the next step comes a fraction late. The crowd likes the noise and the spray of grit. Varius stays on his feet, no cords on him, but his stance is off for the heartbeat to come. [Varius's Armor takes 1 damage. Varius is inflicted with Off-Balance until the next round]

At the red line, the shield thug slams forward with his round board. Don meets him square, then turns with the hit like a door on a hinge. The cudgel whistles down and Don is already inside it. His counter snaps in tight and mean, across the cheek strap and up into the brow. The thug’s head rings. His vision sparks. He staggers a half step as the board dips and his breath comes sharp through his teeth. A thin cheer ripples from the cheap seats where they favor Red. [Don inflicts 1 damage and Flare F until the next round]




Neco-Arc hops on the tunnel lip, tiny paws cupped like a trumpet. “That is the party I am talking about, nya. Keep the fangs out.”

The drum holds the beat. Green scraps flash across the way as the knife runner resets with a shake of his head and the bruiser squares his shoulders over the dropped net. Up in the boxes, Magnus Salinator watches without moving. Grand Mayor Maffeo lifts his staff an inch, as if measuring the angle of the sun. The sand waits for the next decision.

Action 1
While the shield thug still recovering from Don’s blows, he grasps the shield’s top edge with both hands as it dips. Stepping forward to keep the pressure up.
He yanks the shield to keep it low.
strength D (3)

Action 2
Wi his hands pushing the shield down, he leaned forward slightly. For most fighters this would be considered a disadvantage. However, not for someone like Don. Someone like Don would know the average human head weighed about three to five kilograms. Which is about the same weight as a bowling ball. He would also know that slamming something like that into someone’s face can do a lot of damage. Someone like Don would definitely know how to strike with the harder parts of his forehead onto the more fragile parts of an opponent’s face like their nose.
Which is exactly what he did as he lent forward.
Don launched his forehead directly at the shield thugs nose.
Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) = base effectiveness 6

[Action 3]
Don would then try and pull the shield away from the thug. His plan was to wrestle it away from the thug, so he could toss it to Varius to give his companion a little extra defence while he finished up this thug.
Strength D (3)

Varius could feel his momentum was shot, panting softly as he kept his eyes on the two fighters he put himself against. Varius on the back foot while the blade runner he did damage to before had seemed to recover from his previous strikes. Varius didn’t know which one to attack, knowing one had speed and the other had force. Varius watched contemplating for a second one what he should do, he didn’t have all his strength he once had since a year ago, he didn’t have that energy yet. He needed help and he put himself in a bad situation. Varius raised his Gladius back to his front guard, taking a step back to collect himself as he tried to find his footing again but keeping his guard up incase one of them tried attacking him. He… may have an idea, but right now he needed to establish his guard against two fighters.

Action 1: Taking a moment to retreat to calculate his plan.

Action 2: Preparing his guard

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[Both characters given more health to work with (+3)]

The clash on the red line turns mean.

Don wrenches for the rim and the shield thug sucks the board in tight, rotates the edge, and drop steps. The round face snaps back in front like a door slamming. Don goes through with the headbutt and meets iron instead of bone. The crack rings up his skull and puts silver at the edge of his vision. The thug’s brow barely dips behind the board. Don’s ears sing. Flare bites. (Don takes 1 HP damage and is under effect of Flare)

Don’s hands shoot for the straps. The thug feels it coming and twists hard. Leather bites his forearm, the fist loop locks, and the board stays married to his body. The strap is not going anywhere. The cudgel hangs ready over the rim.

Across the sand, Green moves to pen Varius.

The dockside bruiser closes first, net abandoned where it fell. He shoulders in with the boat hook carried low, trying to cut off the angle and keep Varius from drifting to clear sand. The hook twitches for the ankle the instant he thinks he has the step. If the leg is not there, he switches the point to a rib jab and keeps the pressure honest.

The knife runner shakes out his wrists and reenters a beat behind, light on the balls of his feet. He tests the line with two small feints for the sword hand, more tap than cut, and tries to draw the guard. If the wrist shows, he pecks at it to make a lane for the bruiser’s follow. If it does not, he slides half a step to weapons side to hold a better angle for what comes next. (Joint incoming attack vs Varius - 4d2+1)

Up in the boxes, Magnus Salinator does not move. Grand Mayor Maffeo sits forward a finger’s breadth, as if gauging a tide. The crowd ripples; some call for a big swing, some for blood, most for noise.




On the tunnel lip, Neco Arc cups tiny paws. “Use your head, but not on the shield, nya. Party when they parry.”

The drum keeps time. The bruiser’s hook twitches again, the runner’s knives hover, and the sand waits on Varius’s answer.

Ears ringing, vision blurry, Don wiped a bit of blood that had dripped from his nose. He noted the raising cudgel.
Action 1
Don prepared to step out of the way of the incoming blow. Preparing to dodge.
[Actions 2+3]
After sidestepping, Don would come in low and throw two hard body shots.
Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) = base effectiveness 6
Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) + Combo 1= base effectiveness 7

“Big man, hiding behind a shield. Toss it away coward.” Don said mockingly to the shield thug.

Varius chuckled as he watched the Bruiser go low, as he raised his Gladius before bringing it down like a hammer, striking the pommel right on top of the head as his voice rang out "Infirmus!"
Action 1 - Pommel strike E (Fighting Style E (2), Strength D (3) , Gladius E (2), Knockback F (1) , Accurate F (1) ) - Base effectiveness 7 (Ability+strength+weapon)

Varius after he struck down the Bruiser, he turned his attention to the Knife wielder as he struck them hard and fast with a leaping stab, physically jumping over the Bruiser

Action 2+3 - Eagle's Fury F (Fighting Style F (1) , Strength D (3) , Gladius E (2) , Fast F (1) , Jump F (1), Athletics F (1) ) - Base effectiveness 6 (only counting Ability+Strength+weapon)

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The sand takes it all and gives nothing back.

At the red line the shield thug snaps a feint high and chases with a board charge. Don slips by a hair, shoulders brushing wood. The rim scrapes his sleeve instead of his ribs. He answers on instinct with a short, mean shot as he passes. Knuckles thud against cheek strap. The thug rocks back a half step, eyes wide behind the slit. Blood beads under one brow. He is still up, but only just. The board hangs a finger low as his breath rasps. [Shield Thug takes 1 damage]

Across the ring Varius shifts the lane on the dockside bruiser. The net is gone, the hook is low, and then the world flips. A hard step, a turn of hip, and the bruiser hits the sand with a flat smack that draws a full-body groan from the cheap seats. He scrabbles up fast out of pride more than sense. The rise is shaky. He plants the hook and steadies, shoulders heaving, color gone from his face. One more hard kiss of the sand will finish him. [Dock Bruiser takes 2 damage]

The knife runner steals a bead while the throw happens. A twitch of the wrist paints a fast line across Varius’s side as he reenters. It is not deep, but it stings wrong. Heat spreads along the cut, sharp and mean, like pepper ground under the skin. The runner’s mouth curls as he shakes the blade once. The crowd hisses at the taste of blood and the promise of more in a moment. [Varius takes 1 damage and will take another point of damage next turn due to poison if not treated: 4/5 HP]

Up in the boxes Magnus Salinator remains a statue. Grand Mayor Maffeo leans his knuckles to the rail, eyes bright, as if admiring a tide about to turn.




On the tunnel lip Neco Arc funnels tiny paws to a tiny mouth. “Good footsies, Red. Keep the buns in, fangs out. Watch the spicy knife, nya.”

The drumbeat holds. The shield man blinks through sweat and steadies his board. The bruiser squares, hook twitching. The runner dances one step left to test the sword line again. The next choice is yours.

Action 1
Don drops his boulder and barges forward into the shield thug. “Hate to rush you, but my friend Varius is looking a little lonely over there.”
He called out as he grabbed the shield thug.
Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) | Super Strength F = base effectiveness 6
“So we might just join him over there.”

Action 2
Don lifted the Shield Thug above his head. Turned to face Varius and two men he was fighting. Don tossed the Shield at the Dockyard Bruiser. Leveraging his sheer strength to launch the shield thug.
Strength D (3) + Fighting Style F (1) + Natural Weapons E (2) | Super Strength F = base effectiveness 6

Action 3
After tossing the shield thug he jogged over to Varius and tapped his comrade on the back of their shoulder. “Sorry, I took my time dealing the shield man. Shall we put on a show?”