Post by moralhazard on May 6, 2019 20:01:46 GMT
The Gathering teemed with life. It was a large market square; most days, it was filled to the brim with merchants, shouting and jostling for customers, with the sounds of bargaining and haggling and the clink of coins exchanging hands. Most days.
One day a week, the merchant stalls cleared out. Early in the morning, a cleric of Helm chanted prayers over the faithful, kneeling with or without armor on the dusty ground. For most, the fights to come were as much a part of their faith as the prayers themselves. After all, didn’t Helm command them to be prepared?
After the prayers were done, the assembled divided the square into massive fighting squares, each overseen by a Watcher, there to enforce the rules. Those not of Helm were asked – not forced – to contribute gold or a glistening red potion to the stacks on tables between the rings. There was no blunting of swords or axes in the Gathering; warriors were encouraged to fight as if it were real, but never to kill. Instead of the echo of voices and coins, the ring of sword on shields echoed through the air, coupled with yells of pain and triumph, and the smell of sweat and blood.
“Kara!” Rolond Dundragon’s booming voice echoed over it all. He was grinning, edging his way through the crowds to the small human woman standing at the edge of one of the rings, watching the fight inside.
Even half-clad in his splint mail, no one would have called Rolond bulky. It was clear that every inch of his frame was well-muscled, with the sort of definition that comes from use, not the aimless lifting of weights. Despite that, he dwarfed her; he was at least a foot taller than the barbarian, and outweighed her by a good sixty to seventy pounds.
Rolond extended a hand; Kara clasped it, firmly.
“Well?” Rolond asked, pushing ahead a heavy sheath of wavy brown hair and continuing to strap on his armor. “You’re not too busy with challengers today?” He grinned. To those nearby, the question might have been taken as a joke; to anyone familiar with the gathering, however, it was far from it. Kara was known there; she had been from her first appearance. There were plenty of women willing to fight in Waterdeep, but few humans as small as her; fewer still who fought so viciously.
Kara shook her head. “You’re first.” She promised. She held a glaive, a long polearm which looked like a beautifully shined staff with a sword mounted on the end. The weapon was longer than she was tall, and the blade flashed in the sun above her head, gleaming as perfectly as her half-plate armor did.
The fight in the ring cleared, a dwarf with a morningstar pulling his last blow as a half-elf fighter yielded.
Kara stepped into the ring; Rolond followed behind.
The Watcher folded her muscular arms over her chest, nodding to both of them. She was a paladin of Helm; even in her role as arbiter, she wore shining armor emblazoned with Helm’s symbol. “You know the rules!” Her voice, honed by battle to a piercing shout, echoed over the crowd. “Be vigilant. Do not kill. Accept victory or defeat with honor.” She grinned. “Begin!”
Kara’s initiative: 9OHNjg0_1d20+1
Rolond’s initiative: 1d20+2
One day a week, the merchant stalls cleared out. Early in the morning, a cleric of Helm chanted prayers over the faithful, kneeling with or without armor on the dusty ground. For most, the fights to come were as much a part of their faith as the prayers themselves. After all, didn’t Helm command them to be prepared?
After the prayers were done, the assembled divided the square into massive fighting squares, each overseen by a Watcher, there to enforce the rules. Those not of Helm were asked – not forced – to contribute gold or a glistening red potion to the stacks on tables between the rings. There was no blunting of swords or axes in the Gathering; warriors were encouraged to fight as if it were real, but never to kill. Instead of the echo of voices and coins, the ring of sword on shields echoed through the air, coupled with yells of pain and triumph, and the smell of sweat and blood.
“Kara!” Rolond Dundragon’s booming voice echoed over it all. He was grinning, edging his way through the crowds to the small human woman standing at the edge of one of the rings, watching the fight inside.
Even half-clad in his splint mail, no one would have called Rolond bulky. It was clear that every inch of his frame was well-muscled, with the sort of definition that comes from use, not the aimless lifting of weights. Despite that, he dwarfed her; he was at least a foot taller than the barbarian, and outweighed her by a good sixty to seventy pounds.
Rolond extended a hand; Kara clasped it, firmly.
“Well?” Rolond asked, pushing ahead a heavy sheath of wavy brown hair and continuing to strap on his armor. “You’re not too busy with challengers today?” He grinned. To those nearby, the question might have been taken as a joke; to anyone familiar with the gathering, however, it was far from it. Kara was known there; she had been from her first appearance. There were plenty of women willing to fight in Waterdeep, but few humans as small as her; fewer still who fought so viciously.
Kara shook her head. “You’re first.” She promised. She held a glaive, a long polearm which looked like a beautifully shined staff with a sword mounted on the end. The weapon was longer than she was tall, and the blade flashed in the sun above her head, gleaming as perfectly as her half-plate armor did.
The fight in the ring cleared, a dwarf with a morningstar pulling his last blow as a half-elf fighter yielded.
Kara stepped into the ring; Rolond followed behind.
The Watcher folded her muscular arms over her chest, nodding to both of them. She was a paladin of Helm; even in her role as arbiter, she wore shining armor emblazoned with Helm’s symbol. “You know the rules!” Her voice, honed by battle to a piercing shout, echoed over the crowd. “Be vigilant. Do not kill. Accept victory or defeat with honor.” She grinned. “Begin!”
Kara’s initiative: 9OHNjg0_1d20+1
Rolond’s initiative: 1d20+2
Rolond moved first; he was lighter and quicker than anyone had the right to be in full splint armor. His shield was raised, and he wielded a longsword in one hand as effortlessly as if it had been a quill. He darted forward, readying a blow.
Kara shifted and spun; he had gotten the drop on her, but she wasn't helpless either. The blade of her glaive flashed out to nip at him.
Opportunity (PAM) glaive attack, to hit: 1d20+7
Rolond knocked the blade aside with his shield, effortlessly, and he was on her, closing the distance and slashing with his sword.
Longsword attack 1, to hit: 1d20+5
Damage: 1d8+3
Longsword attack 2, to hit: 1d20+5
Damage: 1d8+3
"Ha!" Rolond grinned at Kara, drawing back his sword after the second blow. The first had glanced off - she'd barely felt it - but the second had bit deep into her armor, scoring it heavily and bruising the skin beneath.
Kara's face tightened in concentration. The ringing of the fights around them faded into nothing, and the world narrowed to the ring, and the combat with Rolond. Like so many at the Gathering - like Rolond - she treated the fight with every bit as much intensity as if it had been for real, as if both were fighting for their lives. Their training, and Helm, deserved no less.
She was close enough to strike - but, instead, Kara lunged forward, palms flattening out against the glaive, and shoved, hard, to force Rolond back with all of her strength and the heavy wood of her weapon.
Kara's shove (athletics) check (rage advantage): 1d20+6 or 1d20+6
Rolond resists: 1d20+6
It looked impossible - but Rolond moved, the tiny woman before him able to shove him away. He stumbled back five feet, although he effortlessly kept his grip on his weapon and shield.
Without closing, Kara swung her glaive in a hard, fast strike.
Glaive attack, to hit: 1d20+7
The blow glanced off his armor this time, skittering off to the side. Kara pulled back, disengaging ever so slightly, forcing him to come to her again.
Rolond didn't hesitate, lunging forward with the same speed and power as before.
Again, Kara struck at him as he entered her range, a short, sharp flash of her glaive.
Opportunity (PAM) glaive attack, to hit: 1d20+7
Damage: 1d10+6
This time, the blow stuck hard, ringing powerfully off of Rolond's armor and utterly breaking his momentum, forcing him to stay outside of Kara's range. He came to a stop, then tensed his body, focusing and preparing to evade Kara's next strikes.
Kara stayed at the edge of her range, lunging her body into the strikes; she was on the very edge of over-committing, attacking recklessly to overcome Rolond's attempt to evade.
Glaive attack 1, to hit: 1d20+7
Damage: 1d10+6
Extra crit damage: 1d10+6
Glaive attack 2, to hit: 1d20+7
Butt of the weapon attack, to hit: 1d20+7
The first blow hit, perfect and powerful, the kind of precision that came from years of training and skill - and a healthy dose of luck. The glaive bit deep into Rolond, and he yelled aloud, a harsh exhale that coupled with the tightening of his entire body. He was a warrior, though, and not even a powerful blow was enough to slow him down; he was ready, and dodged the second strike. He had seen Kara fight too many times for the swift sweep of the butt of her glaive to catch him off guard, and the bottom of his shield dropped, knocking the weapon off-course and away from his body.
Kara pulled back again, retreating another five feet towards the edge of the square, and waited, her body tense and ready - forcing Rolond to close yet again.
Rolond pressed forward off of his blow, not hesitating even a fraction of a second.
Yet again, Kara swept her glaive at him.
Opportunity (PAM) glaive attack, to hit: 1d20+7
Damage: 1d10+6
Again, the weapon of the blade stopped him in his tracks, breaking the powerful momentum of his charge as it slashed against his armor. This time, Rolond seemed to summon up his energy for a burst of movement. First, he dropped his shield, letting it clatter against the dusty ground at his feet.
"What's he doing?" Someone asked loudly from the edge of the ring. "Why throw the shield away?"
"Shhhh!" Someone else laughed. "Just watch - Dundragon's no fool."
"Neither is Bellringer!" Someone else called.
With the hand not holding his weapon, Rolond reached to his belt, hurling one, then a second dagger at Kara, half of the four stashed there.
Dagger attack 1, to hit: 1d20+6
Damage: 1d4+3
Extra crit damage: 1d4+3
Dagger attack 2, to hit: 1d20+6
Damage: 1d4+3
The first blow caught Kara off guard; it was beautifully aimed, and managed to find its way between the plates of her armor, sticking out of her side. The second was less powerful, but opened a thin red line on her leg nonetheless.
All the same, despite this impressive show, Rolond was breathing hard now. He took a deep, long breath, and seemed to summon strength from somewhere deep within, rejuvenating him for the fight. Someone cheered.
Rolond regains HP: 1d10+5
Kara pulled the dagger from her shoulder, and dropped it on the ground, blood splattering her boot. She held onto her glaive tightly, attacking recklessly again from the edge of her range. Again, she aimed three powerful strikes at the now shieldless Rolond, not holding back in the slightest.
Glaive attack 1, to hit: 1d20+7 or 1d20+7
Damage: 1d10+6
Glaive attack 2, to hit: 1d20+7 or 1d20+7
Damage: 1d10+6
Butt of the weapon attack, to hit: 1d20+7 or 1d20+7
Anyone watching could tell that the shield wouldn't have made a difference, not this time. Kara was like a whirl of metal and wood, the glaive swirling and flashing through the air, the point of it already bloodied. It bit through Rolond's armor once, then again, and Kara spun, one last time - and the butt stopped an inch from him, holding steady against his side.
Rolond looked down at it, then up at Kara, and let out a loud boom of laughter, dropping his sword. "I yield!" He grinned at her, dropping to one knee in the dusty ground. "And gladly."
Someone else cheered, and a scattered burst of applause echoed from around those watching.
Kara stepped forward, sheathing her glaive on her back, and offered a small gauntleted hand to Rolond. He grunted as she pulled him to his feet, and held there as Kara scooped up his sword and shield, holding the shield and pressing the sword into his hand. He rested the tip on the ground, and leaned heavily on Kara, accepting her assistance off of the battlefield and towards one of the tables of healing potions.
((Word count: 1554))
1d20+1·1d20+2·1d20+7·1d20+5·1d8+3·1d20+5·1d8+3·1d20+6·1d20+6·1d20+6·1d20+7·1d20+7·1d10+6·1d20+7·1d10+6·1d10+6·1d20+7·1d20+7·1d20+7·1d10+6·1d20+6·1d4+3·1d4+3·1d20+6·1d4+3·1d10+5·1d20+7·1d20+7·1d10+6·1d20+7·1d20+7·1d10+6·1d20+7·1d20+7
