Ranef's page

He shrugs. "One is less likely to have his pocket picked, yes," he admits, "but also less likely to have a reason to fight!" He grins with enthusiasm at the prospect, and Akron gives Phil a told-you-so smirk as he strolls through the common area and into an open door down the far corridor. "I know what you are thinking, Fillif," Ranef goes on. "Ranef fights every day! But I fight the same men every day. Even the orc-blooded I fight for the crowds, they are the same ones I fight every week. There is so rarely anyone new! That is why I like you, Fillif. You, I have never fought before. You can still surprise me with your tricks and your running like a rabbit, no?"

Phillip shrugs at Ranef's words as he pulls out his dagger deftly to cut open the parcel of meat "Drink is here now" stated simply as though there is no point to argue providence when the bounty is present. To the others he offers a nod in greeting, even to the Varisi "Evening" before gesturing plainly to show that the items brought are freely offered and grabbing a hunk of jerky to bite at.

"Faugh!" Ranef scoffs. "Akron has been getting at you. He does not like us to be going out to the taverns."

"Aha, Fillif, I was to buy you the drink, no?" Ranef scolds as Phil lays out his bounty. "This is Varg and Harry, and the two knife-throwers are Drezi and Stellan." The man with the blond beard and the one with the dark skin give polite nods, while the Varisians utterly ignore the new arrival.

Phil goes upstairs and down the corridor into the simple common room he sat in earlier in the afternoon. The two Varisian fighters are sitting at one of the wooden tables, throwing their knives at a knothole in the wall. The young Mwangi and the man with the fair beard -- Ulfen, most likely, Phillip decides -- are watching the contest. Sitting with them is Ranef, who spies the halfling heading down the hall and stands to welcome him exuberantly. "Fillif! You have come!"

Phillip nods at Ranef and gives a small wave in lieu of shaken hands "Aye, that I shall. Where should I see you?"

"Here," he shrugs. "You come when you are ready to do some drinking, yes? After my training is done?"

Ranef gets to his feet obligingly. "Fillif, you come back later and we drink together, yes?"

Ranef looks puzzled by the question. "I am free, and I will fight any who step onto the sand to challenge me, just as I agreed to fight you."

Making his way to a welcome seat as his senses continue to gather Phillip breaks off some bread and uncovers a platter to see what wonders lie beneath. Furnishing himself with food and water he continues to chat with Ranef "So Ranef... what brought you to the arena?"

As promised, the covers on the platters conceal dried fish and some chunked root vegetables which were probably once hot but have cooled to room temperature. Ranef straddles the bench and sits down heavily, his face sober and a faraway look in his eyes. "We were hunting mastodon in the mountains. It was a large beast, a hard fight. The orcs came on us when we had just brought it down. We were injured and weakened by the struggle. The orcs butchered our mastodon meat and carried the survivors south to market. I was fortunate that the orcs hate one another as much as others do. They met another tribe willing to fight and kill for their prize. In the battle, our captors were distracted; we agreed to take our chances and scatter, each man for himself. Many died; I hope more than only I escaped. Alone, I wandered until I met men of the plateau and asked my way to the nearest human settlement. When I arrived, I found an arena and a chance to fight those who share blood with my brothers' killers. It is good here: not so cold, enough food, a roof and a bed. Better than going back and trying to find those who might remember my brothers."

"Are the others still at training?"

"No, we do not train in the heat of the day," Ranef replies. "Up before the sun and on the sand by dawn, then we are inside after lunch. There are weights below and targets for those who throw knives or nets. There is food still, if you are hungry? Dried fish and bread?" he offers.

Phillip manages a wry smile before replying "Alive yes... better will take time." leaning forward to show the bloody lump behind his left ear, then straightening "Good for me you only hit me softly yes?" making slow and painful way down the bed towards his coat and blades, seeking to get dressed again. Noting the cloth pouch, he fumbles it open to peek within - numb fingers taking longer than they would normally do.

"Good for you you are not one of the orc-men, yes," Ranef agrees, his expression taking on a dark and angry cast the halfling has not seen on it before, but it quickly clears as the familiar smile returns. "But we fight as friends, for the sport of it, yes? Not for blood or for honor."

As he struggles with the pouch he continues "A fine dance I led you upon... but I think you see now why the rabbit must run?"

"Pfah!" Ranef scoffs. "I am struck many times." He displays the scars on his face and bare arms as evidence. "You only have to learn to stay on your feet and keep fighting."

As Phil's clumsy fingers work at the drawstring of the bag, it emits a friendly and familiar clinking sound. When he finally loosens the neck of the pouch, he sees gold coins within, several: without the headache-inducing work of counting, at least a dozen.

Except for the room's uncanny propensity to tilt and lurch as Phil looks around it, it seems unexceptional: the simple bed he is sitting on, a wooden footlocker at its end, a plain wooden chair, all of it sized for a human. Sunlight slants gently through wooden shutters at the window. His coat and daggers are lying on the seat of the chair along with an unfamiliar cloth pouch, and his pockets appear unpilfered. Except for the short wooden blade he fought with, he seems still to be in possession of everything he had in the arena.

His fit of coughing is hardly over before Ranef appears inquiringly in the doorway. "Fillif!" he roars, then lowers his voice in sympathy at the wince his loud exclamation evokes from the halfling. "Fillif," he repeats more quietly with a grin. "You are better, yes? It was a fine fight, my friend."

If Ranef makes a response to Phil's jape, the halfling never hears it. All he is aware of is a whistling sound, a sudden crack behind his left ear, and a quickly-blossoming numbness as the arena goes dark.

Attack 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22 confirm 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19 damage 2d6 + 8 ⇒ (2, 1) + 8 = 11

After all those terrible rolls, I knew that crit was coming. Fortunately, he rolled low on damage. Puts Phil at 7/9 hp with 9 nonlethal damage.

"'Gentle?'" Ranef objects, wounded by the accusation if not by the halfling's weapon. "There is no gentle in fighting!" He seems to be gradually adjusting his attack routine to Phil's short stature, as the first swing would have cut off a lock of Phillip's hair had it been sharpened steel rather than blunt wood, but the off-hand swing is as graceless as the last.

Attack 1d20 ⇒ 7 Off-hand 1d20 ⇒ 5

And the fight goes on to round 6, as Phil wishes he'd put another gold on making it to 8 hands....

Phillip steels himself for a blow that doesn't come. Instead, he feels the swish of air resulting from twin swings that utterly fail to make contact as they fly over his head. Perhaps Ranef is unused to fighting such a Small opponent. The grumbling from the gallery resulting from the gladiators losing their bets turns into laughter, hoots, and catcalls as their stablemate whiffs. Akron winces in disgust.

Ranef seems untroubled by his failure to swat the troublesome gnat. "Come, Fillif!" he goads the halfling with a grin. "The fight is not yet complete, no?"

Attack 1d20 ⇒ 2 Off-hand 1d20 ⇒ 5

Map is the same. Go, Phil, for the top of round 5.

As Ranef rounds the stack of crates, Phil releases his faux-dagger. The weight is a little off from what he's used to -- he has the feeling that if it were his own steel blade, he could have buried it deeply in the big man's flesh -- but it flies true and rebounds off his opponent's bicep with a satisfying thwack, leaving a red welt behind. Akron circles around to the side to get a better view on the proceedings.

"Aha, Fillif!" Ranef grins broadly, seemingly as pleased with Phil's throw as the halfling himself is. "Now we are fighting!" Shaking off the hit, he steps forward but doesn't immediately swing his wooden sword. "Come, you are unarmed. Draw your second weapon, yes? I will wait."

Move to U18

Updated map

Just realized Zincher's Arena is oriented the other way, so I should be referring to north and south gates rather than east and west, but oh well. Phil is up at the top of round 4.

In Zincher's Arena, Phil darts behind the crates and barrels by which he climbed down into the arena and enjoys a brief moment to grab a few breaths before having to put his game face back on as Ranef comes around the makeshift stairs, Akron jogging behind him and looking a little grim. The gladiators above in the stands cheer on their stablemate, thinking that the halfling is at last cornered before they're out some gold.

"And what does the rabbit do when it is trapped? It turns on its pursuer with teeth and claws!" Ranef urges with more encouragement than accuracy of metaphor. "Come, Fillif, we fight as friends; strike a blow!" He holds his wooden blades wide, exposing his massive torso to serve as the halfing's target.

Double move to V15

Updated map

Phillip is up: top of round 3.

Many voices clamor from the gallery to take Phil up on his bets, although he finds himself dependent on the gladiators' sense of honor to pay up should he win, as he doesn't take his attention away from his opponent to verify who has agreed to what.

Ranef starts to move forward with a cry of satisfaction that quickly turns into a grunt of confusion as Phillip speeds away. "Fillif, you are supposed to be chasing the rabbit; the rabbit is not supposed to be chasing you!" Despite his size, the big man somewhat surprisingly manages to keep up with the halfling, but with his magically-enhanced speed Phil is ready by the time Ranef has drawn within range, Akron jogging alongside with a frown.

Double-move to L23

Map link

Ignore the pillars on the map; they're not there. The two previous competitors are standing in the gate to the east; the gate to the west is closed. The canopy the rest of the gladiators are under is on the south; next time I update the map, I'll remember to drop some crates on the sand there for the makeshift stairs. Back to you for round 2, Phil.

"My friend," the big man replies in a wounded tone, "we drink together afterward regardless." He has armed himself with a pair of wooden swords, which he holds ready a bit gracelessly in either hand.

Raising his voice a little so that it carries beyond Zincher and Ranef to be o'erheard by the lounging gladiators if they cared to eavesdrop "I Fillif, do come to watch Ranef fight... with me. I was the champion rabbit wrangler of my village, and I think I've got his measure. What say you sir? - can I join the stable if I win?" clapping his new found friend on the back of his thighs before making a pitiful show of his muscles with a faux-ironman pose.

Phillip's challenge draws chuckles from the gladiators beneath the canopy -- even the Varisians put away their knives to watch with interest -- but none laugh more uproariously than Ranef himself. He shouts what sounds like an exuberant interjection in his native language. "Excellent, Fillif! We fight, yes?" He rushes to the edge of the stands and hops over; Phil notices that large crates and cages have been stacked against the wall to provide rough access to and from the sand.

"From boss, pfah! He got permission from me. Is my friend, Fillif," Ranef butchers the halfling's name. "He comes to watch me fight."

Ranef scoffs. "Those two? Throw a coin. New recruits, former sailors, they still have saltwater in their boots."

In addition to the two men with Akron in the ring, Phil notices a couple of Varisian men lounging under the canopy, an impassive-looking Garundi, a large man with a multitude of straw-blond hair and beard, a dark-skinned Mwangi, and a clean-shaven Chelaxian scowling down at the bout on the sand.

Phil grins and takes in a breath to hold as he worms through the bars of the gate. Once through he extends a hand "Name's Phillip, and I'm obliged." before following the young yet scarred one towards the sand.

"Ranef," the larger man reciprocates, his hand clasping Phillip's wrist rather than shaking in the usual manner and virtually engulfing the halfling's forearm. "We are pleased to be making each other's acquaintance, no? I am sorry to say," he continues as he walks with Phil up the corridor, "that you have missed the best bouts of the morning, as I have already fought. Still, there is amusement to be found in watching lesser warriors, yes?"

The corridor leads to a T where stairs lead up on either side. Phil follows Ranef up and back into the light. The sun is already baking into rows of stone benches circling the arena and the heat reflecting back up; Phil can only imagine how uncomfortable it must be on fight days when the seats are packed with spectators. Canopied boxes at the top of the circling walls look as if they would provide a respite, as well as the only hint of breeze available in the bowl.

Another canopy is set up down at the edge of the inner wall, and half a dozen men are lounging beneath it. On the sand in the middle of the arena, approximately fifteen feet below the first row of seating, two other gladiators are fighting with wooden swords while Akron Erix strolls around the perimeter of their bout, watching their footing and form. A few large crates stand against the wall beneath the canopy, the obvious way the fighters are getting up and down to take their turns on the sand and in the shade.