Gong is a half-orc of few words, and he is not particularly interested in lengthy haggling for the sake of a few coins. He will pay 300gp for the +1 quarterstaff and ask how much he can get for his mundane staff.
Gong is a half-orc of few words, and he is not particularly interested in lengthy haggling for the sake of a few coins. He will pay 300gp for the +1 quarterstaff and ask how much he can get for his mundane staff.
Videfro accepts your gold and, after looking it over from various angles, offers 2 gp.
The +1 greatsword catches Balasar's attention. Is it being sold by a trader, merchant, or adventurer?
An adventurer.
What has Balasar been able to glean about this adventurer during their initial interaction? Where did Balasar encounter this adventurer, and did they say how long they plan to stay in town?
Encountered at a for-sport gladiatorial arena (spectators betting on non-lethal combat matches between fighters), the adventurer is a gruff, muscular man dressed in well-used armor. Though he didn't talk much, Balasar suspects the man isn't in any hurry to leave town - he was too busy yelling at the combatants for sloppy techniques or slow reflexes.
Edit: I can't seem to get the pic to post, so see FB group for image.
Balasar spends a few minutes languidly observing the matches, before asking the adventurer (in a tone of mild annoyance) "When is amateur hour over?"
With a slight nod, the man replies, "Damned shinies; wouldn't last two minutes in a real fight. Probably piss themselves just looking at the enemy. Not that many around here could show them what's what. Bunch of posturing fakes trying to look tough for the crowd."
"Huh. Wouldn't know about other fighters. Used to be that a few of us owned this contest. We whipped these gladiators into shape and separated the gold pieces from the dung heap. Kept the fools in the crowds and real fighters in the arena, but too many of us moved along and now this crowd has taken over. They won't even let me put on an exhibition match anymore - too scared that I'll accidentally let a lethal hit land on their pretty, polished armor." With a snarl, he spits on the ground, "Pathetic cowards!"
The man actually turns his head to give Balasar a proper appraisal. "You might really mean that." the says with a touch of bemusement in his gruff voice. "Tell you what maybe we can-" The man's voice is frowned out by the magically-magnified voice of the arena announcer: "NEXT UP, A NEWCOMER TO THE ARENA. HAILING FROM PARTS UNKNOWN AND TRAINED TO KILL BY FEY BEYOND THE KEN OF MORTAL MAN, PLACE YOUR BETS FOR ROTH THOOOORN-GNAAAAASHER!"
A large, pale, bald man stalks into the arena. Armed only with a shortsword and shield, he prepares to face off against the winner of the last match.
Eying the new combatant's ready stance, the adventurer turns his attention away from Balasar. "Well, shit. Either this fool has watched a few real fights or we might be in for a treat." Turning to a mearby attendant, the adventurer tosses a pouch of coins, calling, "50 gold on Thorn-Gnasher." He turns to Balasar, "You in?"
The announcer continues, "But, will this newcomer's mysterious martial prowess be enough to unseat today's big winner? Fresh from his fifth victory of the day, start placing your bets for your golden champion, SIR! NICHOLAS! HOLLOWAY!!!" The crowd cheers as the winner of the prior matches, apparently some kind of noble judging by the polished silver and gold adornments of his breastplate, readies a gem-encrusted rapier and poses for his audience. With a nearly deafening CLANG, the announcer's gong signals the start of the fight. Holloway gives a smarmy grin and calls out, "On guard, you filthy vagabond!" Roth, dressed merely in a loose tunic, appears to seethe, his muscles growing taught and bulging with increased blood flow. With a cocky sneer, Holloway lunges forward but Roth steps back and to the side, shield raised to deflect the sharp point of the showy weapon. Roth closes the distance with sword and shield extended out in front of him in a guarded thrust, aiming for and connecting with his opponent's weapon hand with the point. Though pained by the blow, the dull blade of Roth's arena weapon prevents Holloway from losing his hand. The crowd gives a collective gasp as Holloway stumbles back, flexing his wrist and fingers. In a venomous tone, Holloway snarls, "You'll pay for that, wretch!" Darting like a snake,Holloway lunges forward in a movement nearly identical to his last attack. Roth meets his opponent's swing with his shield, attempting to turn it aside, but finds the noble to be stronger than he appears. With a burst of power, Holloway manages to slam the gilded hilt of his rapier into Roth's face, bloodying his nose. The crowd roars with varied emotions. Rocking back a few steps, Roth shakes off the blow before striding back into striking distance. Using his shield to cover his weapon hand's action, Roth tries for an underhanded swing, cleaving up in a diagonal aimed once more at his opponent's weapon hand. Whether or not Holloway has seen true combat, he proves his proficiency in dueling with a flawless parry which deflects Roth's attack safely to the side. The crowd is split evenly between cheers, boos, and gasps. Not underestimating the noble's strength this time, Roth attempts to bind his blade with his opponent's weapon to lever it into a better position for a counter and makes a thrust at his opponent's throat. However, the angle of attack allows Holloway to simply sidestep the blow and recover control of his rapier. With identical bursts of speed, the two gladiators rush each other, trading blows with such blinding speed that, were it not for the flecks of blood, it would be nearly impossible to tell whether either opponent succeeded in striking the other. With a final push of exertion, Roth's next three attacks are a series of wheeling cuts all aimed at his opponent's head at alternating sides. Left temple, right temple, left temple. Hollow ducked, dodged, and caught the third blow clear across the face with such force that his limp form was launched back nearly 10 feet from where he'd knelt. Had Roth's blade been a true weapon of combat rather than the dulled blade of this sport arena, Balasar is quite certain such a blow would have neatly severed the top half of the young noble's head from the rest of his body. "well, I'll be damned..." said the old adventurer to Balasar. "Someone who can actually fight."
After a moment of stunned silence, the announcer's voice rings out over the arena, "WE HAVE A WINNER! BEATING THE ODDS AND UNSEATING TODAY'S CHAMPION, RAISE YOUR VOICES FOR ROTH THOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRNNNNNN-GNAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHEEEEERRRRR!!!!"
Balasar gains 250 gold (really 200 as this amount includes the initial 50gp bet).
The old adventurer smiles. "Ha! Watching a good round like that always gets the blood pumping. Let me go arrange the details." The man starts away, but pauses after several steps and turns back to fix Balasar with a firm gaze. "Just what stakes did you have in mind?"
"Fair enough. Sharpen you blade, warrior - I'll see you in the arena soon."
An arena attendant ushers Balasar into a staging area for combatants. Does Balasar need/do/ask anything prior to the start of the fight?
I saw the minor grammatical error and got the idea that Balasar, well-cultured as he is, could reply sarcastically, "Very well, I will sharpen me blade." That made me realize that Balasar would unintentionally be speaking like a pirate. Now I keep getting this funny mental image of Balasar in pirate clothes.
I got less sleep than usual last night, so my brain's functioning at less-than-ideal capacity.
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Gong is a half-orc of few words, and he is not particularly interested in lengthy haggling for the sake of a few coins. He will pay 300gp for the +1 quarterstaff and ask how much he can get for his mundane staff.
Videfro accepts your gold and, after looking it over from various angles, offers 2 gp.
Gong accepts the offer.
Balasar spends a few minutes languidly observing the matches, before asking the adventurer (in a tone of mild annoyance) "When is amateur hour over?"
Without turning his head, the gladiator flicks an appraising sidewise glance at Balasar. Roll a d20 with a +5 bonus.
18
With a slight nod, the man replies, "Damned shinies; wouldn't last two minutes in a real fight. Probably piss themselves just looking at the enemy. Not that many around here could show them what's what. Bunch of posturing fakes trying to look tough for the crowd."
Balasar maintains his languid manner as he responds: So how do the real fighters around here stay sharp? This clearly isn't it.
"Huh. Wouldn't know about other fighters. Used to be that a few of us owned this contest. We whipped these gladiators into shape and separated the gold pieces from the dung heap. Kept the fools in the crowds and real fighters in the arena, but too many of us moved along and now this crowd has taken over. They won't even let me put on an exhibition match anymore - too scared that I'll accidentally let a lethal hit land on their pretty, polished armor." With a snarl, he spits on the ground, "Pathetic cowards!"
Fighting an exhibition match might be entertaining. I've been getting bored lately. Balasar stifles a yawn.
The man actually turns his head to give Balasar a proper appraisal. "You might really mean that." the says with a touch of bemusement in his gruff voice. "Tell you what maybe we can-" The man's voice is frowned out by the magically-magnified voice of the arena announcer: "NEXT UP, A NEWCOMER TO THE ARENA. HAILING FROM PARTS UNKNOWN AND TRAINED TO KILL BY FEY BEYOND THE KEN OF MORTAL MAN, PLACE YOUR BETS FOR ROTH THOOOORN-GNAAAAASHER!"
A large, pale, bald man stalks into the arena. Armed only with a shortsword and shield, he prepares to face off against the winner of the last match.
Eying the new combatant's ready stance, the adventurer turns his attention away from Balasar. "Well, shit. Either this fool has watched a few real fights or we might be in for a treat." Turning to a mearby attendant, the adventurer tosses a pouch of coins, calling, "50 gold on Thorn-Gnasher." He turns to Balasar, "You in?"
Why not? I'm in for 50 on Thorn-Gnasher. Balasar tosses the requisite amount of gold to the attendant.
The announcer continues, "But, will this newcomer's mysterious martial prowess be enough to unseat today's big winner? Fresh from his fifth victory of the day, start placing your bets for your golden champion, SIR! NICHOLAS! HOLLOWAY!!!" The crowd cheers as the winner of the prior matches, apparently some kind of noble judging by the polished silver and gold adornments of his breastplate, readies a gem-encrusted rapier and poses for his audience. With a nearly deafening CLANG, the announcer's gong signals the start of the fight. Holloway gives a smarmy grin and calls out, "On guard, you filthy vagabond!" Roth, dressed merely in a loose tunic, appears to seethe, his muscles growing taught and bulging with increased blood flow. With a cocky sneer, Holloway lunges forward but Roth steps back and to the side, shield raised to deflect the sharp point of the showy weapon. Roth closes the distance with sword and shield extended out in front of him in a guarded thrust, aiming for and connecting with his opponent's weapon hand with the point. Though pained by the blow, the dull blade of Roth's arena weapon prevents Holloway from losing his hand. The crowd gives a collective gasp as Holloway stumbles back, flexing his wrist and fingers. In a venomous tone, Holloway snarls, "You'll pay for that, wretch!" Darting like a snake,Holloway lunges forward in a movement nearly identical to his last attack. Roth meets his opponent's swing with his shield, attempting to turn it aside, but finds the noble to be stronger than he appears. With a burst of power, Holloway manages to slam the gilded hilt of his rapier into Roth's face, bloodying his nose. The crowd roars with varied emotions. Rocking back a few steps, Roth shakes off the blow before striding back into striking distance. Using his shield to cover his weapon hand's action, Roth tries for an underhanded swing, cleaving up in a diagonal aimed once more at his opponent's weapon hand. Whether or not Holloway has seen true combat, he proves his proficiency in dueling with a flawless parry which deflects Roth's attack safely to the side. The crowd is split evenly between cheers, boos, and gasps. Not underestimating the noble's strength this time, Roth attempts to bind his blade with his opponent's weapon to lever it into a better position for a counter and makes a thrust at his opponent's throat. However, the angle of attack allows Holloway to simply sidestep the blow and recover control of his rapier. With identical bursts of speed, the two gladiators rush each other, trading blows with such blinding speed that, were it not for the flecks of blood, it would be nearly impossible to tell whether either opponent succeeded in striking the other. With a final push of exertion, Roth's next three attacks are a series of wheeling cuts all aimed at his opponent's head at alternating sides. Left temple, right temple, left temple. Hollow ducked, dodged, and caught the third blow clear across the face with such force that his limp form was launched back nearly 10 feet from where he'd knelt. Had Roth's blade been a true weapon of combat rather than the dulled blade of this sport arena, Balasar is quite certain such a blow would have neatly severed the top half of the young noble's head from the rest of his body. "well, I'll be damned..." said the old adventurer to Balasar. "Someone who can actually fight."
After a moment of stunned silence, the announcer's voice rings out over the arena, "WE HAVE A WINNER! BEATING THE ODDS AND UNSEATING TODAY'S CHAMPION, RAISE YOUR VOICES FOR ROTH THOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRNNNNNN-GNAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHEEEEERRRRR!!!!"
Balasar gains 250 gold (really 200 as this amount includes the initial 50gp bet).
Balasar nods appreciatively, before turning his attention back to the adventurer: Still up for that exhibition fight?
The old adventurer smiles. "Ha! Watching a good round like that always gets the blood pumping. Let me go arrange the details." The man starts away, but pauses after several steps and turns back to fix Balasar with a firm gaze. "Just what stakes did you have in mind?"
How about that Greatsword you're looking to sell?
After a palpable pause, the adventurer growls out, "That would be quite a prize. What's your ante?"
Four potions of healing and 400 gold. By my calculations, that should roughly equal the amount you're asking for the sword.
"Fair enough. Sharpen you blade, warrior - I'll see you in the arena soon."
An arena attendant ushers Balasar into a staging area for combatants. Does Balasar need/do/ask anything prior to the start of the fight?
I saw the minor grammatical error and got the idea that Balasar, well-cultured as he is, could reply sarcastically, "Very well, I will sharpen me blade." That made me realize that Balasar would unintentionally be speaking like a pirate. Now I keep getting this funny mental image of Balasar in pirate clothes.
I got less sleep than usual last night, so my brain's functioning at less-than-ideal capacity.