>Last Thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/44829707/>Stats:>Vigor d8>Speed d8>Power d6 (-)>Skill d10 (+)Your name is Vespillo Atius, and you are a gladiator.
The crowd roars to see your battle, your glory, and now, your death.
As you struggle for your breath while your lifeblood and strength drains from your wounds, the trident you carried lies on the ground before you.
But before you can scrable to reach it, a lance pierces your back again, tasking away what little fight you have left in you.
None of your body parts function, and you can seemingly only wait for death.
"You have fought well. But there can be only one champion."
His voice is more calm than you would expect of an executioner. The point leaves your back to be drawn back, and the crowd's cheer signals the final strike being raised.
A blinding flash of sound and pain knocks you awake.
It seems that your near-death experience was a dream, and you've been shunted awake by the rude sound of your jailer hammering his hand on the bars of your cell.
"Caelius, get the cleanup crew- the silent brat crapped out in his sleep."
Then he sees you awake, and he sneers, rolling his eyes. "Never mind, we just have a beauty sleeper here. Hope your arm's doing well."
It twinges in pain from the wound inflicted on it yesterday, but you can get up and move.
"Get to mess, now. We've got to train you so you don't go down so quickly next time. Three days until the next festival, don't waste it."
He waits for the other stragglers to come out as well, browbeating them more the slower they move.
Seems you have no choice.
As you go to mess, who are you looking for?
>The boy>Two-swords>That large man you talked to earlier>Someone else>Sit by yourself>Write-In 