Round 1 - Garlic Jr vs Kilah

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  • Round 1 - Garlic Jr vs Kilah

    Scenerio - You've been forced into slavery in ancient Rome and sold to a gladiator trainer for use in the Coliseum. After months of difficult training, it's time to enter the match.

    Assignment - Roleplay yourself and your thoughts as you're taken out into the match, up until the match actually begins. First person

    Rules - You can't actually roleplay the match. Only the time before it.

    You have FIVE DAYS from this post to PM me your product. Put both your name and your oppenent in the subject
  • Round 1 - Garlic Jr vs Kilah


    They call me Fabius. It is my name I suppose. To me it?s only a word they shout to get my attention. A curse they spit towards me in an ill mood. It means ?Bean?. As in ?as small as?. The self righteous slavers puffed up on hollow power and empty meaning get a good chuckle out of it. They forget the fact they are just as small as I am when I?m bleeding on the floor.

    Their words are as unfamiliar as the warm weather and strange food, but I managed to pick up a few things here and there after months of captivity. Bean is one. Motherless Goat Fucker is another. When I?m not being beaten I have a sword in my hand. It?s too small. I carried daggers thicker in the north. They make be stab a dummy over and over. I sincerely hope they are not trying to train me to fight. I know how to fight, and this is not it.

    I sit now in a cage scribbling on a scrap of dried animal skin. There are others like me. Northmen, Greeks? men as black as night and as white as the snow. It seems these Roman have taken the world and reflected it in their gloomy, wretched little den of slavery. They must feel very accomplished indeed to have everyone under their thumb. It would hurt my pride to realize I?m one of these broken men. I look into each one of their eyes and, blue black or brown I see myself, a hopeless man living on only because life is the only possession they still own. It would hurt my pride if I had not discovered something. They handed me my sword again today, and let me keep it. I wondered at first how they could trust me not to kill them as they led me to this prison. Then I realized I hadn?t raised my hand to strike. I did nothing, and they knew I wouldn?t. My pride is dead.

    And now I can hear shouts as loud as thunder. I feel their voices vibrating my chest. They come from outside? somewhere. There is a gentle sway in our cramped jail. It gives the feeling of movement, though there is nothing more than darkness outside the bars. I realize, with not as much amazement as I would have once felt, that not one of us even poked a finger through the steel container to see what obscured our view. I look at my tiny sword and glance at an Arabian?s whip. The puzzle pieces click in my head. The roar of voices, the endless torture and training, it all makes sense.

    I am a Gladiator. When they rip off that drape around our cage, and I am sure that?s what it is, they will want us to fight. The bearded man to my right looks at me strangely as I laugh. Forgive my poor handwriting. My hand is shaking too much to draw the letters properly. I am so happy I could go to Valhalla right now and almost feel sorry for it.

    I have a purpose again. Blood will spill and guts will reek this eave! Mine or theirs it matters not. I will regain my honor, and I will die or live like a true Northman. In Battle!