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Rolled 2, 6, 20, 4, 4, 5, 15, 7, 16, 12, 18, 15 = 124 (12d20)
16,16 vs 19, 17 – Nico blows the counter – his cracked ribs slow his attack and Dad dodges…now Halo comes storming in to crush Dad’s skull! Rolling for Halo in HTHx3, HWx3, DDx3, DBx3 format. Halo has a +1 to-hit, a +10 to wound, Dad has his +2/+6 dodge/block bonii as prev desc…
As tempting as the shaming of Hyperbius would be, you decide against any such delays and resolve to simply take off from the beach with all possible speed. After all, this is only the second of the three Oetian challenges – a first-place finish today would near-guarantee that you receive the champion’s laurels at the end of the Games. And not to mention, the recovery of your father’s shield, and some additional burnishing of your κλέος besides.
Looking ahead, you see that Eurykratides has taken the time and effort to lay out a broad “trail” of split logs, flat side up and carefully joined together, to meet the edge of the earthen trail and guide the carts down to the waves – the wheels rattle loudly against the timber, and you scatter nearby gulls into the air with the racket you make. You constantly check for Hyperbius’ progress over your shoulder, but he is only just now descending into the marshy flats, many strides behind you, and too far away even for one of your legendary spear-casts - he is no threat to you, certainly, and has apparently calculated that a second-place finish is preferable to facing you directly.
The shouting of the arena crowd is now entirely swallowed by the pleasant surf as you pass on the wooden road, but to your distaste, some vagrants have camped here, hoping for a glimpse of the competitors. They tumble out of their makeshift huts and from behind shrubs to gawk at you and shout at you in their gaptooth pidgin, draped in filthy rags. You pretend not to see and hear them. Truthfully, you could hardly even call these rootless, indigent men Hellenes; men so impoverished of mind and body that they are claimed by no king. Thankfully, the sweet breath of Ζέφυρος draws away whatever mighty stench their unwashed bodies are producing…
Before you, the Malian Gulf’s waters are quite calm – you’re no sailor, but even you know that a shallow gulf tends towards peaceable currents. It is only out on the wine-dark sea that a man must be on watch for the ship-breakers. The boats of the challenge are set about one hundred strides distant from one another - the western-most with a black hull, the middle vessel painted a dull red, and the eastern-most, a brilliant white. Each boat appears to have a team of laborers awaiting the arrival of the competitors, and as far as you can see, the vessels are mastless, quite small, but broad and deep-bellied. Likely that they are only just large enough to support a pair of oarsman and the caged bull. Speaking of, your captive, the bloodied bull, only lows from time to time as you approach the center vessel – apparently, he does not fear the water.
>cont
