Welcome to the Game Master Spectacle

The portal dropped them onto a logo.

Surviving Survivor Lee.

The name alone told the party enough to dislike the place. The arena carried the bright, cruel unreality of a contest built for an audience they could not see. The group had entered together, but they were not alone. Two other contestants were already waiting.

One was Rifleton Rob.

He carried himself like a man used to televised danger, bounty work, and the strange normalcy of Game Master events. He recognized the territory before the party did: some games tested people, some killed people, and the prizes were usually good if you survived long enough to claim them. His blood-is-real warning made the situation plain. This was not a harmless illusion or a story-scroll. Pain and death counted here.

The other contestant was Araspinn.

A quiet drow woman, reserved and unreadable, she sat with her knees drawn in and worked with spiderweb in her hands. She did not seem interested in joining the party's banter. She seemed prepared.

Victor chose caution through misdirection and introduced himself as Peter Parker.

Jonah chose prayer.

He gathered the party for a pre-game blessing, giving Victor guidance before the arena revealed its shape. Above them, covered containers descended on chains, hanging high overhead like sealed prizes or threats. Araspinn noticed them. Everyone did.

Then the host arrived.

Exaba rose on a platform and welcomed them all to the Game Master Spectacle. The rules came dressed as performance: collect the prizes, survive the contest, and the winners would avoid being hurt, emotionally or physically, at least for now.

Then came the instruction that defined the round.

Cut up these stomachs and see what you find.

The field filled with goblins.

The game had begun.