D&D Arena: Brutal Bastards, Beegraks and von Brandt

7 Dice Rolls whirly whirly

"Did you seriously just bust out Magic Missile? You know, Reynolds, they're running a Juniors Arena event next week; padded sticks, pillow armor, that sort of thing. Might be more to your speed, give it some thought. Meanwhile, buddy here can't even walk unless you tell him what order to lift his feet in. Keep it up, I could still die laughing."

Cyrus ducks under the assassins' blades, darting over to the rubble to continue his game of cat and mouse with Reynolds. He's gone before they can even react, leaving a humming little sphere of energy on the ground as he departs. He doesn't even glance backward as the spellsphere erupts. Cool guys don't look at explosions.

He skids to a stop only to find a couple of thugs shaking down his reptilian pal.

"Are you guys pummeling that lizard? You can't pummel the lizard in public. That's just disgusting."

The mighty winds of Decency and Self-Restraint buffet the offenders. Smiling the smile of the just, Cyrus zestfully bites into his complementary cookie.



Lightning Shift to J11
Thunder Bomb at J17. 19 damage to Assassin A; he's slowed.
♫Action Point♫
Whirlwind at F13; exempt the Beeg.
Attempt Good Timing, fail, take 5 damage.
15 damage to Thug B; he's prone.
Eat dat cookie



There's nowhere I can't reach.

2 Dice Rolls PFFFLLTLTL

Things were looking bad for Clone von Brandt. He was backed into a corner, between a rock and a hard mace. Desperate and short on ideas, he attempts to prevail on Reynolds' extremely limited sense of honor.

"Enough of this spellslinging, Reynolds. Let's settle this between the two of us, man-to-man. Raise your quarterstaff and fight me. STAY BACK, Beegraks! This is between me and him! Just keep those other goons away from us and our manly man duel."

And with that, von Brandt lunged at his old accomplice, dagger in hand.

Shift to K12
Phew, running out of options here...
Stab the fuck out of Reynolds, I guess. 9 damage to that guy. Woooo.




This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

1 Die Roll stabbin' time!

"Hey now, I just asked him to stay out of it. If he doesn't comply, what can I do? He's not my slave, Reynolds. I just met the guy today!"

Things were far too cramped; Cyrus could never get a spell off without some bastard pummeling him halfway through the motions. It was down to him and his trusty knife. With a grimace, he brings the blade scything down toward Reynolds; the wizard deflects it with his staff. Things were looking grim.

Shift to K13
STAB REYNOLDS. Fail.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

5 Dice Rolls FURY OF THE STORM

"Get your hands off me, you mouth-breathing simpleton. If I wanted to manhandled by sweaty men I'd dress up like your whore of a mother."

With a grunt, Cyrus breaks free of the thug's meaty paws and skids onto the glass; the lightning was already crackling in his palms.

"Send her my love, would you?"

I Want To Break Free!
That was a close shave.
Shift to L14
Try to Not Fall. Assuming I stay upright, proceed as follows.
Lightning Strike vs Reynolds, risk a staff in the face
Miss. GOOD TIMING GO!
17 damage to Reynolds. 3 to the surviving Assassin

How ya doing, buddy?

3 Dice Rolls oops, I mean

"You were better off as a decoration, Reynolds. At least then I couldn't skin you for a new pair of gloves. Now, however — "

Cyrus turns away coldly as his old acquaintance withers away under the ruinous power of his own spell. Were all of these fools going to self-destruct?

Stay put, smirk a bit
Lightning Strike to Assassin
20 damage to Assassin, 3 damage to Thug

How ya doing, buddy?

2 Dice Rolls like, a lot

Cyrus flicks a spray of acid in the thug's face, and a wan smile settles over his features.

"I've no doubt that I'll accompany you at your destination one day. Already bought the ticket. But I won't travel with you today; haven't finished packing."

Shift to N16
Acid Orb vs Thug
11 damage


FELIPE NO

Cyrus delivers a solid kick into the paladin's ribs.

"On your feet, you great oversized kobold. Mysteries are afoot. Why, I've not been in such a dark and smelly tunnel since that lich queen ensnared me with her illusions. Quite fetching illusions, mind you."

Cyrus sidles over to the edge of the nearest west-oriented tunnel, waving his arm around in front of it vigorously. You can always get a new arm, but a handsome face like his was really quite irreplaceable.

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

Von Brandt's face lights up with a childish glee. He seizes upon the light-controlling lever, flipping it back and forth as quickly as he can. With his other hand, he quickly fetches a sunrod from his belt and ignites it, waving it back and forth under the pulsing light. A strange and eldritch song comes to the forefront of his memory, the arcane lyrics pouring unbidden from his throat.

"DOOM. DOOM. DOOM. DOOM—"

Get the Flash Player to play this audio file:

A few minutes later, he releases the lever and leaves it in the "on" position. He's sweaty and exhausted. What had come over him? No matter. Without further hesitation, Cyrus darts down the passage, glancing down the nearest eastern passage (or was it just another nook?) before doing a hella sweet tuck and roll to stop in front of the second passage. The endorphins were still coursing through him.

"DOOOOOOUCHE!"

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Still dizzy and over-enthused, Cyrus darts over to the urn and seizes it with both hands.

"You can keep those scraps, lizard. This sweet-ass helmet I claim for the kingdom of Brandtopia."

And with that, he returns to the main corridor, overturns the urn and places it over his head.

"GET OUTTA THE WAY, SUCKAS. HERE COMES THE LIGHTNING TRAIN!"

Lower head
Charge southward until collision, leading with be-urned noggin
Scream "choo choo!" every few moments



Most amazing jew boots

3 Dice Rolls FOOM

"Lizard, aid me! So violent was the collision that my own skeleton bones have leapt entire from my body. Twice! We must capture them intact, that I may safely return them to the warm embrace of my guts. If there are any leftovers, we may build a skeletal butler from the remains, or perhaps an end table. Anything is possible!"

And with that, Cyrus began to flap his arms around wildly. His strange belief in his own bonelessness combined with his magical talent makes his whirling limbs not unlike a pair of spinning rotors, and the skeleton before him was toppled easily.

For the duration of the battle, attack to subdue rather than kill
Whirlwind centered on Cyrus, excluding him
20 damage to Skeleton AC3, and it's prone
Lightning Shift up to X3, look down that side passage while I'm there.



This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

1 Die Roll lightning strike D

"By Tiamat's furrowed monobrow, they're reproducing! How vile."

Cyrus' lip curls in disgust, watching as the pile of skeleton bones writhes around and occasionally vomits forth another fully-formed skeletal combatant. What fresh hell is this, that he must behold his own skeleton copulating with itself? Von Brandt had seen more than his share of foul deeds, but a necro-incestuous skeletal clone orgy was far outside his experience.

"There are more than enough of them that we may safely destroy them at will and still reassemble a butler from the remains. We must stop this horror at once. I don't know how this works, but let's try the most obvious method first."

And with that, Cyrus aimed his mighty boot directly at the nearest skeleton's pelvis. The offending bone rockets away from the rest of the skeleton, flying backwards through the ribcage of the skeleton behind. Both collapse in a heap.

Lightning Strike (as melee) to Skeleton D, branching to B; both destroyed, by my reckoning.



I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

4 Dice Rolls *OH MY GOD JC

"This is silly. We have wasted our time destroying them as they spawn, when we should rightly focus our efforts on the spawning pile itself!"

Cyrus flings a thunder bomb from his palm, smiling smugly as it bounces around the heap of skeletons and lands in a dark corner... before it detonates with a deafening kaboom.

Thunder Bomb centered on AD3
20 damage to whatever I hit



I was speaking idiomatically.

2 Dice Rolls NANOANGSTROMS

Cyrus glares hatefully at the bone-pile. Why is it so mean? Why won't it just go away?

"I hate you, bone pile", he mutters, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Eyebite vs pile. 12 damage to pile on account of it feels guilty for being such a dick. Cyrus gets hell of invisible.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

PICK UP BARREL

POUR CONTENTS ON HEAD

(POSSIBLY BE DISSOLVED)

FELIPE NO

Move to AA9, pull other lever simultaneously
Fumble with it
Get a grip on that greasy lever
Ugh, jeez
Tug on it

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

5 Dice Rolls save vs bein' oily sad face

Cyrus releases a most powerful and toxic wind from the core of his being. How odd; he had not intended to cast a spell at this juncture. Perhaps he had swallowed some of that delicious-looking oil as well. The box to his west turns a distinct greenish color.

Whirlwind centered on self.
10 damage to Chesty (after resistance); Chesty... knocked prone?

Try as he might, Cyrus cannot pull free of the mimic's tendrils — despite being covered in oil. Things were looking grim. His best hope was to try for the ol' switcheroo...

Action Point, Second Wind. Since I used an Area attack at melee range, I should have provoked AoOs. If I SURVIVE those, and one of them misses, use the baffling cape power to switch places with the one that missed.



Jam it back in, in the dark.

5 Dice Rolls *crit bonus v chesty

Much as he had always wondered what it would be like to have a chest of treasure return his loving embrace, Cyrus was beginning to find the experience tiresome. Rifling through his cloak for anything that might disentangle him from this silly situation, his hand falls upon a small orb that he'd forgotten he had. Smiling, von Brandt produces it with a flourish.

'twas a holdover from his erstwhile days in the dangerous field of arcane machinery. In practice little more than a black iron sphere filled with gunpowder, Cyrus had imbued it with little mechanical legs and an extremely primitive intellect. He called it Bob. With a sad smile, Cyrus winds the little key on Bob's back and sets him on the floor. Bob waddles away toward his target, happy to serve.



Cyrus takes a step back. Or six steps.

The resulting blast is more effective than he could have ever anticipated. A single tear rolls down his cheek as he watches his old project erupt in flames.

Lightning Shift to AA3
Thunder Bob-Omb to AB10
Missed Boxy. Good Timing? Man this is a risk.
Crit vs Chesty. 36 damage, and Chesty loses any resistances (save ends).
Hit vs Boxy. 21 damage.



How ya doing, buddy?

1 Die Roll stab stab stab!

For a strange moment, Cyrus feels consciousness leaving him as the paladin's foul halitosis clogs his lungs. But 'twas not so. If he had to die from a poisonous blow job, he'd do it in the luxurious murder-bordellos of Thay, like his grandfather and his great-grandfather before him.

There were probably wiser things to do in this situation, but the nauseating stench of Beegraks' half-digested last meal still clogged his nostrils and made him dizzy. This was no time for the complex machinations of a magus. No time for cunning works of dazzling spellcraft.

This was stabbin' time.

...Cyrus immediately regrets his decision to initiate Stabbin' Time. Perhaps it was not yet stabbin' time after all. It might be that it's only Fail O'Clock, or even half past stupid. It's hard to keep track of the time, down here in the tunnels.

Strut over to AA5
Stab that mimic (w/ Ensorcelled Blade)
Fail at it
Glare at Beegraks, like, super hard. Like, pretending I have laser eyes that's how hard I am glaring.



How ya doing, buddy?

3 Dice Rolls *SAAAAAAAND

Cyrus prepares to finish the battle with a breathtaking whirlwind of sandy sand sand sand. Sand.

BUT HE REALIZES: The sand will also hurt Beegraks, his boon companion, who had never done a thing to hurt —

Oh wait, right. Fuck that guy.

Boxy ESCAPES SAND VENGEANCE
Beegraks takes 23 SAND DAMAGE (totes by accidents man serious)
Loooooool



I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

2 Dice Rolls *Crit your pants

Cyrus crouches down beside the mimic for a little heart-to-heart.

"Listen, lil' buddy. You're in the way. Now, you've got your own life and your own goals. I understand that. But I'm the protagonist. Surely you can see that. I have a unique appearance, whereas you look exactly like your dead friend there. I know this is a lot to deal with, but you're obviously just chattel to slow us down on our route to — well, I don't know. Me, I'm mostly seeking ale and whores. And Beegraks, well, he seeks... scaly whores. And possibly scaly ale. You know how it gets when you've left a pint out on the table for a week or two while you're out on business, and when you come back there's this stink and this foul crusty stuff is growing on top? That's scaly ale. The dragonborn view it as a delicacy. I made all that up just now, but who are you to contradict me? You're just a squishy thing that pretends to be a box. What do you know? All you can do is try to hug people with your face, and you're shit-poor at that. Scuttle off and die now, there's a lad."

And with that, the box completely died immediately, for reals.

Eyebite Boxy (as Melee, Blade Channeling)
CRIT! 26 damage.

I was speaking idiomatically.

2 Dice Rolls my old nemesis! A BOX!

"Box, you are a fool to resist my command. Now you will suffer the eternal torments that my magecraft can bring to bear! STEEL YOURSELF FOOL, FOR I SHALL —"

And then Cyrus punched the mimic. Baffo.

"HOW'S THIS? HOW DO YOU LIkE IT LIKE THIS?"

Ensorcelled Blade
15 damage
Die already dang

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

"A BLUE THING? I DEMAND TO CONTROL IT, BECAUSE — I'm a selfish ass, let me through."

Wear (either) mimic as a hat
Reapply oil to self
Charge into new room at top speed
Deliberately pratfall; engage Slip 'n Slide Mode
Pull any levers found there, one after another, with no regard

FELIPE NO

Cyrus stumbles to his feet, woozy from the collision. "Beegraks, take care! Your bones are attempting to escape, just as mine did! Even now, your skull is protruding from your face. Shove it back in, man! SHOVE IT BACK IN!"

Despite his alarm, von Brandt was suddenly suspicious of the dragonborn. Though his skull was clearly rebelling, it was obviously a human-like skull. Could Beegraks' claim of being dragonborn be a mere ruse? Perhaps this was another of the arena's hated doppelgangers, sent to stop his mission to rescue himself. He'd have to keep his eye on the paladin. Still, if it were true, it meant the fiends were truly careless; they'd failed to even ward their own servants against their diabolical skeleton curse.

Such new dangers required a new caution. Hacking away at the empty chest, Cyrus painstakingly pulls away the lid. Strapping it to his arm with a length of rope, Cyrus makes for himself a poor-quality buckler. One cannot be too heavily armored in such grim situations.

Thus girded, he peers down the corridor to the east of the chest.



What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

1 Die Roll Arcanarama

Cyrus stares at the scraps. He frowns. He rubs his chin for a moment. He shuffles the scraps around a bit (wiping the oil from his hands onto his trousers first). He grimaces, and his brow is wracked by mighty ideas.

"Do you think—", he begins, and cuts himself off, lost in thought. "Maybe they're bingo chits. We just have to find the bingo hall, friend. And a hat to draw the chits from. Well, a clean hat. Mine won't do at all. And also we will need 10-25 pensioners from which to collect entry fees. And then — then, dear Beegraks! We shall profit by it."

Arcana Check on the scraps. Doubt Cyrus learned anything, though.

Putting the scraps aside for a moment, Cyrus hurries over to the suit of armor. Tossing aside his dead mimic chapeau, he seizes the helmet from atop the armor and plonks it upon his own head.

"You see? Providence has already granted us the fine headgear we required. Surely we're on the right track!"



Jam it back in, in the dark.

Cyrus was quite distracted indeed, taken as he was with the glorious armor before him.

"I am no coward, but it has come to this", he mutters. "In these dark times, my physical frailty must not be allowed to slow me in my quest for freedom and vengeance. Though this armor be both heavy and clumsy, its infinite durability cannot be denied."

Thus determined. Cyrus dons the layered platemail.

Has he lost his mind?
Can he see or is he blind?
Can he walk at all
Or if he moves will he fall?

"Behold, dragonborn!", he shouts, his victorious roar echoing from within the mighty helm.

"I AM IRON BRANDT."

And with that, the Invincible Iron Brandt rips the pouch from the door and proceeds to hammer away at it with his mailed fists. Offerings were for lesser men.

There's nowhere I can't reach.