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

2 Dice Rolls Initimimididate

"Hudda hudda huh. Hut, hut."

Running start to build up momentum
FAIL TO Punt Smarno down the hallway

"Hrmph. Well, just, uh, my foot slipped, there. Lead on, tiny person. But beware: if any tricks are afoot—"

Cyrus claps his steel gauntlets together, as though squashing a bug.

Intimidate: 18
Follow him wherever he wants to go



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

1 Die Roll arcanity

"TREACHERY!"

Something was squirming amidst the corpses. Iron Brandt could appreciate a good slaughter, but something was clearly alive in there. Obviously it was more goblins, planning to flank them from behind once this Smarno had lowered their guard.

Though suspicious, Iron Brandt proceeds into the bloodstained chamber. It was possible that the goblin was only acting incredibly suspicious because he didn't know any better. Iron Brandt had been there. Involuntary Suspiciousness Syndrome was no laughing matter.

Back into bloodstained room while keeping an eye on Smarno
Arcana check



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2 Dice Rolls zap~

His suspicions were confirmed. Smarno was up to no good. Not that Iron Brandt was up to any good either. It could be argued, von Brandt mused, that Smarno was, incidentally, up to some good by the pure accident of standing in the way. The whole thing smelled of a setup, though. What kind of name was "Smarno Bonnor"? Clearly a pseudonym. Some kind of anagram, probably. "Morons Rob Ann"? Could be. Beegraks had robbed a lot of women of one thing or another. "Non Snob Armor"? Iron Brandt's new duds were certainly quality, but they didn't seem especially snobbish. "Born On Ransom"? Iron Brandt didn't recall ever holding anyone for ransom. On the whole it was faster just to kill the rich people directly.

Iron Brandt's eyes widened as he came to the obvious answer. "Son, Manor Born". He gazed on Beegraks with a new disgust.

"Goblins, man? Really? Have some standards."

Still, it wasn't in von Brandt's blood to hold a man responsible for his philandering. "You can't hold on to the past, boy!", he shouts, ignoring the confused expression on Smarno's face. "Carve your own path! He's a wild man, you can't try to tie him down! Wooooo! Wooooooo yeah!"

Iron Brandt felt that perhaps he had gone somewhat off-message. And so, enabled with greasy fast speed, he rushed over to Smarno and smacked him upside the head. Ah, violently battering a tiny, defenseless creature. Iron Brandt was suddenly nostalgic for the beatings of his youth. Say what you will about old lady von Brandt, she knew how to keep an orderly house.

Lightning Shift to H22
Second Wind
Action Point
Lightning Strike vs Smarno; no line of sight to branch it to Rulk
13 damage to Smarno



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1 Die Roll how do they work

"A Baron, huh?" Cyrus thought it through. Baron Mrs. No-No? Nah. That would just be weird.

"Good job beating on that meat.... uh, meat golem. Er, well. You've got the situation well in hand, anyway. I'll go wrestle with that obnoxious little Bonnor."

Something about the situation was making Cyrus feel mildly nauseous.

Dash through the doorway Smarno fled through.
If I see him, attack with Shocking Magnetism
Well, hopefully I don't see him, ha ha



How ya doing, buddy?

4 Dice Rolls secondary VS SELF =(

Iron Brandt picks himself up, snarling with indignation. How dare this little goblin fling bombs at him? Throwing bombs at people for no good reason is totally Iron Brandt's deal. Who was this guy, trying to horn in on his niche? With a snarl, he lifts the visor of his helmet and — promptly vomits directly into Smarno's face. The stench of rotting meat had made him nauseous.

"Let that... ugh. Let that be a lesson to you." Iron Brandt staggers away, hoping his bilious retort had served as an adequate distraction to cover his retreat.

Stand up as minor (Acrobat Boots)
Acidic Implantation vs Smarno. 10 acid damage.
Move to L21
Brush teeth


FELIPE NO

2 Dice Rolls *in the bomb bah bomb bah bomb

Cyrus groans, rising unsteadily to his feet and pointedly ignoring the trickle of blood oozing from the joints of his armor.

"Beegraks, you may have noticed that the goblin isn't dead yet. I cannot recall a single previous occasion in all my life when a goblin has survived more than a minute after meeting me, and yet, here we are. It's farcical. I blame myself; but also, and more importantly, I blame you.

As for YOU!" he snarls, rounding on Smarno. "You want to throw bombs? Very well! I declare Bomb Duel, the manliest of all the dueling arts. Ready your bomb, sir, and throw on my mark. I'll count down from ten. Ten. Nine. Eight. Sev— oops, it slipped right out of my hand!"

Iron Brandt staggers into the doorway of the corpse room, muttering bitterly as the thunder bomb erupts behind him. "Fine tombstone it'll be. Here lies Cyrus von Brandt, king of the assholes. Slain by a raging Bonnor."


Stand up (as minor)
Thunder Bomb centered on Smarno. CRIT! 31 damage. Smarno loses any resistances.
LEAP MAJESTICALLY to P20, BORNE ON MAGICAL BREEZES



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

3 Dice Rolls fly away, little pests

Cyrus was a man most secure in his masculinity. Sure, this was mildly awkward, but the important thing was that he got to live. That was always the most important thing. Nobody was witness to Beegrak's embrace except the goblin and his meat golem, and in a few moments neither of them would be talking to anyone ever again. It was important to protect your reputation, after all.

"There, there, big guy. It'll be okay. Once we get out of here, we'll get you some pudding. A big, big bowl of pudding. How does that sound? Here, let's make these mean people blow away. The wind will just pick them up and carry them off. Watch!"

Whirlwind centered I-21 (no exemptions)
18 damage to Smarno and Rulk (+2 damage from gauntlets), and they're both prone

"Well, that one guy is really heavy. The wind is strong, Beegraks, but it is not omnipotent. The important thing is that they hit their heads when they fell down."



How ya doing, buddy?

2 Dice Rolls STRONGLY DISAPPROVE

"Giant Corpse Guy, I ask you to stand down. Your master is dead! It is futility, surely, to keep fighting this bloody battle against us, we innocents who wished only to travel through your storied halls. Will you not hear my gentle plea?"

Von Brandt barely keeps his gorge down while delivering this preposterous request. Still, the ol' mesmerism works better if you use a soothing tone of voice. Assuming the old meatsack even had functioning ears. Bit of a gamble, really.

Eyebite Rulk (19 damage and I'm INVISIBLE!)
Wade through corpses to P19



There's nowhere I can't reach.

"My friend, Cyrus von Brandt never saw a magic hat he didn't want to wear. I've had enough of this tin can, anyway. Scientifically being encased in iron should make me better at fighting, but that wasn't true at all. Science is just charlatanry, Beegraks, charlatanry and hucksterism. I am Iron Brandt no more!"

Remove Plate and switch back to cloth armor
Don circlet, totally heedless of the danger
Rifle through every single corpse until I find something valuable

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

The takings were unimpressive, to say the least, but loot was loot. He'd killed men for smaller sums. The vision was of no apparent consequence; Cyrus pounds on things all the time. Pound here, pound there. Pound, pound, pound. For a while, the ladies called him Poundmaster C. For a while. People started to get the wrong idea. Tailors delivering trousers six sizes too big. That's no good.

Take all that stuff: none of it seems useful to Beegs

Cyrus whirled around to see the paladin wading through a pile of balls. Cyrus bites his lip. Surely it was just his juvenile sense of humor; nobody would put so many ridiculous things in one place on purpose.

But the puzzle itself was a simple one; Cyrus had helped assemble a similar obstacle himself when he took it upon himself to repair his great-grandfather's tomb. All you had to do was make a five-pointed star — a simple thing for anyone who spent as much time drawing pentagrams as Cyrus had. Without hesitation, Cyrus dipped a finger in the spreading pool of goblin blood and set to work. Within a few minutes he had a recognizable (if somewhat odorous) pentagram to work with, and he industriously placed all the orbs where he reckoned they ought to be.





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

"What is that?"

Cyrus boggles at the hulking beast that appears before him; he'd never seen anything like it. Except, perhaps, in an old bestiary... thick grey hide, a horned brow, mighty jaws...

"Fantastic! Quickly, Beegraks, order your bulette to dig an escape route for us!"

Cyrus pulls the circlet from his head and hangs it on the bulette's horn. Perhaps it would provoke the landshark into a destructive rage. It was certainly making him irritable.



How ya doing, buddy?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Electric Chair? Sounds like an opportunity for MORE POWER. I will steal this chair's electric, Beegraks, and have it for myself."

Sit in the electric chair

"THROW THE SWITCH! I shall have command of the lightning as yet undreamed of!"



What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

"I died. And yet, I live!"

Strap Smarno's corpse into the chair
Flip the switch until I get a zombie minion

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"Beegraks! Where have you gone? And what's that noise?"

A violent shuddering rocks the underground tunnels.

"Did you find another bulette? Sounds like a big one! I will put a giant derby hat and a monocle on him and I will call him Dr. Squishy! I will! You cannot stop me!"

Cyrus is still feeling more than a little woozy from his recent resurrection.

I'm not 100% sure where I'm even AT relative to Beegs right now but uh double-run toward the tarrasque, why not

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

1 Die Roll bluff, I guess?

Von Brandt stroked his beard knowingly. Surely, his companion was enmeshed in what the high elves called the teiraesia mendri — the war against the self. While no real foe was at hand, Beegraks was more than capable of hurting himself while trapped within his own imagination.

The slab was probably to blame. Cyrus frowns as Beegraks violently reels to one side, only kept atop his bulette by the narrowness of the corridor. The hallucinations were getting violent. Best to lead him away.

"Hey, bulette! The real danger is back here! Best deal with me before I slay you both — before I slay you with my mighty boot!

And with that, Cyrus kicks the bulette in the flank.

Attempt to provoke Horny to turn away from the slab via judiciously applied kicking.



Jam it back in, in the dark.

1 Die Roll hmm?

Persuasion had failed. It generally did. Cyrus considered himself a reasonable man, but few of his enemies were reasonable in turn. So it goes. Time for Plan B: throw lightning at it.

Throw lightning at it (the slab)

How ya doing, buddy?