As Sirs Weapon and Andre proceed to knock seventeen shades of shit out of each other, adding to the sewagey swamp effect that is apparently in vogue for Ducal cloakrooms Just leaps from one corpse to another. He leaves the late lamented Bilbo Pond and lands beside the late unlamented Mace, armed only with a hardy lobster.
The enraged Mace-lobster gets a grip on Sir Weapon only to be blown off by a bolt of energy. The lobster manages to snip off one of its own legs, using the Loviatar spell 'double cut' to create a nasty though less severe wound in Sir Weapon's leg but then Mace's brief encore is bought to a swift close as the curtain comes down in the form of a very large black two-handed sword. Having dealt with the Crustacean of Pain Sir Weapon uses his final 'track' spell to set the musicians playing 'Law? I am the law!' [Theme from the Judge Dredd movie if you must know].
In the cloakroom Stumbles, Mumbles and Alberich are experimenting with alcohol. The dwarf has cast the spell 'Summon Ogre Spirit' reasoning that Ogre Spirits may well be even stronger than dwarven spirits. Sure enough a tray bearing three large mugs of clear liquid appears before them. The Ogre Spirits are so strong that they ignite on contact with air but none of these hardened drinkers are going to let something minor like that get in their way. Alberich urges his companions to get some serious alcohol down their necks. Unfortunately robbed of his agility as he is that is exactly what Stumbles does. At the same instant Mumbles the Duplicate vanishes, dispelled by a restless Olaaf. The abandoned mug falls to the ground, landing on Stumbles who has just thrown himself down to try and roll out the flames currently spreading over him. The only thing Alberich can think of to save his friend is a quick bolt of cold. He knocks his spirits back first though, not wanting the precious liquid to burn away. Sadly the spirits have a somewhat detrimental effect on the dwarf's aiming and it is the largest Lathspell who is struck by the bolt of cold. Stumbles was intending to chill his drink with a bolt of cold of his own but now he targets that on his armour. This combined with 'rolling about in shit' result in him managing to extinguish himself but not before sustaining some horrible burns and worse still... having his 'wonderful' cloak burned to ashes.
Up in the gallery Sir Jerival returns to do battle with Slanter Magicstorm. Both men put up their dukes and close. Slanter is in plate armour, Jerival in chainmail. Jerival casts 'Ice Blue' on Slanter's armour, Slanter repays the compliment. Slanter is simply brilliant, his punches precise and blindingly fast, his body always positioned just right, reading every blow and moving accordingly. Jerival is scarcely less skilled, he dances like the proverbial butterfly and stings like a demon-hornet...and that was without drinking a potion of speed! Despite Slanter's superlative skills it is he that takes the worst of the fight, punch after punch reaching his head until both eyes are swollen and bleeding, his nose broken, his lips split. The trouble for Jerival is that no matter how hard he hits Slanter, or how often, the Renchuite simple refuses to go down. More over he keeps hitting back! As the superb fist-fight wears on Sir Jerival begins to falter, looking woozy. Sir Jerival didn't come to lose though and seeing the writing on the wall he quickly incants a 'duplicate' spell. The duplicate jumps Slanter, pinning his arms and allowing Sir Jerival to land a crucial series of blows that finally send the General tumbling down. The two battered Sir Jerivals then stand panting, surveying the scene, the original distinguished by the fact he is shivering and his chainmail is frosting up.
Mark
We have:
At the cloakroom: Blade (cooking) and two Lathspells
In the privy: Jaltra
On the couch at one end of the ruined stage: Olaaf
At the other end of the ruined stage: Chevalier
In the gallery: Jerival (freezing) + Jerival.
Deadline 5th December.
Next round will be the final one. Next Brawl will be Brawl 2000! and puns will be outlawed!
"It is not fated that the only servant of this new God should die so soon." Just declares with the confidence of a man who knows that what he says is right by definition. "He must be taunted some more."
As this point Just invokes that most powerful of spells and brawl-time favourite - 'raise dead'. The previously dead Mace flips onto his stomach and scuttles towards Snowolf, making pincer-like motions with its newly living living axe. The lobster of Loviatar is lobbed neatly at Sir Weapon who is just turning away from the battered remains of his vampiric foe.
"In honour of your victory noble knight!" Calls Just.
"Oh one, oh-one-oh-one-oh-one!" Chants the Duke with evident but mysterious glee from the stage.
Olaaf has been eyeing the amulets that Just threw his way and now tosses the largest of them back at the grey demon,
"Healing." He offers by way of explanation.
Just(tm) to be sporting Just catches the thrown amulet. The attached curse is suitably silly, a vast disembodied golden hand appears above the Dianodian pointing at him with a nine foot index finger,
"It's you!" The deep voice resounds throughout the hall.
Being poked in the eye by a finger the size of a smallish tree can be fatal. In Just's case it simply puts him on the floor. Just looks to the gallery and is about to launch himself up out of further harm's way when suddenly he vanishes and reappears before the stage beside Lathspell, wearing a flat cap.... Just(tm) above the Dianodian and Haquarian the Duke Chevalier is immediately on the defensive at the sudden and unwelcome proximity of this deadly swords'man'. Mumbles appears to be flabbergasted... at least as far as it is possible to tell through the pink goo still dripping slowly off him, he looks in amazement at his hands,
"B..b..b..b..but... I was going to do that!!!"
Lathspell looks rather surprised at having her call for a lowly boggit answered by the most feared of asylum escapees, Just. She was not aware of his deal with the boggits nor the last service that remains outstanding. Now with the power of life and death over the Dianodian she sends him out with strict instructions to delay and annoy Jaltra, suggesting that pestering him for his autograph would be good.
The real Mumbles has decided that life on the stage is not for him and is heading back down towards Alberich and his duplicate, nodding to Lathspell and Olaaf as he passes.
"Coming through." As he veers round Sir Jerival and Snowolf.
Olaaf confuses the issue by summoning a duplicate of himself to cower behind his bodyguard, Cid, whilst he himself continues to fly out of sword-reach. The lich does Mumbles a favour, a single spell removing all remaining traces of blancmange from the warrior and mounding them into a pink elemental. The elemental is strengthened by several jellies and a vat of spilled tapioca before it begins to ooze up the step to the stage.
Alberich meanwhile has decided to alleviate the boredom of the wait by picking up an asparagus spear which he then hurls at the Duke. Although well cooked so as to be crisp rather than soggy the small piece of vegetable matter hardly constitutes an offensive weapon.. that is until Alberich augments his cast with the spell 'Orth Spear'. The asparagus cracks across the room and hits Duke Chevalier in the left eye. He slips in some blancmange and goes down. The pudding elemental is on him in a trice.
The dwarf is knocking back his second healing potion as Mumbles arrives. With the aid of the 'Find Known Object Spell' Mumbles locates the 'small knife for peeling fruit - of Orth' amidst the scattered cutlery on the great table. Lacking a vast horde of swarthy heretics to charge single handedly as is traditional when in command of such a weapon he settles for ganging up on the nearest terribly injured Corgulian knight with his duplicate and friend Alberich.
Sir Weapon finishes up with Sir Andre. Casting the 'history' spell he declares,
"You're history, Bud!" Consigning the vampire officially to the annals.
The knight is not about to go quietly and readies himself as the dwarf and his twin cohorts approach. As Mumbles comes closer, his tiny blade at the ready, Sir Weapon takes refuge in word-play once more. The Corgulian spell 'know characteristic' becomes 'no characteristic' and targeted on Mumbles' agility leaves him more suited to being called Stumbles. A 'blinded by the light' spell and cast of Sir Weapon's net of entanglement temporarily inconvenience Alberich. The Duke manages to rise from under pudding attack and yell,
"Oh-one-oh-one-oh-one!"
He casts an enchant weapon on Weapon's weapon, turning it into the 'Throwing Teddy of Orth" but even Chevalier's massively boosted magical powers can't fool with such a sword for long and it soon regains its black runey-ness. Sir Weapon puts up a valiant offensive-defence but in the end though there are too many opponents and it is the duplicate Mumbles who fells Sir Weapon with a mighty swing of his flail whilst the original flounders in the sewage.
Up in the gallery, now freed from playing Sir Weapon's selection the harpist stands, retrieves the fallen gong and slings it down to strike Sir Jerival. The copper disc becomes a deadly missile, moving with far more speed than one might imaging a harpist could muster and swerving in mid air to ensure hitting its agile target. After striking the knight the gong ricochets off, bounces from the ceiling and scythes across the hall to neatly behead the cloakroom attendant. The thing shows no sign of slowing and continues its crazy bouncing whilst the man who flung it cackles up in the gallery, punctuating each strike with unnecessary howls and cries. With his wig slipping off and his cloak falling open to reveal plate armour underneath, the chestplate bearing Sir JackÕs red fist device, the harpist bears an uncanny resemblance to Slanter Magicstorm....
Sigurd is at the fountain now, washing the blood from his face. He was prepared to match the banana he has armed himself with against Just's lobster but thankfully the Dianodian didn't linger to dispute water rights. As Sigurd looks up he notes that the legendary Dianodian has just(tm) arrives at the dias with a scavenged quill and parchment, bent on getting Jaltra's autograph come what may. The Corgulian abbott shrugs and goes off to inspect the toppled remains of the great cake for which there surely must be some further use?
Sir Jerival has recovered from his unexpected collision with the gong he vandalised earlier and has swigged down a potion of speed - as if he weren't fast enough already. Now with a fly spell added into the mix the knight is buzzing around evading the ricochetting gong with a casual ease that is beginning to infuriate Slanter. Snowolf has thanked Sir Jerival for his help and is now casting about for somebody else to battle. The Moranan's eye falls on Cid and twinkles wickedly. All of a sudden Cid is an ornamental cherry tree and the duplicate Olaaf is securely bound to the boards by the long thick grass that suddenly erupted from them, threading in and out of his ribs to provide him with a very knotty problem indeed.
Snowolf is just turning to deal with the usurping major Jaltra when Ariaana's rather flat zombie jumps him, having been animated to the beat of Olaaf's little drum. The lobster-possessed Mace crawls into the fray to help Ariaana out. Jaltra meanwhile rises from the throne imperiously, booming,
"Law? I am the law?" With a smile towards Sir Weapon's gory remains.
He half draws his sword before being overwhelmed by a choking fit, managing to croak,
"Olaaf.. you..." Before sprawling at the foot of the throne.
Just is not to be dissuaded from his task by inconveniences such as lich-induced death and advances on the fallen Corgulian, quill at the ready. Jaltra's condition is merely a ruse and he greets Just with a lunge at the vitals. The two then become embroiled in a second practical exposition of that age-old conundrum - which is mightier the pen or the sword. Whereas in Sigurd's earlier investigation the proponent had in fact been armed with a thirty pound swan of the female persuasion Just is armed only with a feather from said avian and a little ink, he is however rather fast and damn good with it. Jaltra is a very fine warrior and although distinctly out-classed by the madman he is facing he is able to make the Dianodian pay in blood for each jab with the quill!
Snowolf turns from finally laying Ariaana (fnarr) and Mace to rest once more only to see Jaltra victoriously slice Just's head from his shoulders and run off towards the toilets bleeding from a dozen inky pen-wounds. Chevalier, Duke of Puns, manages to loose another spell from his gooey fight, this time 'break' causing Jaltra's sprint across the hall to be interrupted by a spot of involuntary 'dancing'. It is at this point that Slanter's gong smacks the Moranan hero squarely in the back of the head. Snowolf staggers and is bought down by Eleanor and Rupert, the pair freshly animated from their recent demises. The gong shoots up at Sir Jerival. The air-born knight is also the target for a double armful of highly expensive cake. Quick as he is he can't evade both the gong and the wide spread of confection... so he opts for the soft option and takes faceful of icing.
Sigurd may be a man of the cloth, indeed he is proving the fact by wrapping a hacked off-off section of the table covering, but that doesn't save him from the knight's ire. Nobody chucks cake in the face of Justicular Jerival and gets away with it! Sigurd sprints for cover. With commendable sneakiness he dives under a propped up section of the table, deftly leaving the cloth draped over a chair in the hope that Sir Jerival might dive onto it. Unfortunately the knight is sharp eyed and deadly accurate, zipping under the table-boards to do battle. The heavy boards shake and rattle as the two combatants fight it out beneath, using every sneaky trick in the book now that they're unobserved! Sigurd is a decidedly 'tough cookie' but under the kind of assault that Sir Jerival - Defender of the Bridges, Justicular of Bisha etcetera etcetera can manage the cookie is swift to crumble. Sir Jerival emerges licking cake from his lips only to be struck in the stomach by that damned gong. With a snarl he takes flight, this time bound for Slanter Magicstorm up on the gallery.
Immediately after Lathspell has sent Just to hound Jaltra her old accomplice, Gitt, takes a mirrored orb from his pack and lobs it over her head. As it flies over Lathspell returns fire, sending a bolt of energy out to slam Gitt back into the fireplace-come-elephant-latrine. The mirror ball lands amidst the shattered glasses just as Lathspell taking a leaf from Chevalier and Weapon's books by casting 'duplicate'. The silver light from the exploding mirror ball refracted and reflected through a thousand shards of crystal somehow infiltrates the forming duplicate spell and the net result is a peculiar 'russian doll' effect. Lathspell now stands at the head of a parade of six identical but progressively smaller Lathspells! As one they all draw swords, ranging from long to bodkin, and charge Gitt.
Quick as blinking Gitt has four oranges in the air, juggling them in a swift circle and lobbing each at the charging women as it reaches his hand, the process never seeming to reduce the number of oranges in play. As each fruit strikes home it explodes in a miniature fireball. Several of the smaller Lathspells are torn apart but the four largest which reach the mystic make short work of him, proving to be excellent swordswomen. Gitt's last act is one of revenge, pierced by several swords he manages to turn towards the fireplace and gasp,
"OPEN!"
A mighty fire is suddenly rekindled from the cooling embers buried beneath the dung and the rapidly growing inferno has the Lathspells staggering back, hands blistering, hair smouldering. One of them is too slow and joins Gitt on his self-made pyre.
As an accompaniment to the explosive re-ignition of the fire the stage collapses. Blade has been hard at work and now cherry tree, bound Olaaf and pudding-beset Duke all come tumbling down to his level. Blade doesn't know or particularly care that Olaaf is a duplicate, he thoroughly enjoys breaking every bone in the lich's body with his stout cudgel in record time.
Blade spares a glance for Chevalier, still fighting off his just desserts,
"Wolly Wook!" He manages, spitting copious amounts of blood.
Blade seems to have lost any animosity towards his host and looks for an alternative opponent. Glancing up he sees that real Olaaf is out of reach and sets to clambering out from the wreckage of the stage. It's a choice between three pretty sisters of varying heights with bloody swords in hand or the hefty Snowolf. Blade prefers to snog women rather than hit them so it is Snowolf, just decapitating the last undead female to bother him, that gets jumped.
The Moranan is very battered and in no mood to indulging in fisticuffs with a man that got the best of a tussle with Chevalier de l'Enfernal. The first bolt of energy staggers Blade, the next stops his charge in its tracks, the third unbalances him and the fourth sets him on his back. The livid beam that next leaps from Snowolf's palm strikes Blade's heave plate armour without apparent effect but before long will cook the warrior in his mail.
"Orrrrr - oorreerraahh" Roars Blade as he regains his feet.
The Orthian is under-impressed by all this magic and brings up his cudgel, intent on getting ugly... well uglier. Snowolf calls BladeÕs cudgel and raises him a longsword. Amazingly, despite Snowolf's martial excellent and the advantage of a far deadlier weapon Blade makes short work of him. For sheer violence few can beat and Orthian and none have so far beaten this one! The cudgel cracks across Snowolf's face as the Moranan's thrust scrapes over BladeÕs warming armour. As he tumbles losing teeth, blood and consciousness Snowolf half casts his last spell. The Moranan's arrival on the ground coincides with a mini earthquake that makes it seem as though he outweighed the elephant! Large cracks run up the walls, glass rains down from above and chunks of masonry crash down here and there.
Jaltra slips past the smouldering Stumbles, looses a crossbow bolt that nearly rips off the left arm of middle-sized Lathspell and then ducks into the nearest privy. All three Lathspells give chase.
Chevalier finally finishes his pudding and gets up. He can see only Blade as a potential target for his next spell corruption 'Amour of God' and since they've already snogged he contents himself with leaping down behind the warrior and slapping him across the back. In the instant of contact Chevalier lisps through the words of the 'Orth Spear' spell ensuring that it is pronounce "Orth Sphere". Blade rapidly becomes ball-shaped and the Duke boots him after the fleeing Lathspells. Alberich gives way to no-one, especially when drunk, and further more is persona non grata having already injured a Lathspell. Mumbles is bound to stand beside his friend - if he can get up. It's a recipe for disaster.... especially since Blade regains his normal dimensions on arrival.
Whilst Inquisitor Major Jaltra cowers on the ruined privy Blade, Lathspell, Lathspell and Lathspell do battle with Stumbles and Alberich. The dwarf meets Blade, pitting his gauntletted fists, augmented by the Orth magic 'Iron Fist' against Blade's cudgel. Stumbles is facing three expert swordswomen with swords in hand and so naturally brings his two handed flail into play. He puts on a surprisingly good performance despite being robbed of his natural grace. His armour seems to have divine origins, certainly it can soak up damage like a sponge and thrusts that should have left him dead are turned with no noticeable effect on him. Still the odds are stacked against him and Alberich is 'busy'. Mumbles is finally decapitated by a fine rising cut from the original Lathspell, though she has only one badly injured sister for company now.
To say Alberich is a doughty fighter is understating the bleeding obvious. There are very few people on whom one would bet to defeat him in a brawl but Blade is an obvious candidate - the pair were the last two standing in the Grand Melee at the recent tourney and Blade was the one left standing. Alberich's skull is remarkably thick and whilst the Ogre Spirits have played hell with his timing they seem to have given him 'immunity to cudgels'. Nether-the-less Blade keeps bashing, his plate armour proof against most of Alberich's punches (most!) and eventually the dwarf goes down with a broken head.
The Duke's last and most heinous punning crime is reserved for Olaaf the Ancient. He casts 'shrink'. Immediately Olaaf drops from the air and lands on a convenient couch. Chevalier sits on a wooden beam, crosses his legs and licks Just's abandoned quill.
"Tell me about your childhood..."