"Well," Begins Olaaf in the couch, "I was born at a very young age and named Guthrie...."
By the time Sir Jerival lets fly with his second 'homing-arrow' it has to weave a path past Blade as well for the warrior is charging off to aid Lathspell. It seems that Jaltra has done too much running away for everyone's liking! With two arrow wounds and Blade adding his expertly-wielded cudgel to the fray Jaltra cannot hope to prevail. Still the Corgulian fights to the end and makes a point of concentrating on Lathspell, just managing to fell her with a suicidal overhead swing. A second later Jaltra too is down, impaled by Lathspell's dying lunge and skull shattered by the open-shot he gave Blade. The animated Weapon arrives a second too late and collapses in disappointment.
Chevalier finally hacks off the head of the devil that has plagued him. The Duke vaults off the stage, sprints and with a spectacular ceiling-scraping leap he tackles Olaaf. As he crashes into the lich the Duke rapidly casts 'ward off evil' on him so that the effectiveness of the spells Olaaf casts to repair his undead form are reduced.
Mark
A close thing and somehow Chevalier is the last man standing despite the odds, remarkable since he was only prevented from doing the same last time by Bilbo Ponds. An earlier double-team would have finished him off as would a one-on-one with somebody like Jerival or Slanter with others around to polish off the survivor... but once more strategy, reputation or blind luck wins out.
At this point the lich snaps out of it and rolls off the far side. For his part Chevalier had grown bored by the time Olaaf got to 'was' and turned his attention to the ever handy butt of all his jests, Sir Weapon. Even in death there is no dignity for the servant of law as Chevalier uses another 'animate weapon' spell and sends him off to clear up the privies.
This done the Duke turns his attention to Olaaf, who is now hovering above the stage. A well-aimed break spell shatters the lich's enchanted drum, ensuring it causes no more dead to dance. By way of revenge Olaaf casts a spell of his own. All over the stage wigwams spring up populated by long haired wasted humans in colourful flower-patterned clothing. All manner of stray dogs and spare children wander around the organic vegetable plots dotted between the tee-pees. At the heart of all this, right next to Chevalier, appears a ten foot tall red-skinned humanoid with two pointed horns, a sharp black goatee and a flaming trident. The spell? Commune with Devil of course.
Across the hall the Lathspells nod to Blade and quickly inform him that they're going after Jaltra. Blade looks relieved at this since it gives him a chance to get his searingly hot armour off and also avoids him having to fight women. Had Lathspell but known this last sexist thought was running through the Exile's head she would've undoubtedly have laid into him immediately.
Turning tail the Lathspells take off after Jaltra, wading through the reeking muck through which he has already blazed a trail. The fact that Chevalier has recently elevated Jaltra to 'keeper of the privy seal' seems to have inspired the Corgulian to seal himself in the privy but Lathspell clearly doesn't intend to let him lurk there long.
As Blade struggles with his armour blistering his fingers Jerival is gulping down a healing potion. The knight then pointedly taps a small ring on the little finger of his left hand. Remarkably this tap effects a miraculous repair and the ring of cold resistance suddenly starts to work! Seeing that he is under no immediate threat Jerival next gets out his longbow, muttering a spell or two as he does and strings an arrow to it. He glances briefly towards the stage where chunks of new-age travellers are flying this way and that as the Duke and the devil battle back and forth most theatrically.
As the Lathspells round the corner they are greeted by the sight of Jaltra crowning himself with the broken toilet seat from the rearmost cubical,
"I am Jaltra, Lord of the Privy Seat! Lathspell, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!
The Lathspells need no encouragement and rush forwards.
"Now!" Shouts Jaltra as they pass the first stall. His carefully positioned crossbow fires of its own accord from within the stall and the bolt hammers into the side of Lathspell's remaining duplicate with killing force. The true Lathspell and Jaltra then close for the kill, each with sword in hand. They trade several blows without bloodshed, each getting the measure of the other. Both are splendid fighters though outclassed by many of the legends that have already fallen. Jaltra has the edge in this pairing though and his enchanted sword widens the gap further - still it is not a sure thing and one slip could put either one in the shit! To further tip the scales in the Corgulian's favour his familiar joins the fray, an annoying wisp of smoke that circles Lathspell's head causing her momentary but frequent inconvenience.
Using a combination of clairvoyance, track and bullshit Sir Jerival lets fly with a shot that veers off around the corner swerves past Lathspell and hits Jaltra in the shoulder - though only because his current swing had raised it before his throat!
Back at the stage the show must go on and Olaaf is helping things along. He has helped Chevalier from overheating with all the exercise he's getting fighting the devil by casting Ice Blue on his chain shirt. Being a famously kind soul Olaaf also took pity on Blade and dispelled the annoying enchantment on his armour with an idle wave of his bony hand.
Olaaf is desperate to get away from the Duke but since Blade and Sir Jerival are just interested bystanders and the Duke can leap as high as the lich can fly there is no place to run. Gamely the lich smothers his Orthian host in black fire, pouring the midnight conflagration from his staff as the Duke smashes him apart. The processes of dismembering Olaaf is a lengthy one for his capacity for self-regeneration is remarkable even hindered as it is by Chevalier's enchantment. When the Duke finally stamps on Olaaf's skull without it popping back into shape again he looks in a bad way, scalded by the black fire, his armour decaying and stained.
There follows a rather comic stand-off where Blade waits for Sir Jerival to attack Chevalier so he can join in and Sir Jerival waits for Blade to make the move. Both men want to join in a mass attack on their host and both are too cautious to make the first move. Eventually when the wait becomes embarrassingly long it is Chevalier who decides it.
Making use of the breathing space granted him by the two heroes' timidness Chevalier cuts his chainmail away. Calling on Orth the Duke summons armour fashioned from amber light, it springs up around him encasing him in its fierce glow. Then to ensure that an Orthian will win the day whatever happens Chevalier charges at Jerival.
It's a weaponless brawl once more, just fists, knees, teeth and feet. Jerival hasn't got much left - nobody has after putting down Slanter Magicstorm! Still Chevalier has tussled with Blade, a pudding elemental, a devil and Olaaf so he's none too chipper himself. Just as Chevalier dives for Jerival the warrior casts a medley of spells, two 'brake' spells and a 'chance' suddenly bring the Duke to a shuddering mid-air halt. This allows time for Blade to jump in and pummel Chevalier from behind whilst Jerival's duplicate throws itself in from the side. The fight is on, the odds looking rather stacked against Chevalier.
Amazingly the early stages favour Chevalier! The 'armour of god' that he has summoned up is incredibly strong and no punch can do more than tickle him, even with the giant-strength of Sir Jerival pinning the Orthian and Blade smashing his hefty cudgel down on his head they can achieve little! It becomes clear that Chevalier's use of this most powerful spell means the final reckoning will have to be with weapons. Blade leaps back to draw his scimitars, the Jerivals tumble clear to draw two swords apiece. Then they close again, six gleaming razored edges wielded in the hands of men every bit as skilled as Chevalier if not more so, all pitted against the single axe he holds. With a joyous cry he storms forwards, Hart's axe whistling through the air, the sky above him turning the colour of blood as he screams his war-cry so that crimson light floods down through the high windows.
This final fight is an epic, Chevalier unstoppable, howling as he rages through the glittering whirlwind of his enemies' swords. He seems filled with new energy and Hart's axe lands with terrible force. The armour that wraps him tames all but the best placed of blows and the Duke isn't offering many targets. Were Blade and Jerival armed with two handed weapons it might be a different story! Sir Jerival moves like greased lightning and even with OrthÕs divine inspiration it is hard to hit him. Several times he manages to not be where he should, HartÕs axe giving him the closest of shaves as he sways out of the way. It is only a matter of time though and the fight progresses at blinding speed. Within twenty heartbeats Sir Jerival is laid out, his lifeblood gushing over the littered floor of the feasting hall and his duplicate winking out of existence. Driving on Chevalier takes the battle to Blade. He takes a hit to the side, trapping the scimitar as it cuts into the translucent armour and lodges between his ribs. Swaying out of the second scimitar that he shouldn't have even seen before it sliced his head off Chevalier makes a tight upward swing and buries his axe in the Exile's ugly face.
As Blade's incoherent bubbling howls are suddenly silenced and his corpse tumbles the Duke takes a step back and staggers. Limping heavily, barely able to stand, he makes slow progress to his throne. He slumps into the seat of power, blood flooding from his injured side and running down the steps of the dias. For a long moment Chevalier surveys the scene of utter chaos and carnage before him, the corpses of men, women, even a elephant, strewn food - some of it still wriggling, scorch marks, sewage stains, blood, blood and more blood.
"What a party."