The Brawl: Prelude

Max

Tumbling out of the sleeping tubes and stepping stiffly out of the van the next morning you find yourselves on a spreading green lawn. Vehicles of all models and states of repair are parked in hilter kilter rows -- damn' vans, jump bikes, cave primitive jalopies and chopped motorcycles next to sleek mag-runners and flying carpets fringed with golden thread.

Just as motley are the folks gathering for the Brawl. A few cars away a red-faced strongman in a striped leotard does a vein-popping isometric workout while an obese elven swami looks on, standing on one leg and sneering. Wooky roars and dwarven work songs rise above the low commotion.

The lawn slopes gently to a low, wide-fronted mansion in the austere yet pompous Vulkin style. The building is in poor repair, but clusters of jerry-rigged antennae and satellite platters jut from the roof. Tents and food stalls flank the house. But it's the wall that draws your attention above all else: A high wooden palisade stands in the back lawn of the estate, three or four stories tall. As far as you can see there are neither windows nor bleachers, and only a single entrance through a tunnel off to one side of the manse. Guard towers spaced every few hundred feet make it look more like a prison than an arena, and you can hardly guess at why a crane towers over the walls.

"Hey guyth!" jitters Darryl, popping out from behind the limbo van. He sips coffee from a styrofoam cup. "How did you sthleep? I've been up an hour, sthcoping the competithion. Who'th this? I've never et a hobling before. Ha! I mean met a hobling. Justh joking! I'm Darryl. Doeth anyone want thome coffee?"

[I'll post at lunch tomorrow if time permits. In the meantime let me know if you have any reconnoitering you'd like to do]

wulfgar

Creature eyes scan the area for the following:

-any sign of the POlice

-any sign of grub

-any sign of Regina

Max

Creature doesn't see any fuzz, but the watch towers on the palisade are manned. The only sign of Madam Regina is her offspring, previously noted.

At the base of the palisade wall vendors hawk greasy carny food and Brawl memorabilia.

Rondo

Buck stretches his arms and yawns, "Hey there, Darryl."...Buck is eyeballing the layout of this place. Scoping out anything that looks like losers could be liquidated with: 3 headed giant cages, bloody holes in the ground, 35' plasma destructor ray cannons, etc.

Max

Most of the guards on the towers appear to be armed with modern crossbows. A few carry wide-nozzled hoses strapped to canisters on their backs. No other obvious threats, but you can see nothing of the arena itself.

Dr Rotwang!

Quazarn, Master of Magyks, is nervous.

Very nervous.

Quazarn is a warlock. His is a higher art than that of these common...well, his is a higher art than fisticuffs. Were this a wizards' duel, he'd be more in his element; if it were a popularity contest, he'd be a sure champion. Yet this competition is one of brute force, and it is not therein that his strengths lie.

In other words, he's a wimp and he's scared.

All the same, he does his best to appear unperturbed. He masks his insecurity under a veneer of concentration ("No, I'm sitting over here quietly and with closed eyes because I'm meditating," he is heard to say), but deep inside he is wondering to himself -- What have I got myself into? Why did I agree to this? Why am I even ON VANTH?!

His suffering is silent, his introspection in vain. Soon the Brawl will commence --

-- and he, perhaps, will meet his end.

He asks the orcs to turn up "Baby Come Back" a little louder -- "Yes," he insists to them, "AGAIN."

rondo

Buck notes Quazzie doing some serious meditation....he approaches, "Hold on to that magic stuff of yours....we may need it to get out of this mess! Don't worry, bud, I'm not gonna be stupid enough to let you get killed...just be there to throw the heebie-jeebie in yer so good at to keep us from getting killed!"

Max

Dr Rotwang!
He asks the orcs to turn up "Baby Come Back" a little louder -- "Yes," he insists to them, "AGAIN."

"Gnuggh, bung away now! We're off shift," snuffles the driver, punching in the soundcube for some kind of squealing orcish blues rock.

Quazarn has no chance to voice his disapproval. The pork-rock, the din of the crowd and the yells of peanut vendors are drowned out by a blast of static and a bland voice announcing over a whining PA speaker, "ALL FIGHTERS, REPORT TO THE TUNNEL. PLEASE HAVE YOUR INVITATIONS READY."

"Don't worry, guyth," chirps Darryl tensely, "I got 'em right here. Excthept for the hobling. Isth he in the Brawl too?"

[Is he, indeed? Does Hobson plan to take his chances in the ring? He can probably whinge an invitation from a scalper if he wishes.

[You others, this is your chance for any last minute preps...]

Age of Fable

I press the jewel on my cloak, turning my Hologram Clothes into an appropriate camouflage pattern, and no doubt earning a substantial bonus to Sneak and hide.

wulfgar

Creature falls into line with the other brawlers headed towards the tunnel. He stays close by Darryl, and slightly behind. Eyes alert for any threat in the crowd.

[If we're going to be Darryl's security detail, someone else should be sure stay in front, and to the flanks. Maybe Darryl's mom can hook us up with some secret service style earphones.]

Coffee

Zarko scans the area for any possibility of getting a bet down.

He's going to bet on Darryl to survive, if such a thing is possible. He'll put all of his money on that (plus the fiver he borrowed).

It won't matter if he loses, because he'll be dead himself...

Age of Fable

I look for anyone who might have an invitation I could steal (e.g. if it's in their back pocket).

Max

[Roll Happenstance & we'll see]

Age of Fable

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showp...&postcount=124

1 !!!!

Max

[critical success!]

Hobson is so focused on checking out asses that he trips over a snap-brim cap lying in the grass. Picking it up he realizes it's his exact size and, according to the sewn-in label, is the "Property of Tyson Hobfoot." No less preposterously, an invitation is tucked into the lining of the cap.

Dr Rotwang!

Shuddering inside but stone-cold bad-ass without, Quazarn lifts his chin and strides confidently at Darryl's side.

Age of Fable

I ask Quazarn "so...what did you think of my idea?"

Dr Rotwang!

"...eh? I'm -- I'm sorry, which...?"

Age of Fable

"Well...you know how some adventurers carry everything they own with them all the time? I thought there might be some easy pickings."

Dr Rotwang!

"Oh! Ah. That one. Well...very well."

Hobson

"Um...OK. You sure you're completely OK with that? It seems like a pretty major change of plan for you guys. Is the Creature gonna understand?"

Dr Rotwang!

"Let's go with 'no', then."

Max

Coffee
Zarko scans the area for any possibility of getting a bet down. He's going to bet on Darryl to survive, if such a thing is possible. He'll put all of his money on that (plus the fiver he borrowed).

"No life or death stakes, buddy. Don't usually more'n, oh two three fighters die in a Brawl. Now that young rep-tile looks like'n a pipsqueak. But he ain't what you'd call a known quan-ti-ty. I can give you sundown once at two to one, noon twice at five to one. Sundown twice...call it ten to one."

[Most bets are based on how long a fighter remains unbeaten in the two day Brawl. Sundown once=end of first day, noon twice=noon of second day, etc]

Max

Your crew of six joins the press of fighters moving toward the arena. A Roget's dozen of amazons, battlers, belligerents, boxers, bruisers, contenders, grapplers, gladiators, he-men, pugilists, rowdies, scrappers, and thugs crowds into the tunnel.

The throng splits into several lines in the tunnel, each passing through a turnstile where invitations are checked. The mild voice on the loudspeaker continues: "ALL FIGHTERS, REPORT TO THE TUNNEL. PLEASE HAVE YOUR INVITATIONS READY. AFTER CHECK IN PROCEED TO THE LOCKER ROOMS TO STOW YOUR WEAPONS AND EFFECTS. PLEASE USE THE LOCKERS PROVIDED. ENTERPRISING HAND, INCORPORATED IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR LOST VALUABLES OR GEAR."

Each of you is stamped with a locker code and given a numbered bib as you pass through the turnstile. In the locker rooms the mood is polite but tense. Darryl rocks from foot to foot, shadowboxing in front of his locker; from what you can tell he loses the bout against himself in a split decision.

"BIGBY SMALL'S BIGTIME BRAWL IS A TEST OF INDIVIDUAL STRENGTH AND MARTIAL PROWESS. NO WEAPONS, MAGIC OR PSI POWERS ARE PERMITTED."

Your gear stowed* you continue through the tunnel. It slopes up again near the middle of the arena. The crowd bottlenecks at a narrow gate. A cage to one side holds a bald and scabby ornithorhynchoid with a fanged beak. At the other side is a long-legged ungulate with electric blue fur and a wriggling trunk. After passing between these odd beasts each fighter is scanned by a curvaceous cyaborg with an x-ray camera mounted on her neck.

"AS YOU ENTER THE ARENA PLEASE NOTE THE LOCATION OF THE RETREAT CHUTES--" "Chicken holes!" jeers a thick-necked amazon. "IF YOU WISH TO RETIRE FROM THE FIELD OF BATTLE AT ANY TIME PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE NEAREST RETREAT CHUTE. THERE IS NO REENTRY."

*[let me know if you'll be chancing any gear.]

Dr Rotwang!

Max
"BIGBY SMALL'S BIGTIME BRAWL IS A TEST OF INDIVIDUAL STRENGTH AND MARTIAL PROWESS. NO WEAPONS, MAGIC OR PSI POWERS ARE PERMITTED."

"Mister Pulsar," sneers Quazarn, "I am coming back to haunt you."

wulfgar

Creature stows all his gear in the locker room.

Age of Fable

When we get to the lockers, I'll see if there's anywhere I could hide.

Max

It's a fairly standard changing room: benches, lockers, showers. You might be able to squeeze into your locker, but it would be tight as sardines. There is a supply closet you could try getting into [Dex check on d20].

Age of Fable

I try and fail.

I try to change my hologram clothes to look like anyone working here that I've seen.

Max

You look like a tool in the uniform, but the disguise takes effect. There is an orderly about, you've noticed.

wulfgar

Did we have to take our armor off? It's not a weapon, magic, or psi power

Max

[Shoot, you got me. You can guarantee there'll be controversy over this Brawl, and heads will roll in the front office, but as it wasn't expressly forbidden in the final draft of the fight regulations, armor is ok. I'll warn you though: everyone will think you're a pansy for wearing it.]

wulfgar

[I'd rather be a pansy and live then macho and dead. (Creature's saving throw is a NEGATIVE 1% without armor, 42% with)]