[A scrying pool glows in a darkened cavern.]
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: The Brawl is off to a riotous start! The opening ruckus has settled down and the remaining fighters are licking their wounds and taking stock. Traditionally almost 50% of the fighters take themselves out in the first few skirmishes.
COLOR COMMENTATOR: About half, Bob....I allus useta make for the walls and recruit myself a crew a hardheads. Bust down a coupla big dogs to make a rep.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: And as we've seen, most of this year's contenders have -- what's this? Well folks, this happens every so often. It looks like one of the fighters has decided he's leaving right now! [chuckling] He's got a hold of the medevac crane and he's hanging on for dear life.
COLOR COMMENTATOR: Now see, the pressure gets to some of these guys. Blew his cool. Figgered, "I'm gonna end up in the meat wagon sooner or later anyways!" [more laughter]
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: The apothecary men won't like that one bit though. That's what the retreat chutes are for, after all.
COLOR COMMENTATOR: Looks like a first-timer, name a Buck...Pusslar.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: That's Buck Pulsar, Clubber.
COLOR COMMENTATOR: Pulsar, yeah.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: Now what's this? Oh my, there's a galactic human of some sort...casting a spell! This Brawl is off to as strange a start as we've seen, folks.
COLOR COMMENTATOR: 'Gainst the rules, Bob. Automatic DQ.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: That's right, Clubber, the fighter...Quazarn...will definitely be disqualified. Already they've unleashed the disenchanter, and it's galloping across the arena toward the warlock.
[Shoot, dudes, got all creative writing 101 with my update and ran out of time this morning. More tonight, for sure!]
With a blast of colored string and confetti Troublesome Toy takes effect! The hoist chain and dipper begin to stretch and shrink downward toward the ground, turned into silly putty by the spell. A few feet from the ground the bottom of the dipper droops open and bodies begin to spill out of the basket.
A lanky cameloid beast with electric blue fur and a serpentine trunk trumpets across the pitch, sonic glamers rebounding from the walls with its every step.
"PENALTY! ARCANE DISQUALIFICATION! ALL FIGHTERS STEP AWAY FROM FIGHTER #3586," blares the P.A. overhead. Quazarn doesn't need to look down to recognize the number on his bib.
[Okay, buncha choices here...see if I can get this right....Buck is gonna do a little 'tuck and roll' as we get near the ground (if I can), and start getting to Darryl right off the bat. At the same time, I'm gonna try to yell over to Quazarn with a smile, "Look out! Those fellas don't look happy!" and motion for him to come over to the area where Darryl and I are (not that this is much of anything, Quazzie might have more up his sleeve, or better ideas, but Buck has to acknowledge what his friend has just done for him (us)!]
If possible, Creature is trying to catch Darryl instead of letting him fall onto the ground from the magified steam shovel. Once he catches him (or walks over to him if he didn't catch him), he'll stand by Darryl's side, not really doing much, but ready to pound anyone that comes over with ill intent.
(Whew! Glad to hear it...!!!)
At this point, Zarko is kind of keeping his head down and staying in Creature's shadow.
If anybody comes around and he can get a sneak attack in, he will. Otherwise, he's watching and waiting.
Quazarn, cooler than a cryocuke, holds up his hands with an exasperated sigh. "Relax, fella," he intones to the...whatever-it-is. "I know, I know.
"I'm just going to take my young friend home, " he says, nudging Darryl with his toe. "He's had enough and, frankly, so've I."
[Quazarn's Crowd Manipulate is 70%; I rolled a 05, straight up. I have some mini d10s in a little Chessex dice box -- easy, I just pick 'em up, shake and read.]
Confident that he has been understood, the impressive Remulakian bends slowly, casually almost, to retrieve the lizard youth. "You know," he says over his shoulder to the cameloid, "you could help."
The dipper sags so low that the bodies tumble only a few inches to the ground. Creature begins pawing through the injured fighters, looking for Darryl, while Zarko lurks at his side.
Buck jumps to safety just in time [Literally. JM rolled a Lesser Feat for him: rolled 76% -- needed 77%!]. Even as he touches the ground the silly putty chain is pulled to its limit and snaps upward like a giant rubber band. Two of the goblins leap off the basket, one gracefully, the other with an ankle-twisting thud. No such luck for the third, who is shot squealing over the arena wall and into the distance.
The rapidly charging disenchanter veers away from Quazarn towards the locus of strongest arcane energy, the deformed crane. The dweomerdary begins to leech magical energy from the spell, its blue fur standing on end and crackling with sparks. The chain and basket, now limp and deformed, revert to steel.
One of the apothecary goblins is already on his walkie-talkie, calling for stretchers to haul out the wounded. The other hobbles up to Creature, cursing in goblish. "Zhlernitz! You there, move back! Let the medics work! This place is full of zhoddink clods for you to tussle with. You can go pound your head on the wall for all I care! Just back off and let me do my job!"
Confident that he has been understood, the impressive Remulakian bends slowly, casually almost, to retrieve the lizard youth. "You know," he says over his shoulder... "you could help."
The goblin medic shakes his head, "All I want to do is help your friend, you damned crazy wugmump! If you take a look around you might notice how much harder you're making it for me! And frankly, now you're the one gonna need help. Someone's gonna pay for that crane, brother."
"Right," intones Quazarn. "Because NO ONE STOPPED TO THINK THAT A WARLOCK CAN UNDO HIS OWN SPELLS. What are you, made out of stupidium?"
The goblin is about to retort when the shooting starts.