Episode 6: The Insufferable Basterds vs Foes of the Past

The 20-Sided Theatre, Episode 6: The Insuffrable Basterds vs. Foes of the Past



Imenand - Blake

Rhomande - Rud

Thrimlach - Cian

Maldreth - Gabe

Issa - Ceri

Thorn - Blake

Vragul - Rud



Drowmande Sorofein - Blake

Torrea - Cian

Sir Gnome - Rud

Tuxedo Beak - Blake

Yfirmadr, Queen of Vragul - Natalie

Ishrek the Gormful (Yfirmadr’s father) - Cian

Vragul’s Uncle Gnarrrrrp - Gabe

The Faceless Pirate - Natalie

Threllis Lein - Cian

Brutalitar the Living Weapon - Gabe

Crowd Member 1 - Gabe

Crowd Member 2 - Ceri

Crowd Member 3 - Natalie

Crewman 1 - Ceri

Crewman 2 - Natalie




Scene 0: Alternate Drowmande/Icosagon Intro

SFX: (90352_dobroide_20100213-tuning-02.wav)




SFX: (2d20 rolls)


SFX: (pause)(51136_rutgermuller_Cough (short))


SFX: (two-count pause)


Rhomande: Hunh... that disembodied voice usually tells us what happened right after we try something.  Oh, well.  No competition!


Rhomande: Good evening Lords and Ladies. You have chosen your evening's entertainment --


Drowmande: (interrupting) Oh, no you don’t, treesleeper!  This isn’t your theatre.


Rhomande: Hey, who the---


Drowmande: (interrupting) Ruffians!  Wenches!  Bloodthirsty degenerates of all ages!  It’s Thursday night, and you know what that means!  Welcome... to the Icosagon!


The Wiz: **From “offstage”** Dancing lights! SFX: (121558_sbarncar_whistleandreport.aif x 5 (bunched in time with opening of Theme Music)


Theme Music: (VCMG – Victory Flower Fields – 20-Sided Theatre Edit)

    --> slight alteration?


SFX: (40555_frequman_pulley-2.wav)

Music Bed: (Sylvius Leopold Weiss – Courante in F Major.mp3)


Drowmande: We join our contestants...


Rhomande: (interrupting) Hey!  We’re “heroes”!


Drowmande:  Not while you’re here, you’re not.


((Sfx: d20 roll))


Rhomande: (Strangled, angry sounds)


Drowmande:  Ahem... Allow me to introduce you to our “Contestants” -- The Insufferable Basterds of Western Scottalia!


(Sfx: Crowd boo)


Drowmande: Thrimlach Lenanien! A blind Elf Sorcerer, stripped of all his attendants, charms, and poultices.  


Thrimlach: Torrea?  Ceatharan?  Where is everybody?  I can’t even see my hand in front of my familiar’s face!  Sir Gnome, I know you’re somehow to blame for this... So help me I’m going to drop you in SUCH a maze!


Drowmande: Imenand Shenouda, known throughout The Empire as The Weaponsmith -- he serves as President and spokesman of The Shenouda Necromancy Corporation, and provider of the Icosagon’s more devious implements of carnage.


Imenand: SFX: (4914_noisecollector_cat2.wav) By Mëassë’s implacable hammer, when I get out of here, I’m going to incorporate you into your masters’ next device!


Drowmande: Issa Featherfoot, Pengonquin Princess. A sneaky, seven-foot-tall Werepenguin!  It’s been quite a while since we had a good beast hunt, hasn’t it, folks?


Issa: (series of VERY angy penguin noises)


Drowmande: Quite a mouth -- er... beak, isn’t that?  Who’s next?  Ah, right!  The terrible, towering Maldreth the Impius, the ogre-blooded Patriarch of the Church of War, dedicated to Makar, Father of Strife!


Maldreth: Ugh!  None of you buffoons will receive the healing might of Makar’s Poleaxe until someone kills that gods-be-damned new voice.  


Drowmande: His Majestic Terror, Vragul, son of Vorbal, King of Town Hall, King of Wagon, King of Docks, King of Wife, King of Bloodless Axe, and Baron of Keepfield!


Vragul: (snoring/sleeping) Zzzz.... king of potato.... king of rock... king of bed... zzzz


Drowmande: Thorn, the Trixie Pixie!  A thieving little gnat, with an indeterminate gender.


Thorn: Hey!  Where’d the cat’s skull go?  I had seven thousand gold worth of miniaturized furnishings in there!


Drowmande: And our leastmost challenger, some flamboyant elf called Rheumy Andy!


Rhomande: It’s Rhomande, and you know it!  Sheesh... and I thought the last disembodied voice was bad.


Drowmande: Coves and Cozies of my blood-lusting audience, recline upon your gilded seats, quaff your libations and thoroughly enjoy your evening at The Arena of Ahk’rapp!

End Music Bed: (Sylvius Leopold Weiss – Courante in F Major.mp3)



Scene 1: Buying, Trading, and Celling


Drowmande: Watch, as our latest attractions awake in darkness with cramped muscles and pulsating bruises.


Rhomande: We’ve already done this a bajillion times!  Tell you what… I’ll just do a quick recap, and we can skip over the whole bit with escaping the cells.


Drowmande: Well, that’s not how I usually roll, but in the interest of time, go ahead, Rheumy Andy.


Rhomande: It’s. Rhomande.  And these are the adventures of my Insufferable Basterds!  When last we stood before my adoring audience, Vragul and the dread Yfirma∂r had just be joined in unholy matrimony by Father Maldreth.  Somehow, my Deep Elf counterpart here…


Drowmande: Hello, my coves and cozies!  Are you enjoying tonight’s spectacle?

Rhomande: As. I. Was. Saying.  Somehow, this filthy, can’t-possibly-be-more-charismatic-than-I, Drow and his as-yet unrevealed master had constructed the wedding scenario as some sort of contest or trial in their never-ending parade of nonsense.  And then they further complicated matters by flipping an unborn baby right-side up and inducing Yfirma∂r to give birth.


Drowmande: Actually, that wasn’t us.  We’re good, but not that good.  It was just a happy coincidence that we got to witness my ninth favorite “contestants” try to save a half-orc woman and child from a breach birth.


Rhomande: Well, that’s a tiny relief, at least.  In either case, everybody was stitched up and sealed with magical healing, when our resident Trixie Pixie made a Spot Check.



Scene 2: Undressed to Kill


Thorn:  Um... while you guys were hiding from that gross makey-outey pair of half-orcs over there, I scouted the door.  There’s a short hallway, then a ladder that just climbs up into pitch blackness.  So, I thought you’d like to know that.


Rhomande:  Why, thank you, Thorn!  I don’t think I could have watched much more of that, anyway.  Let’s see what’s up the ladder.


Issa:  Oh, no you don’t bard.  First, we’re going to poke everything with a ten-foot pole.  Once the most dangerous traps are set off, then you can climb into the unceasing blackness.  Now, just a few Search Checks... 


((Sfx: d20 roll x3))


Issa:  Hunh.  Must be safe enough.  Get on up there, bard.


Rhomande:  With pleasure, Lady Featherfoot.  I shall scout ahead, that I might find the best of hiding spots and take my notes in peace!


Rhomande:  Ahem.  I climbed up, through the ceiling into a lightless room.  Even my keen elven eyes could reveal little more than wooden floorboards and the continuing ladder.  Finally, after hours of climbing...


Drowmande:  You’ve only been climbing for three rounds.


Rhomande:  (annoyed)  After what felt like hours of climbing, I struck another wooden surface.  ((Sfx: head bonk, rhomande “oof”))  I felt about ((Sfx: d20 roll)) until I grasped a handle and pushed ((Sfx: Creak, crowd noises, water noises))


Rhomande:  I had emerged onto the deck of a small ship, greeted by the thunderous applause of -


Drowmande: (interrupting)  Once again, my Corinthians and Coquettes, the screechy elf from Scottalia has maneuvered to put himself alone in center stage!  What do we think about such attention-seeking behavior?


((Sfx: crowd boos, angry sounds))


Rhomande:  You again!  Then I suppose this is to be another of those absurd trials.


Torrea:  Master Sorfinde?  Are you up here?  Ah!  There you are!  Lord Thrimlach sent us up here to check on you.  


Rhomande:  Us?  Who’s us?  Oh... Sir Gnome.


Sir Gnome:  Yeth, Mathter.  Pleathe don’t kick me head off again, Mathter.


Rhomande:  Worry not, Sir Gnome.  I wouldn’t touch you with one of Issa’s ten-foot poles.  Dame Marsvel, howsabout you get the others?  Things look like they’re about to get stabby.  


Drowmande:  Are you done setting up, now?


Rhomande:  I believe so.  


Drowmande:  Then, while the rest of our contestants make their entrances, let the Deep Elf from the Continental Shelf reveal the scene!


Drowmande:  All around, you can see a phantom audience floating on the air in tiered seats, at a half-mile distance.  Some of these phantom spectators look very familiar, possibly your friends, enemies, family, or the family you’d rather forget.  We at the Arena of Ahk’rapp would like to remind you to spend time with the people you have strong feelings for.  Especially if those strong feelings culminate in chaos.   


Drowmande:  Beneath the ethereal seating stretches an endless expanse of ocean.  The sun hangs high in the sky, and a smoky haze drifts toward the southern horizon.


Maldreth:  (from offstage) I’m not waiting for everybody to climb up that ladder!  By the Gory Hooves of Makar’s Favorite Horse, may you be granted a quick Jaunt through the Ethereal Realm! 


((Sfx: Ethereal Jaunt))


Drowmande:  Excellent!  Now nearly everybody is in place!


Issa:  Where the heck are we?  Is that some sort of merchant’s ship, down there?


Thrimlach:  Hey, look!  Rhomande’s down on that boat!  Hey!  Ceatharan!  You still owe me forty gold pieces!


((Sfx: Crowd boos))


Drowmande:  Ah!  I love the ringing echoes of my violence-mongering spectators splitting the heavens with its cheers, boos, applause, and curses – especially when each of these is directed individually at the Scottalian Basterds, in half a thousand languages.


Vragul:  Me no understand what you say!  Me no speak nothing but Old High Orc and Middle Common!  Speak civilized language to King, or you be chastised!  With axe!


Imenand:  Interesting... A few of these languages are unfamiliar to me.


Thrimlach:  Not to me.  I’ve been a lot of places.  And these people aren’t very keen on us.


Imenand:  Well, you shouldn’t be the only one gaining knowledge in xenolinguistics.  Mass Comprehension! 


((Sfx: Comprehend Languages))


Crowd Member 1:  Kill him, Vragul!  

Crowd Member 1:  Necaté, Vraglé!


Crowd Member 2:  I hope all those filthy elves die for their tree worship!

Crowd Member 2:  Ich hoffe, dass all die schmutzigen Elfen sterben für ihren Baum Gottesdienst!


Crowd Member 3:  Just get to the fighting!  I’ve got ten silver pieces riding on this!

Crowd Member 3:  Basta avere dei combattimenti! Ho dieci pezzi d'argento in sella su questo!


Vragul:  Me no like this!  Me hate insult!  Vragul DEFEAT AUDIENCE!  RAAAAAGH!


((Sfx: flying orc))


Drowmande:  Hahaha!  Watch as the quarter-witted half-orc fails to comprehend the protective spell of Zeno’s Audience!  No matter how far he travels, he can never cover more than half the distance to any of my terrifying ticketholders!


Vragul:  Me hate stupid philosophy physics!  Me defeat... hey, what that?


((Sfx: d20 roll))


Thorn:  Oh, no!  There’s another ship on the way!


Thrimlach:  Oh.  Great.  That won’t end poorly for them or be another impediment for us.


Maldreth:  You buffoons!  Get back down to the ship!  We’re about to praise Makar by staging a battle right on top of Poseidon’s face!


Issa:  Wait... that slidy-faced pirate at the helm looks familiar.  


Rhomande:  He should.  Or perhaps shouldn’t.  It’s that shapechanger who’s been harassing us since we accidentally didn’t kill him in the Water Temple.  


Issa:  Oh, right!  What stupid name did he have for himself?


Imenand:  The Faceless Pirate.


Issa:  Right!  And he’s the one who killed Kelora!


Thorn:  Who in Queen Mab’s makeup kit is Kelora?


Maldreth:  Another stupid human who stopped being useful to Makar’s murderous purposes.


Rhomande:  She used to adventure with us, before she decided that piracy on the seas was preferable to our style of piracy on the land.


Imenand:  Murdering Kelora I can understand, but the death of Gentleman must be avenged!


Thorn:  And Gentleman was...?


Vragul:  Gentleman was she horse.  Me never able defeat Gentleman.  Always get kicked in head.  King willing to call it tie and make alliance with horse.  Vragul King of Equine Alliance!


Drowmande:  Well, you’ll get your chance at vengeance pretty soon, Vragul.  The pirate’s ship is making good speed, and yours is sitting adrift, with sails furled, nobody at the tiller, and a crew consisting entirely of Rhomande.


Rhomande:  It’s a lot more than it seems, Deep Elf.  


Drowmande:  Not as much as you need, though.  ((Sfx: cannon))  By the way, you might want to duck.


Thorn: Cannon ball!  Hit the deck!


Vragul:  What?  Me no see-- 


((Sfx: Crash, splintering wood))


Vragul:  (“falling” yell)


Faceless Pirates:  Yar har har!  Fight on, me hearties!  We’ll finally finish these Insufferable Basterds once and for all!  Just keep knockin’ em down like that half-orc!


Issa:  You killed Kelora, you watery-faced goon!  It’s you who’s gonna do the dying here!


Thrimlach:  No, Issa!  You’ve only got it half right.  He’ll be doing his dying elsewhere.  Especially once I get close enough to Plane Shift him to the Chars.


Faceless Pirate:  Lower the mainsail, men!  Set tack to port!  And someone drop a Dimensional Anchor on that blind elf!  ((Sfx: Dimensional Anchor))


Thrimlach:  By Manos’ Hands!  You’d think this guy had fought us before or something!  Sorry, guys, no teleporting services for this fight.


Drowmande:  Aren’t you forgetting something, Thrimlach?


Thrimlach:  Probably.  I tend to have a lot on my mind.  What’s the important bit this time, Deep Elf?


Dromande:  You should probably start thinking about the Inverse Square Law.  And about how Dimensional Anchor affects your Ethereal Jaunt.


Thrimlach:  Oh... Well, then.


((Sfx: long whistle-falling sound, splash; Wile E. Coyote-style))


Imenand:  That’s two of us down, and one of our remaining combatants is Rhomande.  This isn’t going as well as hoped.


((Sfx: flying orc))




((Sfx: d20 roll x4, 1 axe hit))


Thorn: Um... should someone go help Thrimlach out of the water?  I’d help, but I’m not really big enough to hold his weight.  Plus, I just cast Splinters all over this rope, so I’m gonna need to borrow someone else’s.


Thrimlach:  (bubbling, drowning sounds)


Drowmande: (condescendingly) What was that, cemori∂  (kem or ith)?  I’m sorry, I couldn’t make out your words, what with all of that water in your mouth.  Maybe if you make a Concentration Check you could form some actual words.


((Sfx: d20 roll))


Thrimlach:  (gasp)  I said... REALITY MAELSTROM!


((Sfx: wind, and some other crazy shit))


Drowmande:  See?  When you use your words, things happen quickly.  Things like a hole opening up in the sky, sucking in everything that’s not nailed down to the ship.  Rigging, folded sailcloth, crates, barrels, cannonballs, the ships’ anchors: all of it hurtles into the sky, toward strange and unknown destinations on the other side of Thrimlach’s planar gateway.


Faceless Pirate:  Hold tight, ye salty sea dogs!  I’ve put in a word to some friends, and help should be on the way!


Maldreth:  This wasn’t much of a challenge before, but Thrimlach’s portal to a blackhole seems to have evened the odds enough to make things passingly interesting.  And the Warfather frowns a little less on those who challenge themselves.  O Great and Terrible Makar, do send down your Divine Power to fill this humble vessel, that I might spread much blood and gore in thy terrifying name!  Oh, and please throw in a Quickened Prayer for the lackwits you have seen fit to saddle me with.


((Sfx: Divine Power, Prayer))


Rhomande:  Then did a most terrible event take--


Drowmande:  No you don’t, High Elf.  Not while you’re guest starring in a Drowmande Joint.  


Rhomande:  I do so hate all of the voices that follow us around.


Drowmande:  Yeah.  I’m sure you hate always knowing that someone is listening to and watching you.  Too bad you’re too busy chatting me up to take notes on the magic-forged, ebon blade streaking through the skies toward Vragul.


Rhomande:  What?


Vragul:  Yeah.  What?  BAAAAAAGHHHHH!


((Sfx: Black Blade of Disaster))


Faceless Pirate: See, men!  I told ye that reinforcements were on the way!  Meet me mates:  Brutalitar the Living Weapon and Threllis Lein, Master Wizard.


Rhomande:  This is very bad.  You see, Thrimlach-ceatharan was not always a full-blooded Elf.  He used to be - urk - half human.  At least, he was until we went to the Cradle of Death so he could cast away the icky, impure human part.  Apparently it all had to go somewhere, so the Cosmos created another version: a human who had cast away all of his Elfy-bits.


Issa:  Who are you explaining this to, bard?  We were all there!


Thorn:  Honestly!  How come you introduced the guy we’ve all met -- Nine Hells, we were all there when he was born! -- but you don’t explain what a Brutalitar is?


Rhomande:  Because, dear Pixie, I am sorely lacking in that area of knowledge.


Imenand:  I’m not.  ((Sfx: d20 roll)) He does not know because that knowledge is hidden to all but myself and the Living Weapon.  Brutalitar was a man, until the Mother of Weapons caught him gazing upon her in the bath.  For his sins, he was lashed to a stump and used as her Anvil for a thousand years.  This made him into... something more.


Thrimlach:  (still swimming) All of that sounds great. (gasp) But would anybody up there please stop my worser half from spreading those knucklebones all over the deck?


Threllis:  Too late, you evil twits!  Go, my flying skeletal monkeys!  Tear these filthy elf-lovers to confetti, then give me a ticker-tape parade!  BWAHAHAHAHA!


((Sfx: bones, flying monkeys))


Drowmande:  Ohhh!  Brutalitar seems unaffected by the reality maelstrom raging above!  He comes flying from the top mast with his patented Chaotic Elbow Drop, heading straight for the King of Town Hall!  


((Sfx: falling whistle sound))


Vragul:  Wha--?


((Sfx: elbow drop?))


Vragul:  Ouch!  You hit me?!  That no happen again.  ME KING OF HIT!


((Sfx: d20 roll))


Drowmande:  Ohhh!  And that doesn’t look good for the Living Weapon.  The King has wrapped his left arm around Brutalitar’s elbow!  Oh!  ((Sfx: Crack)) And just look at how that quick twist of the hips breaks the bone in at least three places!


Vragul:  So much for Living Weapon.  You no stand chance, anyway.  Me living KING!


((Sfx: axe hit))


Imenand:  (disappointed) Noooo!  Vragul, you fool!  I could have garnered so much knowledge from an intact sample!  Now, all I have to work with is a broken body that’s come into contact with my Goddess, and I’ve already got tons of those samples.


Rhomande:  Chin up, old mummy!  Perhaps this one has something the others didn’t!


Imenand:  No, it probably won’t.  I’ve seen a lot of specimens.  At this point, the best course of action is to burn it all down and walk away.  Fortunately, the Shenouda Necromancy Corporation has policies in place for such events.


Issa:  What could the policy on that possibly be?


Imenand:  TWO DELAYED BLAST FIREBALLS!  Now, get clear!


((Sfx: fireball x2, lots of splashes, panicked crew sounds))


Drowmande:  Well, the Faceless Pirate’s crew seems to be as brave as my illiterate barbarian stage crew is smart.  Each of them who tries to dive overboard will be barred from winning in the Arena of Ahk’rapp for the next five years; however, this punishment does not bar them from competition in the Arena.  Just winning.  Cowardice must always be punished.


Crewman 1: I’ll fight to the end for ye, Captain!  I don’t wanna be punished no more!


Drowmande:  See?  Even the most dastardly of pirates can be retrained with a little negative reinforcement!


Crewman 2: Quit gettin’ the MC’s attention and just fire your blunderbuss at that winged half orc!


((Sfx: d20 roll x2, blunderbuss blasts))


Faceless Pirate: Them fireballs aren’t exploded yet, me hearties!  But maybe I can trip ’em with a couple o’ Maximized Scorching Rays!


((Sfx: scorching ray x4)


Vragul:  KING OF PAIN!


Issa:  Noooo!  I taste terrible fried!  Waaaaak!


Yfirmadr:  Gah!  Why you throw fire rays at breastfeeding mothorc?  Me Queen of Prince!  You answer to Husborc for that!  Right after me done paddling you bottom for bad behavior!


Brutalitar:  No chance, She-Orc!  Your husband’ll have to get past Brutalitar First!


Vragul:  YOU NO ATTACK WIFE AND SON!  ((Sfx: d20 roll, axe hit, crowd “OHHHHH”))


Drowmande:  Well, would you look at that, folks!  The Baron of Keepfield has swooped down on his patchwork wings, catching the Living Weapon on the chin with the flat of his great axe, Bloodless!


Drowmande:  And now Brutalitar is in the air... Still airborn... aaaaaaand


((Sfx: Splash, crowd cheer))


Drowmande:  And that’s a new Arena Record, my coves and cozies!  Vragul has just punted an opponent a distance of forty-seven mark eight Imperial Linear Decimal Measurements!


Drowmande:  While we go to the replay on the scrycast, let’s check in with Brutalitar to see if he’s learned to swim any better in the off season.


((Sfx: d20 roll, gurgling sounds, splashing water))


Drowmande:  Looks like he’s still in the match, folks!  While he dog paddles over to the ship, let’s give Vragul another round of applause!


((Sfx: crowd cheer))


Drowmande:  Yes, folks, as with all Arena Records, we shall commemorate this feat by adding Vragul’s graven likeness to the Gates of Return!


Thrimlach:  Gates of Return?  Does that mean there’s a way out of this place?


Issa:  That’d be nice, but I’m still worried about the Shapeshifting Pirate and the bits of you that we decided made you boring and dumb.


Imenand:  Indeed!  Where did that pirate go?  I lost track of him during the Instant Replay.


Drowmande:  Anybody care to give a Spot Check?


((Sfx: d20 roll))




((Sfx: d20 roll x3, 3 axe hits))


Drowmande:  Now, that’s a gruesome sight, rakes and rivvies!  The Faceless Pirate thought he could shift his face while we were all distracted, but he didn’t account for the low capacity and singular drive of Vragul’s brain!  It looks like the Faceless Prate’s magical Stone Skin is starting to chip away under those many pounds of force being distributed by the King of Town Hall and his pet Great Axe.




Thorn:  Yeah, but what makes you think that?


Vragul:  Me always forget me have three level as spellcaster!  ME COULD HAVE BEEN KING OF FLAMING AXE!


Faceless Pirate:  (in extreme pain) Ugh... I’m... pretty okay with how things went.... At least I didn’t pass out.


Thrimlach:  I’m pretty sure those fireballs are about to go off soon... So.... FLY!  And in my place I’ll leave a Walking Prismatic Eye!  


((Sfx: fly, prismatic eye))


Crewman 1:  Oh, gods!  What is this horrible violet light?!


Thrimlach:  Looks like you’re going to the Chars, sailor boy!  Have fun!  Tell that turtle chef that the soufflé was delicious!


((Sfx: plane shift))


Crewman 1: Nooooooooo!!!!!!  They’ll make me swab the kitchennnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!


Maldreth:  ENOUGH OF THIS!  We have murdered this pirate more times than I care to count, and the Warfather is not a patient god!  O Makar of the Bloody Sword, I beseech you to bring your Destruction down upon this Faceless burr in my boot!


((Sfx: destruction))


Faceless Pirate:  (dying) Hah!  Kill me again, and I’ll just come back!  After all, I’ve always picked Left, and it’s always led me back to you!  Guhrk!


((Sfx: splash, crowd “ohhhhh”))


Rhomande:  Vragul!  Duck!




((Sfx: d20 roll))


Drowmande:  Well.  That was gross.  I never thought a humanoid body could... burst like an overfilled waterskin.  It looks like he was just a sort of... fleshy balloon filled with water.  Then again, I never thought I would see a half orc with a black dragon’s wings sewn to his shoulders matrix-dodging a thousand droplets of water shrapnel, either.


Maldreth:  Well, you might get to see it again.  By the power of Makar’s quickened wrath shall I Transmute these sailors’ Blood to Water!


((Sfx: blood to water))


Rhomande:  Well, that’s one down.  Where’d their other caster go?  Anybody have eyes on Threllis?


Threllis:  Oho!  A walking eye, you say!  Well, mine’s not so colorful as yours.  But I guess that’s because it’s a SPHERE OF ULTIMATE DESTRUCTION! (echo?)


((Sfx: Sphere of Destruction))


Drowmande:  No, my bloodthirsty spectators, that isn’t my Charismatic Singularity walking around on those disturbing, spiderlike stalks, down there.  In fact, it’s a miniaturized black hole on disturbing, spiderlike stalks!  And it’s headed right for the Prismatic Eye… oh, this doesn’t look good.


((Sfx: big ass zap, disintegrating walking eye sounds))


Threllis:  Hah!  The problem with you elves is that you focus too much on the spell’s appearance, and not enough on its effects!


Maldreth:  Hmmm.  Perhaps we kept the wrong version of Thrimlach.  In any case, I finally get to be here when one of them dies.


Threllis:  Not so fast, Lich!  You’ve already forgotten something quite important.


Maldreth:  The High Priest of Eternal Slaughter forgets nothing, meatsack.


Threllis:  Oh yeah?  What about that Black Blade of Disaster?


((Sfx: Black Blade of Disaster))


Maldreth: (howls of pain)


Threllis:  That’s not going to keep the damned ogre lich priest distracted for long.  Let’s see what I’ve got in the bag here… Aha!  Now just to spread these onyx gems around a bit…


((Sfx: scattered pebbles))


Threllis:  … and I can raise a phalanx of skeletons!  Yessss!  AND A MASS FLY!  Twenty flying skeletons!  For I, Threllis Lein, Master Necromancer and Innovative Surgeon, am undefeatable! HAHAHAHAHA!


((Sfx: skeleton bones, mass fly))


Issa:  Gods, but I hate mages.  Time for some good old fashioned Pengonquin Trickery!  I’m heading into the water!


((Sfx: splash))


Threllis: How’re you doing down there, Brutalitar?  Looks like you’re finally back on deck.


Brutalitar:  Nine times damned, but I hate water!  Thanks for the Mass Casting of Fly, Threllis!  I’ll take down your dopple-elf-er, in return!


Thrimlach:  Oh Shit!


((Sfx:  3 hits, crowd cheer))


Drowmande:  Ohhh!  And Brutalitar is back in the match!  The Living Weapon clobbers Thrimlach with the old one-two punch, then he follows up with his patented Flying 720° Suplex!


((Sfx: crash, splintering wood))


Drowmande:  And there goes the poop deck!  That’s certainly gonnna leave a mark!


Issa:  (charging penguin cheer)


((Sfx: splash))


Issa:  Nobody ever expects the Flying Penguin Breach!  Peck PECK!


((Sfx: d20 roll, beak hit))


Drowmande:  Ohhhh!  Nope.  Nobody expected that.  That penguin just shot out of the water like a harpoon from a ballista, and she speared herself one whopper of a mage!  Looks like he’s going to be waking up in a cell pretty soon!


Threllis:  Give… my spell components… to nobody… (dying groan)


Issa:  I’m not sure whether to be happy or sick.  I killed the mage, but now I’m covered in… what is this?  Kidney?


Rhomande:  I’m pretty sure that’s actually part of his lower bowel.  That would explain the smell.  Hey, Deep Elf!  I have a question?


Drowmande:  What?  What do you want now?  Need somebody to play patty-cake with for the next 6 seconds?


Rhomande:  I was about to ask politely, but now I just want to know the fucking range on Dominate Person.


Drowmande:  No need to get your doublet in a twist.  The range is a lot shorter than you’ll need to get to me, and that’s all I’m telling you.


Rhomande:  Fine, then.  I was just trying to stay as far away from that Living Weapon while I cast DOMINATE PERSON!


((Sfx: Dominate Person, d20 roll))


Brutalitar:  Nobody wields this weapon but the weapon itself, forest walker.  Just for that, you’re next!


Rhomande:  Ahhh, crap.  Well… You’ll never find me in all this water!  


((Sfx: Splash))


Imenand:  Let me just place a few more delayed blast fireballs, for maximum coverage… And now your ship will BURN!  




Imenand:  Vragul, you fool!  Get out of there!


((Sfx: fireball x4))


Vragul:  Ugh… Vragul… king… of… shipwreck…  Where Queen?  She okay?


Yfirmadr:  Me just fine, sweet-axe!  Me teach Vriggle how cling on and breastfeed during battle, like all little orc do.


Vragul:  Now me know family safe, me execute Secret King Plan Number Tooth!


Thorn:  Oh, ye gods!  What does that entail, Vragul?


Vragul:  It involve all me magic and martial prowess at once!


((Sfx: flying orc))




Drowmande:  Vragul is flying upward in a parabolic arc… Now he’s pausing at the vertex to cast his spells… He’s coming down…


Brutalitar:  What the ever-loving fuck?!


((Sfx: d20 roll, blade of blood, shocking grasp, splash))


Drowmande:  That half-orc may not know much, but he seems to have figured out that electricity and water don’t mix, and he’s used this knowledge to his great advantage.  Brutalitar has been knocked into the water yet again by our record-holding King of Distance.  It’ll take a moment for the Living Weapon to get back to the water’s surface.


Maldreth:  Ugh.  Time to end all of this nonsense.  By Makar’s Sharpened Spade, may this Living Weapon be entombed in a Stone Sarcophagus!


((Sfx: Stone Sarcophagus))


Drowmande:  Well, folks, that’s certainly one way to skin a partially-feline-based Immortal Killing Machine from the Plane of Arms.  


((Sfx: Crowd cheering))


Rhomande:  The crowd did raucously applaud our victory, as we beheld that devil Drowmande take his position at a phantom announcer's podium.  


Drowmande:  Yes, friends and patrons of Ahk'rapp, these morally damaged individuals - these Insuffrable Bastards - have survived yet another round in the Arena of The Great Horrible One.  Let's see what they have earned themselves next!


Maldreth:  I wish to see nothing, Deep Elf.  I am tiring of these games.  Just give me back whatever of my own possessions I’m supposed to have earned.


Drowmande:  Well, he asked for it, folks!  Let’s see how well the party does dodging a series of falling treasure chests!


Issa:  A series of WHAT?!


((SFX: d20 roll x10, series of crashes & splintering wood))


Thorn: Hey!  Where in Queen Mab’s unmentionables did those things fall from, anyway?


((SFX: war drums, massive creaking doors))


Maldreth: I don’t care about that, so much as the fact that the doors at the end of the arena are opening.  Everybody gear up, or I’ll have you doing penance until a species of half elf/half potatoes - one which traces its genealogy back to Rhomande - reaches out to conquer the stars.



Scene 3: Ab’d-Ab’th’-Uhb… That’s all, folks!


Drowmande:  Aaaand Freeze frame!  Cut!  Excellent work today, fellows.  We’ll just break there, and pick up next week.  Are the stasis fields in place?  Perfect!  


Drowmande:  Ahem.  Will the Scottalian Basterds get their armor on in time?  Who or what is emerging from that enormous gate that nobody but Maldreth had the presence of mind to notice?  Where did all of those treasure chests fall from?  Where did all the water go?


Drowmande:  Join us next time, my bloodthirsty rooks and rebels, for The Twenty Sided Theatre Episode 7: Face to Face with the Lord of This Great Horrible Place!



Scene 4: Credit Where Credit is Due

Music Bed: (Credit Where Credit Is Due - VCMG)



Thrimlach: Visit The 20-Sided Theatre online at twentysidedtheatre.com and 20sidedteatre.tumblr.com.


Rhomande: The 20-Sided Theatre is a joint production of Bear Industries and the Shenouda Necromancy Corporation.  Episode Six stars Gabriel Abinante, Blake Parker, Ceri Quattrin, Cian Quattrin, and Rudraigh Quattrin.


Smyd: Written by Rudraigh Quattrin and Edited by Blake Parker.


Imenand: Sound Effects Design by  


Imenand: Music by 


Imenand: For a complete list of and links to all the music you heard on tonight's episode visit 20sidedtheatre.tumblr.com.


Thrimlach: Join us next time at The 20-Sided Theatre!




Scene 5: The Tag


Thrimlach: Ceatharan!  Rhomande, can you hear me?


Rhomande:  Thrimlach!  You’re tapping into the Elven Thoughtscape!  That’s brilliant!  How do we get out of here?


Thrimlach:  It depends.  Do you know if Drow are genetically dissimilar enough that they have a different frequency for their Thoughtscape?


Drowmande:  Nope!  We’re 100% the same species, still!


Rhomande:  Villain!  What do you plan to do with us?


Drowmande:  Well, for starts, I’m going to leave all of you in that Time Stop field for a month.  


Drowmande:  Oh!  And I’ve got to re-flood the arena and get you onto a new ship.  It’ll make a much better opening scene.


Drowmande: And in the rest of that month, I’ll go shopping, prep for the next show… You know.  Errands.  Work.  That sort of stuff.


Thrimlach:  Wow.  I guess even evil people have to do laundry once in a while.


Drowmande:  Laundry!  That’s right!  I’m also going to go through the Bard’s wardrobe to pick out anything good and to toss away anything garish or tacky.


Rhomande:  No!  No!  Not my embroidered trousers!  Anything but those!  NOOOOOOOOOOO!


Drowmande: (cheerfully)  O my dreadful mob of rabid fans, don’t worry a bit about finding your way back for more trials and troubles.  


Drowmande: (sinisterly) The Arena of Ahk’rapp will come to you, first!



Scene 6: Brought to you By

Summit: The Twenty-Sided Theatre is underwritten in part by the Frozen Summit Crossplanar Bar and Grill.  


Summit: Hello, friends!  Do you find yourself tired from all day’s working in the fields?  Is your throat parched after clearing out that musty, old crypt?  Head right on down to the Frozen Summit Crossplanar Bar and Grill!


Summit: Spatiotemporally located in Oak Vale, Scottallia, during the reign of Queen Karavilla, our front door has been specially modified by one of the town’s own heroes, Thrimlach Lenanien.  Why don’t you tell them about the door, Thrim?


Thrimlach: Well, Summit, I summoned some sheep, then sacrificed them to Mandos, which flooded the door posts with Conjuration energies.  The doorway now opens to around six score permanent apertures on multiple planes, plus about thirty variable locations, just in case Mandos needs people to be particular places at particular moments.  


Summit: That’s right!  So if you’re looking for some roast Springbuck with dandelion salad, rumors for your next group outing, some classy elven wine, or just some regular old human ale, the Frozen Summit can provide what you need.


Thrimlach: But no dwarven beverages.  P’tooh! (spits)


Summit: That’s right! Nothing brewed by dwarves!


Summit: (stage whisper) We actually do have a wide variety of dwarven-brewed intoxohols, but the elves I work with don’t like it when I say that. 


Summit: So, come on down to whatever suspicious looking doorway you think might lead you here, and maybe you’ll be right!  Once you get here you’ll love your stay at the Frozen Summit Crossplanar Bar & Grill… or else we won’t let you leave!