Episode 8: The Insufferable Basterds vs The Great Horrible One

The 20-Sided Theatre, Episode 8 - The Insufferable Basterds vs. The Great Horrible One


Imenand - Blake

Rhomande - Rud

Thrimlach - Cian

Maldreth - Gabe

Issa - Ceri

Stiev - Natalie

Vragul - Rud



Drowmande Sorofein - Blake

Cian the Horrible (CtH) - Cian

Torrea - Cian

Sir Gnome - Rud

Tuxedo Beak - Blake

Yfirmadr, Queen of Vragul - 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: All right, let’s get this out of the way.  


Rhomande: Good evening Lords and Ladies.  I now give you your current Impresario, Drowmande Sorofein, MC of the Arena of Ahk’rapp.


Drowmande: (interrupting) Oh, no you don’t, treesleeper!  This isn’t your theatre.  Nobody introduces Drowmande but Drowmande!


Rhomande: Awww!  Not again!  I thought we were done with this!


Drowmande: Not yet, twig-hair.  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 still “heroes”!


Drowmande:  Are you still in my master’s arena?


Rhomande: Well… yes.


Drowmande:  Contestants.


((Sfx: d20 roll))


Rhomande: Fuck you.


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, finally restored of all his attendants, charms, and poultices.  


Thrimlach: You know… I’m getting pretty used to this kind of lifestyle.  When I get home, I’m going to force all of my little magelings to live in stark, stone cells.  Sir Gnome, you’ll be first!


Sir Gnome: Yeth, mathter.


Thrimlach: Torrea, you can have a single, splintery table in your cell.  Because you’re not a mage and are my favorite.


Torrea: But wherever will I keep Spirit of the Swift Wind, Lord Thrimlach?


((Sfx: neigh))


Drowmande: Imenand Shenouda, known throughout The Empire as The Weaponsmith -- he serves as President and spokesman of The Shenouda Necromancy Corporation.  He also provides the Icosagon’s more devious implements of carnage.  He’s also got a skeletal cat hanging around. 


Imenand: SFX: (4914_noisecollector_cat2.wav) I tire of this, in the extreme.


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: Go eat clams, you son of a seal.


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: Although Makar is pleased by the sheer volume of violence in this place, he is severely displeased that you do not use that violence to conquer other places.


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, Baron of Keepfield, King of Distance Hit, and newly King of Prince!


Vragul: Keep noise down, wibbly-face dark elf!  Prince of King try to sleep.


((Sfx: baby cry))


Yfirma∂r: What you do, Vragul!  Now baby awake again!  How we supposed make little princess while prince crying?


Drowmande: The Basterds have a new addition to the team: Stiev “the Chameleon” Pie-rabbat; she is thoroughly odorless, colorless, and deadly!


Stiev: Look, I just want to get out of here.  I thought you guys might have the best chance, so I snuck out of my cell and followed you.


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


Rhomande: It’s certain.  I do miss the old disembodied voice.


Drowmande: Coves and Cozies of my blood-lusting audience, recline upon your gilded seats, quaff your libations, adjust your listening devices to receive the full, stereophonic scryocastic experience that is The Arena of Ahk’rapp!


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


Scene 1: When Last We Left Our … ““Heroes””…


Drowmande: What a shocking development!  Dear adventurers from Scottalia, for your underhanded victory in the last match, you have earned a reward seldom granted.  Emerge from your cells now, and you may behold... Nay!  You may even speak to the Master himself!  Esteemed patrons and gladiators, behold!  The terror of the the planes, the source of the greatest entertainments, the Lanista of Ahk’rapp himself: Cian the Great Horrible One!


((Sfx: Crowd cheer))


Rhomande: We climbed through the typical series of traps and delays, finally returning to the sandy arena, emerging from a cunningly hidden door at the foot of the Master's Box.  A grizzled, one-eyed black knight stood from his luxurious silken pillows to salute us.  A familiar red-armed monkey sat upon his shoulder, and so I spake.


Rhomande: Great Horrible One, we have passed through far and strange lands, we have conquered innumerable foes and surpassed countless trials, all for one purpose: RETURN MY MONKEY TO ME IMMEDIATELY!


CtH: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!  Little bard, you show as much bravado as your cousin, here, did when he stood in your place.  Very well! I'm a sporting man.  If you can defeat me and Drowmande's favorite pet, the monkey is yours.  Now... Have at you!


Drowmande: Oh, my Scorpie!  How I miss you!  And you’ve gotten so much bigger since the Great Horrible One seized you as his own property!  You could barely fit in my hand before, and look at you now!  You’re almost thirty feet from pincers to stinger, now!  Yes, friends, now that my dear Scorpie is large enough to ride, Cian the Horrible can move himself over fifty feet across the arena in under three seconds!


Rhomande: That’s nothing; the giant centipede can move over a hundred feet in under one second!


Issa: I hate you.  Look! He’s over there, settling in amongst the rocks.  What is he trying to do?  Hide?


Stiev: Hiding’s not a bad idea.  Come on, penguin!  Let’s get into position.


Issa: And hide behind what?  There’s just a series of chest-high walls scattered throughout this arena, and he’s high up enough on that scorpion that he can see over all of them!  Also, who are you, lizard-lady?


Stiev: I’m one of your fellow gladiators, recently assigned to your team.  And there’s no need to find things to hide behind.  You just need to … blend in!


((Sfx: chameleon sound?))


Thrimlach: Hey, Horrible One!  I can see you right there!  You’re not very good at blending in.  Well.  Maybe if the background was a whole colony of giant scorpions… Colony?  Is that right?  Or do scorpions build a hive when they band together?


CtH: Neither!  They form a Crystallized Penguin Statue!


((Sfx: Crystallize, d20 roll))


Issa: Noooo!


Tuxedo Beak: Wak-Waaaak, Wak-WAAAAAK!  I’ll save you, princess!


((Sfx: d20 roll, jump))


Tuxedo Beak: Give… my pebble… to Issa… Waaaaaaaak (petrifying penguin noise)


Issa: NoooMyBoyfrieeeeeend!  Although… I have always wanted a crystal statue of the prettiest penguin I’ve ever met.


Rhomande:  Dreadful to hear about that, Lady Featherfoot.  Fortunately for you, your sorrow shall be known to the most important of beings in creation.


((Sfx: d20 roll, lute))


Stiev: Wait… how will you get people to listen?


Rhomande: Not just people, Chameleon.  You see, I am so good at what I do that I have the attention of everyone who can listen in to anyone.


Stiev: That sentence was confusing.


Rhomande: No, it wasn’t.  Not when you know who my true patrons are.


Stiev: The… gods?


Rhomande: Oh, no!  These beings are so powerful and so wealthy that they have assured their names are never uttered by any beings, mortal or otherwise.  You’ll never see a scrycast with any of my patrons caught in a scandal involving an illegal dragon tooth smuggling ring or some sort of sexy escapades.  They’re just too important for that.


Vragul: Ah, yes.  Back in Cave, funny-hat Orc always call thems “Buffay Worrens”.  Thems live in labyrinths of breakfasts.


Yfirma∂r: That remind me, Vragul.  Us have brunch appointment with you mother when we get back to keep.  She silly human, so she miss big orc cathedral wedding.  And birth of she grandsorc.  Me think Buffay Worrens perfect place for take you mom and eat foodstuff.


Rhomande:  Ah!  I see you’ve been introduced to my patrons, your Majesty!  And I should know; I did direct you to the opening in their security services, after all.


Vragul: Yep.  Them have me smash someone a few time.  Afterlife very violent place, if you do regular life right.


Yfirma∂r: You always best at smash, sweet-axe.  You king of smash in me heart.


Vragul: D’awww.  Me love you too.


Thrimlach: Ugh.  Half-orcs in love.  Good thing I’m blind most of the time.  Hey, Penguin!  If you’re blurry, you’ll be harder to hit.  And we’d better do something to even out the number of legs involved in this fight.  Better add a few more legs to my WALKING PRISMATIC EYE!


((SFX: Displacement; Prismatic Eye))


Torrea: And I shall assure that our illustrious bard never misses a note.  Sorfinde of the village ofAcoustica, receive the blessings of the Eagle!


((SFX: mace thud, eagle’s splendor))


Rhomande: Ouch!  Be a little more careful with your scepter next time, Torrea!  You mussed my hair.


Vragul: Enough sing-y talk and many-color spider eye thing!  Come on, Bloodless.  US TAKE POINT!


((SFX: teleport, d20 roll x2, axe hit x1))


Vragul: Gah!  How you move so fast in thick armor?


CtH: Duh.  Magic.  Well, psychic powers, I guess…. oh.  And a giant scorpion for counterattacks.


Vragul: Huh?


((Sfx: d20 roll x2, claw snap x2))


Vragul: HAH!  You need be faster than that for catch Vragul, KING OF DODGE!


CtH: But you forgot one key element to this fight.


Vragul: What elephant me forget?  Me no remember any elephant in arena fights.


CtH: (disgusted) Not… ugh.  The stinger.  You forgot about the stinger.


((SFX: d20 roll, piercing sound?))


Vragul: G’uhhk!  Um… me feel funny…


CtH: Not as funny as you’re going to feel, once I DOMINATE YOUR MIND!


((Sfx: Dominate, d20 roll))


Vragul: (vomiting) Uhrk.  Me sorry.  Me get squirrel all over you arena.  Me promise clean up later.  


Rhomande: You are a true fiend, Great Horrible One!  Nobody dominates the King of Town Hall.  Manipulates, maybe.  Misleads, certainly.  


Stiev: Keep talking, bard.  Maybe you’ll distract the Horrible One while I sneak over to that chest-high wall.


((Sfx: d20 roll x2))


CtH: You really think that a loquacious elf with a lute is going to keep my attention?  I invented short attention spans!


Stiev: Then maybe if I hide here long enough you’ll just forget about me!


Imenand: Bastet, go forth and deliver my spellcasting.


((Sfx: Meow))


Imenand: Meanwhile, I’ll erect a Prismatic Wall to hide behind.  I suppose you other casters can hide here, too.


((SFX: Prismatic Wall))


Maldreth: The Patriarch of the Church of War hides nowhere.  He simply UNHALLOWS all ground.


((SFX: unhallow))


CtH: Vragul.  Half-witted Half-orc.  Go forth and slaughter your comrades!  I’ll stay here while you do that.  I’ll also stay here while Skorpie takes care of the penguin.


((SFX: d20 roll x2, claw snap))


Issa: Waaak! (pained)


Rhomande: Snap out of it, your Majesty!




Imenand: I don’t think you’re getting through to him, bard.


Rhomande: Then I’ll just have to instill us all with the CUNNING OF THE FOX!  And hope that his Majesty snaps out of it.


((SFX: Lute, mass fox’s cunning))




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


Rhomande: Oof!  Your… Majesty… please! Aaah!


Vragul: ME FINISH YOU… oops.


((Sfx: axe to the nuts, crowd “ohhhhh!”))


Drowmande: That’s got to hurt, folks.  Remember: safety first!  If you’re going to kill a cowardly elf, make sure he can’t dodge you in such a way that you strike your own testicles with the broad side of your axe.


Vragul:  Ooofh!  Me pride!  Ooogh.  Ouch.   Me guess funny-hat orc was right.  Only me can kill me.  Or me wife.  Or son someday, me hope.


Yfirma∂r: You shameful, Vragul.  Hit own baby eggs with axe.  If that how you going to live, then Vriggle maybe defeat you much sooner than expect.


Torrea: Spirit of the Swift Wind!  Come to my side!


((SFX: neigh, hooves))


Thrimlach:  I’m getting tired of having to cast FLY on your horse, Torrea.


((SFX: fly))


Thrimlach: Because there is no point to a fucking magical horse that can’t fly.  And that goes doubly so for one that can’t talk!  But there’s no way I’m letting that thing talk.  I already have too many talking companions.  Isn’t that right, Sir Gnome?


Sir Gnome: Yeth, mathter.


Thrimlach: You’re damned right.  Torrea, you’re fine.  Keep talking all you want.  Just watch out for the Prismatic Eye!  Get ready for a violet ray of insanity, Cian the Bore-able!


((Sfx: insanity ray from Prismatic Eye))


CtH: No such luck, elf.  I’ve got an Ioun trinket to take care of that.


Thrimlach: Gah!  Well, so much for the knight.  Maybe it’s just time to squish his bug.  With METEORS!


((Sfx: Meteor Swarm))


Drowmande: Skorpie, nooo!  Oh, gods.  Well, at least he’s still in one piece.  Mostly.  And his ichor is still inside his body.  Mostly.  He’ll need some healing to get that left claw back in working order, though.


Issa: Now that the scorpion is distracted, it’s time to take something away from that Horrible Guy.


((Sfx: flippers running, jump))




Drowmande: That’s quite a leap!  Especially for a nominally flightless bird.  She’s reaching the apex of her trajectory and…


((Sfx: Squish, crowd cheer))


Drowmande: MY DARLING SKORPIE!  Why are you taken from me so often?


Issa: Mmmm!  Giant scorpion tastes a lot like lobster, for some reason.  AND YOU!  THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR CRYSTALLIZING MY BOYFRIEND!


Rhomande: Eww.  I think I’m going to have to take a bath just from watching that happen.


Thrimlach: What?  I thought we elves were naturally clean and hypoallergenic.


Rhomande: Well, we are, but that doesn’t negate the fun of having a naked frolic in a stream somewhere.


Imenand: Announcer.  I cannot see through this wall.  You will confirm some data for me.


Drowmande: What?  I don’t even know what you’re saying.


Imenand: Your master, he wears armor, yes?


Drowmande: Yep.  Made of the finest, most expensive, most blackest metals that can be extracted from the hearts of stars.


Imenand:  Excellent.  Go, Bastet!  Deliver a SHOCKING GRASP with your claws!


((Sfx: d20 roll, meow, shocking grasp))


CtH: Hah!  But you forgot to ask whether my armor was conductive.  Or grounded.  Coincidentally it’s not and it is, respectively.  


Imenand: I hate you.  I also hate the angle I’m viewing you from.  All this multicolored, prismatic wall in my face makes the world far too cheery.  I’m moving to the edge of the wall, to get a better line of sight.


Maldreth: Why is the black knight not dead yet?  And why are some of you clutching yourselves like you’ve been wounded?  Ugh.  By weeping of the widows of Makar’s victims, be healed!


((Sfx: Maldreth heal))


CtH: What kind of war priest are you, anyway?  All I’ve seen you do today is Unhallow some ground and heal some idiots.


Maldreth: Well, the Father of War has many interests throughout the planes, giving me some less savory tasks to complete, until I promote a new council of Cardinals.  The old ones all displeased me and fell to a QUICKENED HARM!


((Sfx: Maldreth Harm, spell absorption))


CtH: Oh?  Was that supposed to affect me at all?  I mean, I have so many magical trinkets and baubles here that I hardly notice when anybody tries to hit me with spells, anymore.  HAHAHA!


Maldreth: GOD DAMNIT!


Imenand: Don’t you mean “gods dammit”?


Maldreth: I certainly do not.  Only one god matters to me; maybe one and a half.  You cretins can have the rest of the worlds’ pantheons.  INSUFFERABLE BASTERDS, THE PATRIARCH OF THE SWORD-FATHER COMMANDS YOU TO FELL THAT LOUD-MOUTHED ASSHOLE!


Rhomande: What did I do?


Maldreth: I meant the one who’s been toying with us for the last several weeks.


Rhomande: I apologized for the Vincenzo thing!  Which reminds me… where did Tularria go?


Drowmande: We actually had no quarrel with her, so we let her go back to the swamps in the Vensgow.  Mostly because we already had one romantic couple this season, and the orcs tested better than you tree elves.




Rhomande: My apologies, Father Maldreth.  But for future reference, the Basterds are my touring group, so only I should be allowed to give orders like that.


Maldreth: (the angriest grunt that Gabe can muster)


Rhomande: (scared, gulp ) But I suppose you’re right, in this case… Vragul!  Torrea!  Stiev! Issa!  Ugh. And Sir Gnome, I guess… You’re all closest to him.  Do what Father Maldreth wants, and kill the Great Horrible One!


CtH: Not likely.  Especially after I reduce your minds to the tiniest possible MICROCOSM!


((Sfx: Microcosm, d20 roll x5))


Vragul: (woozy) Oof!  Hey, Bloodless.  You see number on that tiny train that hit me in brain? Oooogh.


Stiev: Aaaaagh!  My miiiind!


Thrimlach: Torrea, are you alright?  I really need you to be out there between me and the Horrible One.


Torrea: I still stand, lord Thrimlach.  As does Spirit of the Swift Wind.  But I’m not sure if Sir Gnome survived unscathed.


((Sfx: neigh))


Thrimlach: Oh, who can tell with him?  Isn’t that right, Sir Gnome?


Sir Gnome: Meth, Yathter.


Thrimlach: See?  What about the Penguin?  I had experiments… er… I mean “plans”.  I had ““plans”” for her.  


Issa: (penguin crying) I’m covered in scorpion guts, and my beautiful Tuxedo Beak has been turned into a lump of extremely expensive crystal!  Oh, Tuxie, why were you taken from me so soon?  And why isn’t your statue sitting by my throne nest yet?


Rhomande: Well, lady Featherfoot, he might be a little more mobile if you could BREAK ENCHANTMENTS!


((Sfx: lute, break enchantment, de-crystallization))


Tuxedo Beak: Waaak!  Many thanks, o illustrious bard!


Rhomande: See!  Look at me!  I’m useful!


Issa: I still can’t hear you over the sound of scorpion guts.


Thrimlach: (in background/a-la RJ Dio) “Like intestines in the dark!”


Tuxedo Beak: Do you accept backup singers, Mister Sorfinde?


Rhomande: Only if they ask properly, like you did.  Of course you can back me up, Master Beak.


((Some sort of penguin song with lutes?))


Rhomande: You know… all of the gods are tuning their scrycrystals to this frequency right now, because they know I’m making an appearance.


Issa: What are you saying?  The gods are your fangirls?


Rhomande: The ones who go, “Squee,” yes.  Like Zeus!


Issa: (flatly) Zeus does not go, “Squee.”


Rhomande: Of course Zeus goes, “Squee.”  He does it when he knows that the Inexhaustible Rhomande Sorfinde is about to take the stage!


Issa: I hate you.


((Sfx: Prismatic eye, petrify ray, spell absorption))


Thrimlach: By the Sex-goddess’ many contagious lovers!  We really need to get through his spell absorption.  My walking prismatic eye isn’t doing anything useful!


Maldreth: What else is new?  Your problem is that you’re trying to affect him directly with magic.  You need to go for indirect damage.


Thrimlach: I suppose you’re right.  Time to indirectly affect the foe by directly grabbing some METEORS!


((Sfx: Meteor Swarm))


CtH: Ouch!  Hey, you finally got me!  Good job.  Maybe next time you’ll even make me bleed my own blood!


Thrimlach:  Uh oh.  I got his attention.  Better quicken a Fly spell on myself.  At the very least, I’m not going to be outdone by any stupid non-talking magic horse that I caused to fly.  Torrea!  Get Vragul up and running.   We need more meat shields!


((Sfx: Fly))


Torrea: At your command, Lord Thrimlach!  Come, Spirit of the Swift Wind.  Help me spread the healing strength of Apollo’s Cattle to our ally!


((Sfx: neigh, cure, mace “bonk”, Bull’s Strength))


Vragul: Ooogh.  Me head… 


Thrimlach: Torrea, you really need to stop hitting our allies so hard when you bless them.  At least, in the middle of a fight.  The rest of the time, I’m fine with it.


Drowmande: Behold, my bloodthirsty audience, as the Great Horrible One side-steps the incoming flood of magic and metal!  It looks like he’s had quite enough of these Basterds’ shenanigans.


CtH: Damned right I’ve had enough of this.  The whole reason I usually sit in a massive press box or on top of a colossal scorpion is that I have personal space issues.  So why don’t you all stop getting closer to me and just let nature take its course in these ECTOPLASMIC COCOONS!


((Sfx: d20 roll x6, Ectoplasmic Cocoon))


Drowmande: Watch as the ghostly slime of my master and overlord’s mind seeps up through the cracks in this demi-plane of carnage!  And it looks like it’s snagged a few of them!  Let’s see who he caught… humph.  Not too useful, my lord and executive producer.  You seem to have caught a skeletal cat, a skeletal gnome, and a not-talking-but-sometimes-flying magical horse.


Imenand: Bastet!  Get out of that pile of snot this instant!  You have more electricity to deliver for me! I just don’t know how I’m going to keep from killing everybody around me if anything happens to my special kitty.


Torrea: Nooooo!  Spirit of the Swift Wind, don’t give into the sadness!


Thrimlach: Sir Gnome, when you emerge from that ectoplasmic cocoon, I do not want it to be as some sort of Skeletal Moth.


Sir Gnome: Mpth Mpthtthr.


Rhomande: Sorry to cut the gig short, Master Beak, but I just realized what we’re missing.  You keep standing here on this end of the prismatic wall, while I Expeditiously Retreat to the other end.


((Sfx: expeditious retreat, running footsteps))


Rhomande: And now with a quick casting of Greater Shout, we are in a position to provide your entertainment In Stereo!


((Sfx: lute, reverb/greater shout on “in stereo”))


CtH: You’re going to have to do waaay better than some shitty old Sonic Damage to get through this set of absorption trinkets.  


Thrimlach: Then what about GOUTS OF FLAME and some PLANE SHIFTING from my prismatic eye!?


((Sfx: prismatic eye))


Thrimlach: Quick, Torrea!  While he’s distracted!


Torrea: This is for covering my dear Spirit of the Swift Wind in that cocoon, you fiend!  Have at you!


((Sfx: d20 roll, blur, neigh))


CtH: Heh.  Did I mention that I also have a Trinket of Blurring?  You may think I’m in front of you…


((Sfx: d20 roll, collapsing body))


CtH: But I’m really behind you, ready to deliver the Incapacitating Volcanic Pressure Point Pinch!


Torrea: Ugh!  Give… Spirit of the Swift Wind… to my sister in… ugh…


((Sfx: neigh))


Drowmande: Well, that’s one of the contestants down, at least.  Nobody recovers quickly from the Incapacitating Volcanic Pressure Point Pinch.  The last time I saw that used, I was in the medical ward for seven weeks!  And then I got this job!




((Sfx: d20 roll x4))


CtH: Ah, crap.  Focused too much on the healer… G’hukk!


((Sfx: 3 axe “bink”s plus blood wave plus electricity))


Drowmande: Ohhh… Um… Haven’t ever seen that happen before.  That orc has the most focus I’ve ever seen in a violent, uncontrollable killer.


Rhomande:  For but a moment, the arena went silent... 


((Sfx: 2-count? of silence, followed by a roaring crowd))


Rhomande: …before the spectators of the Great Arena of Ahk’rapp roared their praise, showering gold and jewels and rare flowers upon us.  Two serving gnomes did then appear at everybody's flanks, deftly festooning us with laurel wreaths and plum blossoms.  


((Sfx: Monkey “ook”))


Rhomande: Nelio! Ah, let me cradle your red limbs in my pale arms once more. Oh, and look at your vest.  It’s all torn!  We’ll get you to wardrobe as soon as we can.  I promise.


Stiev: Uhm… Rhomande, what is your monkey doing in your shirt, now?  That’s disgusting.


Rhomande: Oh, he’s just looking for some monkey treats.  I always have a few secreted about my person, just in case I need to make friends with a tiny pickpocket!


Drowmande: While all of that disgusting friendship stuff is happening, my master – Cian, the Great Horrible One – retreats to the back of his box for a moment, before returning with an armload of wooden short swords.


CtH: Great Champions, only twice have I given this final challenge.  One gladiator is still mine from time to time.  The other... I hope never to meet the other again.  With these ceremonial rudii in hand, you now face the final trial of Ahk'rapp.  You must find the way out.  I will set you on the path, but you must make your own escape.   Through the Gates of Dawn your path leads.


Rhomande: The rudius in my hand then did glow with a dull violet light.  Golden letters appeared, tracing themselves along the fuller of the wooden blade, reading, "The Right to Leave," in my native Elvish.  I looked about and saw similar scenes unfolding before each of my Insufferable Basterds and their followers.  The glow intensified, and a gentle warmth spread from my arm to my chest and thence throughout my other limbs.


Rhomande: We then heard a great metal clamor from behind, and we turned to behold a great, black iron gate leading out of the arena.  Standing beneath this portal provides a feeling of smallness and inadequacy, even in one so talented as myself.  As you stand still at the foot of the gate, the iron above soars into the air, so high that you cannot see the tops of the doors.  Enormous Grotesques and monolithic patron gods stare down at you, perched atop scene after scene of gladiatorial strife.  Each scene shows the slaughter of a gladiator.  Killing blow stacks upon killing blow, up to the feet of the divine effigies, and then the slaughter continues beyond.


CtH: These gates were here before I took charge of this tiny plane.  They depict every contest ever to have taken place on this plane.  Even the Gran’Poop himself did not know all of these men and women.  Beyond this portal lies the place in between places.  If you fail this next task, you will awaken in your cell.  From then on, your fate is mine to dictate.  But if you choose the right path, you shall pass through the Gates of Dawn, and you will have the freedom to go anywhere your strength can take you.


Rhomande: With that, he gestured us onward toward the Gates of Dawn, and with any luck, home beyond.


Scene 3: Credit Where Credit Is Due

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


Issa: After many hours of research, Masters Shenouda and Lenanien have learned to create scryomagical links to the Earth’s Internal Net.  You can eavesdrop on some of Rhomande Sorfinde’s Insufferable Basterds on Twitter!  Follow @IllustriousRho for Rhomande Sofrinde, @ShenoudaNecroCo for Imenand Shenouda, @Thrimlach for Master Thrimlach Lenanien, and @LadyFeatherfoot for Princess Issa Featherfoot.  Links to all of these feeds can be found at twentysidedtheatre.com!


Sir Gnome: Written by Rudraigh Quattrin and Edited by Blake Parker.


Imenand: Sound Effects Design by  


Imenand: Music by 


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


Maldreth: Visit The 20-Sided Theatre online at twentysidedtheatre.com.  Subscribe to and rate The 20-Sided through iTunes or your favorite scrycasting application.  Tell your friends about The 20-Sided Theatre, or we’ll send Vragul, King of Town Hall, King of Wagon, King of Dodge, and King of Audience Persuasion after you.


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


Scene 4: Our Sponsors

Imenand: The 20-Sided Theatre is underwritten in part by the Tourism and Adventuring Bureau for Barony of Veraat.  Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Of-Town-Hall, you’re recording now.  Just start whenever you’re ready.


Vragul: Me Vragul.  King of Town Hall.  Wife have very important thing for tell you, so you listen up good.  Or me and Bloodless make you never able to listen again.  Rupture you ear drum or something.  So you shut up and listen then come see Keep.  Okay.  Wife tell you more, now.  She Queen of Tell People What Do.


Yfirma∂r: Much thank, me Wingy-Kingy.  Now go wait in cart.  Ahem.  Me Yfirma∂r, Queen of King of Lots Thing.  Husband in charge of acquisition, but he not do much else.  That make me in charge of hospitalorcty and tourism.


Yfirma∂r: Veraat very nice place, now we populate wildlife with rare and dangerous animal.  You like hunt?  We ams have too many thing for hunt.  Owlbear population so high, price of omelet go through floor.  This bad for economic.


Yfirma∂r: You like conservation measure?  Us bring in so many exotic specie that whole ecosystem out of whack.  Need lots volunteer, especially Druid, for help cleans up.  Plus town expanding, so lots tree be cut down.  If want, you come to Veraat and save environment from military-industriorc complex.


Yfirma∂r:  No like outdoor?  Us ams have many fine inn and taphouse.  Some even not right under crumbling section of old keep wall.  Plus talky-elf sometimes come play for you.  Well, he play for Queen, but many time he loud enough all listen.


Vragul: Whether want listen or not.  Some orc need ugly sleep.


Yfirma∂r: Me thought me told you wait in cart.  This me tourism bureau spot.  When you do thing worth publish, me let you know.


Vragul: Me always make do thing worth publish!  That why talky-elf still alive!  Him publish lots thing about me kingly exploit!


Yfirma∂r: Pffft.  Him publish what me tell him publish.  At least me think him do.  No able read hims handwriting.


Vragul: Me know!  It so bad!  Vriggle make better word-drawing, and hims only baby!


Imenand: I’d better cut this off right now, before this argument gets NSFA.


Yfirma∂r: What enns-fah mean?


Imenand: Not Safe For Anybody.  Ahem.  Come to the Barony of Veraat and spend lots of money on a dangerous, rural economy.  And don’t forget to visit the local Shenouda Necromancy Adventuring Gear Outlet Mall, located two and a half miles south from the town, along the main highway.  


Yfirma∂r: All you adventurer and tourist, visit Barony Veraat.  Or me send husborc visit you!