Episode 7: The Insufferable Basterds vs The Gladiatorial Champions of Ahk'rapp

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


Rhomande: We waited for a full month in the stasis field, as our captor had promised, powerless to do anything but watch as the illiterate barbarian stage crew made subtle, dreamlike, and physically impossible changes in our surroundings, until we found ourselves on the deck of a fresh ship strewn with open treasure chests.  Nothing but open seas stretched out before us, as far as even the keenest of our elven eyes could make out.  


Drowmande: Alright, contestants, are you ready to get back into the swing of things?  I hope you are, because your cue’s coming up in a minute and a half, and none of you have even left the green room yet.  Come on!  Into your costumes!


Maldreth: I swear by the Malevolent Guillotine of Makar’s Revolution that once I get myself away from this place, I will commit SUCH a genocide upon the Deep Elves.


Thorn: That’s all well and good, Maldreth, but I think we should still follow his suggestions.  Look!  They’ve finally given us back all of our armor!


Issa: Hunh.  So that’s what made all of those treasure chests heavy enough to fall down from those clouds up there…


Imenand: Penguin, someday I must take the time to teach you the laws of natural philosophy.  We know what made them heavy enough to fall.  But what made them stay in the clouds in the first place?


Issa: I dunno.  What makes you mammals dumb enough to carry your eggs around in your stomachs for most of the year, instead of leaving the males to keep them warm?  There are some things the Cosmic Egg just doesn’t want us to know yet.


Maldreth: Hey, buffoons!  Quit gabbing about the grossest part of having a body, and get into your armor!  I’m not going to be defeated just because Makar saw fit to burden me with you halfwits for the rest of foreseeable time.


((Sfx: putting armor on; I can provide foley, if you’d like))


Rhomande: We donned our armor hastily, fearing a sudden attack.  Then, just as the last of us glamorously fastened his final straps and chain links into place, we all lurched to one side, as the ship ran aground.  


((Sfx: d20 rolls x8, 4 thuds))


Rhomande: A quick glance over the rails showed no sign of the endless sea from a moment ago.  Instead, we found ourselves atop a buried ship in the centre of a massive, sandy arena.  The spectators' stands rose fifty feet above us, and the clamor of the ghostly crowd drowned out all conversations, giving me a moment to take impeccable notes. 

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