Session Report 95

General Summary

Well, well, well–the Muskrats managed to survive the first few challenges of the Arena but they were far from victory.
The Muskrats staggered into the locker room after barely surviving the brutal king of the hill match they had survived. They huddled together, drinking down healing potions and sharing the boons with one another.
Up next, Tazmeth and the Abyssal Currents. The door to the arena opened and Tazmeth walked out. He stood upon a precipice, before him he saw a deep whirlpool, swirling eternal. Above him, an imp chittered. A booming voice proclaimed that to win, a champion must descend to the center of the whirlpool, take the javelin that rested there, swim to the surface, and spear the imp.
Tazmeth looked across the arena and took in the competition. He knew they lacked the resolve he possessed. He stilled his heart, took a breath, and sprang into action. Before a single other competitor had the opportunity to dive into the water, Tazmeth was at the bottom of the whirlpool. Before any other competitor had touched the water, he had returned to the surface. Before any other competitor had opened their eyes, he had speared the imp. The entire arena gasped in awe, no one had ever seen an individual move that quickly, less so a child. A legend was born.
The Muskrats regrouped in the locker room once again but this time, Itzal prepared for the Trial of the Blazing Endurance. Itzal walked out alone and was ushered to stand atop an active volcano. The booming voice stated that the last creature alive would win. Itzal looked across the arena and saw two demons and a golem, tough competition, he thought. The volcanos began to belch flame across their bodies. The golem was the first to fall. Then one of the demons. The fire grew stronger and more targeted but neither Itzal nor the minotaur demon would fall, resolute. Itzal, feeling the fire, transformed into a beast immune to fire and waltzed through the remainder of the competition. The crowd was annoyed, next!
The final individual challenge–Cambio and the Trial of the Blind Pilgrim. Cambio was led to an empty arena. The volcanic floor Itzal had stood on had been replaced by a deep, deep chasm. The booming voice informed Cambio that all he must do is cross to the other side, but magic was forbidden. Cambio reflected back upon the research that he had done and remembered that he had to put his faith in himself and his deity to make it across the edge. He had a strange vision of a man with a leather jacket and a bullwhip spreading sand across a bridge, dismissed it and trusted himself. He placed one foot out, felt a murky miasma and crawled out over the chasm. The crowd might have jeered but the other competitors were too damn stupid and faithless to cross the chasm. Cambio was not. He quickly made it (via crawling) to the other side, victory bells sounded, and the Muskrats were on Challenge Eight.
To Challenge Eight, the Muskrats entered the arena and faced off against a cadre of the Commandments. A death match. The three Commandments before them were interesting, one physical hulk, one floating ethereal being, and a many armed aberration. Before the combat, the Muskrats all felt a compulsion to describe their very actions and a reluctance to deviate from those descriptions. The combat progressed quickly, blows were exchanged, spells were cast and avoided, and the defenses of both parties were worn down. Brother Ansvar, the hulk, fell first, beset on all side by Dami, Tazmeth, and Cambio. He fell, armor shorn by Dami’s flaming axe. A pall fell over the arena. Next fell Sister Onesta. Suddenly, the urge to explain one’s plans ended. All that was left was Brother Laering, the mage. He had cloaked himself in the pain of his allies, gaining strength and building resistance. He shrugged off blow after blow, returning fire bolts and curses.
Laering saw an opening–Dami had fallen low, relying on her rage, and he unleashed a striking green beam at her heart. She fell, stricken. Cambio, enraged, jumped forward and unleashed blast after blast into the floating abomination and it fell to the ground, hardly sustaining itself. As Camio stepped up the attack, Itzal walked to Dami and muttered ancient words. The arena grew silent, awed. Both Itzal and Dami’s ashed grew golden. The ashes reformed into the strange tiefling and life was breathed back into her, she coughed, grasped her axe and returned to the fray. Itzal could hardly stand, enervated by such an manipulation of the Weave. He knew he would never again bend it in the manner he had grown accustomed to.
But it was not for nothing. Cambio’s blasts, Tazmeth’s darts and Dami’s fire forced the aberration low. It fell to the earth and shuttered, its corpse deforming and reforming rapidly, with no sense. None of the Muskrats understood this eldritch horror and they returned to the lock room shocked.
The final challenge–the Muskrats had to face foes of their past. Namely, the Erinye who had harried them in the sewers and the damn Pit Fiend who had abused them in the depths of the furnace. They had brought several allies–an ice devil, a horned devil, and screamers. The combat began abruptly, with the screamers loping to the Muskrats and detonating themselves. The Muskrats were shaken but pressed forward–Dami hammered away upon the devils; Cambio let loose countless blasts; Tazmeth abused the horned devil with stunning strikes; and Itzal turned himself to a dragon and raked the enemies with his claws. Still, Bad, the Pit Field, was insatiable. He hacked Counter Saval to pieces and threatened to end Tazmeth, whose unparalleled body control allowed him to narrowly escape. Finally, he was brought down and the fight was ended. The Muskrats had won, but at what cost–Counter Saval’s loyal soul had been taken.

Report Date

29 Aug 2023