Thread 23
>>163582 Thread 24
>>165724 Thread 25
>>168076 In which a writefag condemns himself to hell.
[X] Mordenkainen's Magnificent Thunderdome
A horde of deadly spirits encircle you, the flames of the burning Library mingling with their ethereal forms in a hypnotic, Stygian nightmare. As they crowd in, preparing to overwhelm you, something surges and roils deep in your heart, finally surfacing from the mindless rage.
Umbrage. “YOU COWARDLY BITCH!” you roar. After all the scheming, high-class disdain and airs of arrogance, Remilia doesn't even have enough pride to fight her own battles. Umbrage swells in your breast, clean, pure and righteous. Wizards are surprisingly vulnerable once you look past their impressive potential; and once you finally reach the peak of your power, hardly recognizable as a mere mortal, you find you're the smallest and weakest creature in an entirely new pond; the vast and terrifying reaches of the Planes themselves.
In short, a Wizard lives or dies on their reputation. If there's one thing you cannot tolerate – or afford - it is
disrespect. Acting on inspiration, you cast a spell you'd planned for a much different use –
Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion. Latching onto Remilia with your mighty iron claws, you rear back and hurl yourself through the extra-dimensional portal.
You deposit Remilia's charred, smoking form in the lobby. You quickly revert to your normal form, and gesture at the
Mansion's horde of
Unseen Servants to your side. A few quick castings of
Fabricate later, and your
Servants have re-attired Remilia and yourself.
Now free of the superheated air and scorching lava, Remilia's natural regeneration works its unholy power. Within minutes she is stirring, and at long last she looks up to find you standing halfway down the
Mansion's grand staircase, wearing a brand-new cape.
“I am... Vizard,” you say grandly, swishing your new cape. “I bid you...
velcome.”
Remilia takes a long double-take, then slowly reaches up and pinches her cheek.
“Oh, it's happening, you cowardly bitch,” you sneer. Remilia's eyes flare as her face twists with hate, launching herself straight at you like an arrow -
- your solid iron fist collides with her jaw, flinging her bodily down the staircase.
“AND IT'S GONNA KEEP HAPPENING, YOU BACKSTABBING STRUMPET!” you bellow after the tumbling vampire. You throw your hands towards the ceiling and seize the subtle energies of the spell, manipulating them with all your arcane skill. The walls begin to warp and stretch, and soon the very structure of the mansion is pulling away from you at high speed, the ceiling zooming upward. Tall marble columns support a vaulted, arched ceiling. With a snap of your fingers, they are wreathed in fire – for illumination and a little more class.
“What's the point of this?” Remilia marvels. “You had the advantage. My allies were already defeated. Why?”
“Because you
insulted me,” you say crossly, “and we're going to settle this with
class. I thought I could depend on your obvious noble blood for that, but apparently you need a refresher!”
“You insult the name of Scarlet?” Remilia snaps, thrusting a finger at you. “Very well! You shall taste the true power and skill of my line! I challenge you to a duel!”
“Accepted!” you roar. “I have obviously chosen the place, so you may pick the weapon. Whatever skinny pig-stickers or lightweight shit you weak-armed Frenchies use, go for it!”
“French!?” Remilia sneers. “You think my lineage
French!? I am an ancient noblewoman of
Espania!” She thumps her closed fists against her chest, and you're blinded by a bright nova of scarlet light. When your vision returns, you see Remilia standing ten feet tall, her pectoral muscles rippling under her bronzed skin, wearing nothing but tight shorts, a steel bra, and a brilliant red mask.
“YOU SHALL TASTE THE POWER OF LA LUCHA!” she screams, and launches herself at you like a bullet, fast and furious.
honk echoes through the Thunderdome.
“A jape!?” she cries. “You mock me again?”
“Indeed,” you reply. “Life is a grand tragedy, but afterward it is I who command the stage. In the clutch of suffering, in the heart of darkness, it is laughter, dreadful laughter rising from the tears that reveals man to himself as a fool - and that wisdom sets him free. I am the fool for the lost. I teach them to laugh. And when the tragedy is finished and the blood has dried upon the arena floor, it is always the Rodeo Clown who laughs
last.”
“That may be so,” Remilia says, “but a ring-out is still a defeat, and out of this ring you will be flung!”
“Out of this extra-dimensional space?” you query.
“NO BORDER CAN WITHSTAND MY ULTIMATE TECHNIQUE!” she cries. “BEHOLD! SCARLET BULLET – RECONQUISTA OF THE HOMELAND!” Remilia charges you again, flipping herself airborne into a brilliant spinning torpedo of Lucha power and Latin charisma. The air itself ignites as she tears through it like the unstoppable force she is.
“It can't be helped,” you mutter. “I'll have to use...
that.”
Remilia hits you, the power of LUCHA detonating with a mighty cymbal clash. You go hurtling through the air towards the wall of the THUNDERDOME – and go bouncing off! Remilia watches in amazement as you ricochet off the walls and pillars of the THUNDERDOME, finally rolling to a stop before her.
“But how?”
You crawl forward, reach down and carefully pick up nothing, setting it upright. Remilia lashes out, her mighty hand seizing upon something solid, but invisible.
“... invisible barrel?” she cries. “But how?”
“The forbidden technique,” you reply. “MIME powers!”
“I know a trick worth two of that!” Remilia cries. “I shall fight with my amigos, my
dos gringos!”
“Go ahead!” you challenge her. “Summon your spooks!”
“I, Remilia Scarlet, Luchador Extrordinare, call – for BLACKUP!” she cries, thrusting her fist at the ceiling. From an extra-dimensional rift on either side of her come the ghosts of Freddie Hubbard and Don Cherry. Remilia produces a violin, and they assault you with a blast of mad Mariachi style, buffeting you with the sheer power of their charisma and bitchin swingin' syncopation.
white!”
“Aw, shit,” Hubbard says, looking down at himself. “That just threw me off my groove.”
“Never fear,” you reply, “for the greatest bard of all is, in fact, HERE!”
“... Shakespere?” hazards Cherry.
“FUCK NO,” you cry. “The man who journeyed from black to white, but never lost his bardic might!” An awesome hat appears over your head and tilts over your brow, and your hips start jiving on their own with amazing style. “To show you – it doesn't matter if you're BLACK OR WHITE!”
In a brilliant flash of splendorous awesomeocity, Michael Jackson is made manifest.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zgnlZs3uB2Q Hubbard and Cherry flock to your side as Remilia gapes. “Traitors!” she cries after them.”
“Fool! Did you really think you could control the power of sick swing?” you retort. The kings of swing begin blowing some mad tunes as Remilia's ghost army rises behind you, providing the bass line with their hands and feet. Ray Charles manifests out of nowhere to back them up on a keytar. Your new army advances on Remilia with well-synchronized swaying, lurching in time to the stronk beat.
Remilia retreats before your wicked sweet tunes, and finally collapses. “I concede!” she cries. “I can't match your sick beats!”
You and your musical titans slam thunderous high-fives before they vanish in a puff of style. Alone, undefeated, you stand – master of Mordenkainen's Magnificent THUNDERDOME!
[ ] I never asked for this [X] Yes. Yes, we did.
