The stage at Leviathan’s has been altered with a strange array of cables, plugs, force projectors, vacuum tubes, amplifiers, and other strange and sundry objects of technological enhancement. A duel has been offered and that duel has been accepted under quite unusual terms. Honour demands satisfaction and satisfaction will be had. One Mr. St-Patrick-Hartbrooke (@nimelennar) ascends to the left side of the platform encased in a Combat Karaoke haptic suit as one M. <pleasing hum> (@manwich) floats to the right trailing various wires, connections, and securely adhered simulation nodules. Their seconds - one Mr. Karekin (@David_Falkayn) and one Ms. Ssskidwish (@Ssskidwish), respectively - follow with all solemnity to their proper positions to observe the contest.
[GM Note: As one might expect, a duel would generally be governed by the MIL stat, but due to the unusual choice of weapons, the outcome is affected primarily by PER and secondarily by FSH. The duel will be fought for three rounds, song against song. In each round, a suboptimal result will inflict 2 health points of damage against the opponent, 3 health points for a standard result, and 4 points for a critical success. The duel will be fought either to the death or until one party is unable to continue. In the event one of the Principals is injured so severely as to be unable to continue, the initial terms of the duel stand and will be continued at such a time that both parties are in sufficient condition to engage each other in fair combat.]
“Gentlesentients. Although it gives me no pleasure to witness this contest, it must fall to me as the caretaker of this venerable club to bear witness to the execution and result of this duel. By your leave, I shall now activate the arena for the first exchange between the Principals.”
“The challenger, Mr. St-Patrick-Hartbrooke has chosen Greensleeves, while the challenged has chosen Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish as a first salvo. On my mark, you may perform.”
St-Patrick-Hartbrooke winces at the pain now present in his left wing joint, as he makes his way over to where Karekin (@David_Falkayn) stands.
“I’m fine; merely a graze. If that’s all he can muster, I will have no trouble leaving this duel upright after three rounds. I can’t tell how injured my opponent is, though; his physiology is unfamiliar.”
His Doctor (a Human man in a grey trousers, a grey-brown vest and cravat, a long green jacket, and shiny leathery boots, with medium-length curly brown hair) looks St-Patrick-Hartbrooke over and pronounces him fit to continue.
I do hope there will be music such as this at the Grand Ball. How stirring! Why, if it were not for the blood of poor Mr. St. Batrick-Handbook I might even dance. Right here in the club. Ha, ha! Can you imagine the scandal?
Well, let us hope that old three dimensional square learns its lesson with lots more music and no more bloodshed.
Karekin gently bends to where St-Patrick-Hartbrooke is preparing for the next round, and kindly whispers
Excellent work. Eighth’s analyzers report your pitch was perfect. Your opponents Harmonics are strong, as expected, but its rhythms are not executing as precisely as needed for this level of performance. Your plan is proving sound – continue to execute, and I am certain God will show you fortune!
St-Patrick-Hartbrooke pulls his shoulders back, and opens his mouth to give a rousing speech… but then thinks better of it, and instead, with a stoic face, just gives a curt shake of the head to indicate the negative.
The time for speeches is past; anyone here will either understand innately why he is continuing, or they are not worth convincing. Taking another small sip of water, he readies himself mentally for the second round.
With a fanged snarl, Ssskidwish yells to the assembled crowd, “Any fool who even mentions Free Bird will find themselves falling out of my cloaca before the week is out!”
After a moment of stunned silence, she resumes fanning a lace hanky in front of whatever face of the cube happens to be facing forward.
“Having determined that both participants are in sufficient condition to continue in this affair, I would respectfully ask that the Principals and seconds once again take up their positions.”
[After waiting a moment, the old moose continues]
“For the second salvo, the challenger, Mr. St-Patrick-Hartbrooke has chosen The Impossible Dream, while the challenged has chosen Oh Yeah. On my mark, you may perform.”
St-Patrick-Hartbrooke hobbles in pain, favouring his left side, back to his second (@David_Falkayn) and the Doctor, who gives a disapproving look as he conducts a more thorough examination.
“That… was a much more substantial hit.” The Space Griffin winces as the Doctor touches a tender point, and then pulls out a pocketwatch (not a SWIM Watch, the Taaa’keee notes with his own disapproving glare) and begins checking and noting down his vital signs.
One more hit like that… It appears as though a hymn may not have been a bad choice for the final round; he may very well need it. St-Patrick-Hartbrooke takes another sip of water, and closes his eyes in thought and prayer.
Karekin looks at @Ssskidwish, clearly imploring “Is this really necessary?”
Karekin fails to read the expression on the space lizard, turns to St-Patrick-Hartbrooke
Excellent work. You are as inexorable as ever. Remain steadfast
Karekin again looks at @Ssskidwish – and looks around the room for “Carsssy” @Donald_Petersen, an imploring look on his face, palms slightly upturned. After pause, speaks clearly for all the room to hear
Both parties have acquitted themselves well here in the Court of Honour. We can, we clear consciouses, declare the matter settled. This will be the talk of the Governor’s Ball as it is.
Karekin looks beseeching around the crowd for support
