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A minotaur in a purple jumpsuit who was supposedly put on this earth to flatten the elderly met a little old lady with a rolling pin as big as she was, and neither of them could quite land the killing blow. Tormiir and Granny Edith spent six rounds in the Chinchilla Forest trading cookies, kisses, breast-milk discourse and some of the gentlest violence the arena had ever seen. They wore each other down so thoroughly that the match ended with both of them dead, side by side, promising to share a cup of tea in the afterlife.

The Story

The Picnic

The night began in the halls of the Dread Fortress, where the Lord of Fate strolled with his arms folded behind his back, his fine Italian leather boots clacking on the stones “with an Italian accent because they’re Italian.” He was looking for his assistant, Thea, and found her in the kitchen packing a picnic basket: peanut butter and honey sandwiches with extra peanuts for crunch, apple slices and apple juice. The Lord of Fate made the mistake of saying he wasn’t picky about chips. “That’s the wrong answer,” Thea told him. “I thought you were in charge because you knew things.” She packed three family-sized bags of Cool Ranch Doritos.

When he asked whether she’d set up the Deathmatch, Thea produced a second giant basket of snacks and water bottles, so the champions could stay hydrated while they “tear each other’s flesh from their bones and snap each other’s femurs.” The Lord of Fate admitted he was “actually a little impressed.” Thea had been stepping up her game, and that was “going on the report.” She begged for a gold star, then three, then five. He drew one on her forehead with his ink pen. “Ow. Thank you.”

Then Thea pulled a doughnut out of the basket and blew on it. It swelled to about twelve feet tall, pink-iced and sprinkled, with a void where the hole should be. Through it, she presented the evening’s champions.

The Champions

Granny Edith was a very small old lady with gray curls, giant Coke-bottle glasses and a flour-dusted apron with spoons and whisks in its pockets. She had come because she “just love[s] baking things” and had heard there was good old-fashioned home cooking to be done. The Lord of Fate groaned that a few weeks ago it had been an old man, then a teenage boy, and now another elderly woman: “Can we not shoot for the middle of the age bracket?” Thea insisted Granny was middle-aged. Granny helped by explaining that her grandpappy had lived to 200. She soothed the Lord with a cupcake from her apron and a reminder that “stressed is desserts spelled backwards.” He found it oddly comforting. He also found it a problem. He had come into “this seat of power rather abruptly,” he explained, and not everyone was happy about it, so old women being beaten to death in the arena was a bad look.

Tormiir was a minotaur in a purple jumpsuit, gold bands on his horns, neck, arms and ankles (“who doesn’t love a matching set?”), carrying a big brass sword. Purple magic spilled constantly from every orifice he had. Thea assured everyone that he was put on this earth “to just flatten geriatrics.” His opening statement was simple: “I’m gonna murder all of you.”

Thea handed out giant jugs of water. Granny poured hers into the giant teacup she kept on her belt. The Lord of Fate was reassured to hear Granny had signed a consent form, though Thea admitted, “I don’t actually know what the forms say because the chinchillas wrote them.”

Into the Forest

Thea pulled the doughnut’s sides down like a curtain, and the scene dropped into the Chinchilla Forest, the place, the Lord of Fate explained, “where we source our local chinchillas.” Thea added that the chinchillas run wild and free and “sometimes nibble on the bones of the champions who’ve been left to rot here,” so they grow up big and strong. She also whispered to Granny that the chinchillas keep a secret kitchen and move it around. They hide their cooking because otherwise they’d always have to serve people, and they hate people.

Granny didn’t need a stove anyway. She had 79 great-great-great-grandchildren, so a minotaur was “gonna be no problem at all.” Tormiir offered to wait for them to get old and run them over too, which Thea found “really actually considerate.” Above them, the Acolytes cheered from the hanging stands. The Lord of Fate asked the doomed to make it interesting because he’d had a long week, and Thea got right in their faces: “I want to see blood. I want to see sweat.”

Snouts, Eyes and Kisses

Tormiir struck first, and badly. He pointed his snout at Granny and blew a big purple warlock flame, but it came out as a sneeze that burned his own face. Next he held his nose and fired magic out of his eye holes, like someone squirting milk from their eyes. It missed. “Who taught you your table manners, young man? That’s disgusting.” Granny threw a handful of flour into his eyes, and he promised it was “time to make biscuits with you, old lady.” She thought that sounded delightful. He clarified that she was the main ingredient. She thanked him, since no one had told her that in years.

Then a giant jumbotron appeared in the sky with the kiss cam on the two of them. Tormiir offered his cheek, got “a little smooch-a-rooney,” and whispered “I will kill you” before pulling away. Granny used the moment for “a little love tap” with the rolling pin. Tormiir fumbled the block completely and spun around with little cakes circling his head.

Thea hovered close to crow at him, so he belched fiery breath at “the little flappy one.” It burned her badly enough that the Lord of Fate snapped his fingers and reversed time so her skin reformed. “You are not a champion. You are an admin,” he told her, and sent her behind the wall. Granny, meanwhile, announced it was eleven o’clock and time for biccy and tea, and recovered on her fortifying cookies. The Lord of Fate had his own tray of Oreos. Thea swallowed a cookie whole and had to punch her own throat to break it up. When she stumbled through the end of the round, the Lord threatened to make Doug do her job. She asked the champions what they wanted if they won. Tormiir wanted “Your head on a platter.” The Lord of Fate said “Sold.” Granny just wanted the world to be happy, because “all you need is loaves.”

The Minotaur’s Confession

Tormiir’s ear-hole blasts both missed, and he sadly cleaned an ear with a Q-tip. The Lord of Fate grew suspicious, and Tormiir broke: “I’ve only killed warriors in battle. Only the biggest and the strongest. I’ve never killed an old lady.” Granny consoled him. She had lived through five major world conflicts, and he had his whole life ahead of him, or at least the rest of the match. Thea sat at her feet like a grandchild for a story that began “the year was 1725,” until the Lord of Fate cut it off.

Granny’s encouragement turned out to be a psychic attack, and Tormiir shrugged it off, more pumped than ever. Her signature move, Granny’s Cookies, sent the spinning rolling pin rolling across the ground to flatten him. It left them both winded. “Mr. Hammond, I would no longer like to support your park.” Granny took a nip from her little hip flask, “just between you and me.” Thea threw one of the champions’ sandwiches deep into the stands to an Acolyte named Alan Wigginson, just to taunt Tormiir. He fired a beam from between his horns at her, and Thea sidestepped it like a matador with a little red cloth.

Metal Chairs and Mother’s Milk

The Acolytes demanded chaos. Thea asked whether the Lord of Fate had brought folding chairs. “I am always sitting on a folding chair just in case.” A glint caught the champions’ eyes. It was not “a silver 1998 Chevy Impala with the Michigan license plates” but a metal chair. The Lord of Fate split into two copies of himself, spread white wings, and dove like synchronized swimmers to smack both champions across the face. Tormiir was left one bad stumble from death.

So he reached into his jumpsuit as if for pistols and pulled out two bottles of milk, “imported from my mother.” When the crowd recoiled, he turned on them: “You all eat cheese. You all drink milk from different species. You’re all judging me for drinking my own mother’s milk. We’re cow people, you freaks.” Granny tried a hug that squeezed a little too tight, then cake to put him into a food coma. He fought the hug off and only got sleepy from the cake. When she tried to box his ears, they mostly wore each other out. “We’ve done, like, no damage to each other,” Granny observed.

The Box Opens

“This entire fight right now is kind of absurd. I think it’s time,” said the Lord of Fate, and reached into the sky. Multicolored chaos lightning crackled, The Box of Chaos slammed onto the field in a column of pink and yellow fire, and a shadowy figure clawed its way out. Feeling magnanimous, the Lord of Fate let everyone use it for free. Thea spent her turn stuffing an entire bag of Doritos into her mouth, bag and all, and was told she was a lord now.

Tormiir landed his crackling horn beam on Granny twice, the second time after unzipping a hidden sporran for his emergency milk. He was, he finally explained, a warlock: “I don’t talk about it a lot.” He’d been on the range his whole life. “I’m everywhere. And nowhere.”

Granny went to the box next (“Granny’s got some skeletons in her closet”). “Aren’t you a little old to be fighting to the death?” asked the figure. When Granny allowed that everyone has different parenting techniques for still breastfeeding, Tormiir exploded: “They’re not breasts, you fucking weirdos,” and “Every time you have a fucking latte, imagine my mother on your lips.” She traded one of her signature brownies, and from the darkness inside, yellow eyes stared back. Her inner monster awakened. Granny got hench, still a little old lady but bigger, with her rolling pin swelling and her eyes narrowing behind the glasses. “I’ve had enough of you! It’s time for Granny to show some whoop-ass!” One swing glowed “with hot energy from the stove” and left Tormiir dissociating for a good thirty seconds.

Udders from the Heavens

After a pause for more Doritos, Tormiir made his own trade. The figure greeted him with “What do you want, mama’s boy?”, took his spit and licked it off his face. In return, the sword he’d forgotten he had turned from silver to black, an onyx blade that sang through the air, with a warning that one bad swing would destroy it and probably him. He kissed the figure on the forehead. It wiped the kiss off.

Then came “the most horrifying attack in all of existence”: “Ka-moo, Ma-moo, Ma-nee!” A portal opened and udders fell through. Tormiir latched on and fit five. Thea flew in and fit four. Granny took out her dentures and fit sixteen. “Back in my day, we had to drink our milk directly from the teat.” Fully restored, Tormiir swung at her in a rage: “Get off of my mother, you freaks!” Granny pointed out that he had offered. Her electric beater, powered by an arcane battery pack, went badly wrong: “I don’t think that milk agreed with me.” “It’s not for your species, you weirdo!” She steadied herself with three deep breaths (“where there’s a whisk, there’s a way”), saying it wasn’t her time, though she knew her Gerald was waiting for her. The Lord of Fate marveled that they’d never seen champions this worn down.

The Final Bake

In the last round, Tormiir slashed twice with the onyx blade and hit both times. He was “all out of milk.” Granny promised she’d come back from worse, and maybe they could get a cup of tea in the afterlife. A hard-raisin cookie thrown like a frisbee missed, but she dropped him in a giant mixing bowl, kneaded him like dough, and ran along the top of her rolling pin to flatten him. Both of them were barely standing.

Then Thea’s best roll of the night summoned chaos: a delectable aroma, each champion’s favorite food. For Tormiir it was fresh morning grass after rain, the petrichor. For Granny it was her great-grandma’s bread and butter pudding, the one she always tried and never quite got right. Neither could resist. Granny collapsed first, spending her last breath on a blessing:

Granny Edith: “I’m so happy I get to taste my great grandma’s bread and butter pudding again. And I’m gonna see Gerald… I want all of you to take care of yourselves and remember to always eat a cookie and life is what you bake it.”

Thea granted her one last swing “just for flavor.” Tormiir completely failed to block it, and the pun killed him. “Because of a pun? I am dead?” “Granny’s killing him from the grave.” He leaned down to kiss her wrinkly forehead, discovered he had a gluten allergy, and felt his orifices swell shut as his body began to tear itself apart from the inside. He fell beside her in an accidental spoon, his last thought “bread and butter pudding.” He died several more times for good measure (“I’m a dramatic bitch”), finally whispering, “Mama, we’re gonna need milk for our tea.”

The Lord of Fate called it a good job. Thea pointed at her forehead, declared that “this punderdome earns five stars,” and got four more ink stars. She celebrated by zipping around the coliseum pouring tuna juice on everyone, which the Lord of Fate had outlawed.

Dried Blood

In the recovery room, both champions were revived, their cuts and bruises healing. Mages massaged Granny’s tendons, and she asked whether they could take a few more decades off. Tormiir’s trainer, a Wagyu farmer, squirted milk into his mouth from a Gatorade bottle and massaged him to classical music. Tormiir clarified that his condition was celiac, not lactose, and that his mother “was just out for the evening.” He also counted his orifices: “All 27,” his back end and rib piercings included. He conceded that his accent was “decidedly Scottish.” Granny was glad a little bit of her had been left behind for others to remember, even if, as Thea pointed out, it was a killing blow rather than a cookie recipe. She resolved to take a nap next time, because “I’m a whisk taker.” Tormiir had learned “to not fall in love with the elderly opponent very early in the match.” “Rookie mistake,” said the Lord of Fate. Granny’s final advice: “If in doubt, bake it till you make it.”

Notable Moments

  • The kiss cam caught Tormiir and Granny mid-fight, and he followed the smooch with “I will kill you.”
  • The Lord of Fate split into two winged copies of himself to hit both champions with metal chairs.
  • Tormiir admitted mid-match that he had never actually killed an old lady.
  • A portal of udders opened in the sky, and Granny fit sixteen with her dentures out.
  • Granny’s dying pun killed Tormiir, who then discovered a gluten allergy while kissing her forehead.
  • Thea earned all five of her forehead stars, then poured outlawed tuna juice on the crowd.

Memorable Quotes

  • Tormiir: “I’ve only killed warriors in battle. Only the biggest and the strongest. I’ve never killed an old lady.”
  • Granny Edith: “Who taught you your table manners, young man? That’s disgusting.”
  • The Lord of Fate: “You are not a champion. You are an admin.”
  • Tormiir: “You all eat cheese. You all drink milk from different species. You’re all judging me for drinking my own mother’s milk. We’re cow people, you freaks.”
  • The Box of Chaos’s shadowy figure: “Aren’t you a little old to be fighting to the death?”
  • Granny Edith: “I’ve had enough of you! It’s time for Granny to show some whoop-ass!”
  • Tormiir: “I came here to drink milk and kill old ladies and I’m all out of milk.”
  • Thea: “Granny’s killing him from the grave.”

Who and What Appears

Characters

Tormiir (Cucumber). A minotaur warlock (“I don’t talk about it a lot”).

  • Looks: purple jumpsuit, gold bangles and bands on his horns, neck, arms and ankles. Purple magic spills from all of his (27) orifices.
  • Powers: warlock blasts from his snout, eyes, ears and mouth. Signature move: a purple beam charged between his horns (“Kamuhamuha wave”).
  • Weapon: a brass sword, turned into an onyx blade by the Box of Chaos (destroyed on a nat 1).
  • Milk: drinks his mother’s milk, kept in bottles, an emergency stash in a hidden sporran, and a portal of udders. Rages at anyone else drinking milk or eating cheese, though he admits he loves cheese and milk himself.
  • History: says he has only ever killed warriors, never an old lady. “On the range my whole life… everywhere and nowhere.” Accent drifts, finally Scottish.
  • Death: a gluten allergy / celiac disease. Loves morning grass and petrichor. Died beside Granny.

Granny Edith (guest). A tiny old lady baker.

  • Looks and gear: gray curls, Coke-bottle glasses, a floury apron full of spoons and whisks, a rolling pin as big as she is, a giant teacup on her belt, a hip flask, and an electric beater with an arcane battery pack.
  • Signature move: Granny’s Cookies (throwing the spinning rolling pin; running on top of it).
  • Family:
    • Her grandpappy lived to 200.
    • She has 79 great-great-great-grandchildren.
    • She grew up on her great-grandpappy’s farm “up north.”
    • Gerald is “waiting for” her in death (relationship unstated).
  • History: a girl of 17 in “1725.” Lived through five major world conflicts.
  • The Box of Chaos awoke her yellow-eyed inner monster (doubled nat 20 effects).
  • Sayings: “stressed is desserts spelled backwards,” “all you need is loaves,” “where there’s a whisk, there’s a way,” “life is what you bake it.”
  • Favorite food: her great-grandma’s bread and butter pudding.

The Lord of Fate (Mudcat). Came into “this seat of power rather abruptly… not everyone’s happy about it,” and worries about optics.

  • Keeps a report on Thea; draws stars on her forehead in ink.
  • Reverses time to heal Thea. Splits into two winged duplicates with metal chairs. Summons the Box of Chaos.
  • Always sits on a folding chair. Outlawed tuna juice. Threatened to have Doug roll for Thea.

Thea (Caustic Phoenix). The Lord of Fate’s imp assistant, “an admin, not a champion.”

  • Packs picnics, creates the doughnut portal, and dodges like a matador.
  • Ate a whole bag of Doritos, bag included. Told she’s “a lord now.”
  • Ends the episode with five ink stars on her forehead.

The Box of Chaos’s shadowy figure (Mudcat). Trades items for offerings: Granny’s brownie, Tormiir’s spit (inferred). Calls Tormiir “mama’s boy.”

Others:

  • Doug: mentioned as a potential roller, not present.
  • Alan Wigginson: an Acolyte in the stands who caught Thea’s sandwich.
  • Julia Rose: the giveaway winner.
  • Tormiir’s mother: source of the milk; “out for the evening.”
  • Granny’s great-grandma and Nana.

Places

  • The Chinchilla Forest: the arena, a forest where the local chinchillas are sourced, they eat the bones of rotting champions, and they keep a roaming secret kitchen. The Acolyte stands hang above it.
  • The Dread Fortress kitchen; the front office of the Dread Fortress.
  • The recovery room (Dried Blood).
  • Granny’s great-grandpappy’s farm “up north, yonder.”

Items

  • Thea’s 12-ft doughnut portal.
  • Picnic baskets, Cool Ranch Doritos and the Lord’s tray of Oreos.
  • Consent forms written by chinchillas.
  • The metal chairs.
  • The onyx blade.
  • Granny’s brownie (traded), cupcake, cookies, raisin cookie and multigrain crackers.
  • Thea’s tuna juice (outlawed), corn dogs and cup of tears of enemies.

Lore statements

  • The Lord of Fate can reverse time locally and duplicate himself. He has white wings.
  • Chinchillas can cook but hide it because they hate serving people.
  • Revived champions are healed in a recovery room by mages (Dried Blood).

Full Round-by-Round