Ox Boxing

Log Info

• Title: Ox Boxing
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Braelnoir, MAC-B1G, Merek, Randolf
• Place: A05: Ox-Strength Tavern
• Time: Thursday, July 30, 2020, 10:14 PM
• Summary: It's Fight Night at the Ox-Strength, which is every night. Cryosanthia arrives to charge the ice-box just before everyone is ready to throw down, and is talked into staying. Braelnoir arrives separately, and assures her scale-sister she'll call if she needs help, but won't. As Cryo heads into the back, Braelnoir recognizes the barker that exploited her when she was in mermaid form and approaches him. He doesn't recognize her, but is clearly out of place. The Ox-Strength isn't somewhere to find dates. A few spectators enter, and then MAC-B1G bursts through the door, declaring it is here for Quiche recipes. Wouldn't you know it, but someorc hates quiche and punches are thrown. Brael sucker punches "Mr Feels the Eels" a couple times, as the orc lays into MAC-B1G hard enough to shove the unit back. The two engage in some heavy slamming. Meanwhile, Mr. Feels manages to get a charm spell off, and Braelnoir succumbs, instantly regretting her 'love taps' from earlier. As she wipes his nose and coaxes him to stop singing, he's sucker-punched again by Firestarter, the Arvec Nar who loaned Braelnoir a caustic guantlet in the mermaid tank. Mr Feels is as good at Charm Person as he isn't at charming ladies, and Firestarter is suddenly smitten as well. Crazed Orc and disciplined combat machine continue to exchange blows, with the golem landing more. Merek stays out of the fight, Randolf is briefly involved and leaves with two halflings, then Mr. Feels makes his way out, leaving the two women to fight over him to prove how much they love him. Considering the damage they're doing to each other, not much. Braelnoir manages to grab Firestarter, who attempts to reverse the grapple and fails, and the intwinted two are interrupted by Cryo. Fondly recalling working out some frustrations by fighting decades ago, the white sith eagerly asks if she can take on the winner. Fade to Red.
• APL: 7.5, Braelnoir 7, MAC-B1G 8
• Encounters: CR10 XP9600 (or CR8, XP4800 to reflect non-lethal, no weapons)
  • (1) CR7 XP3200 Dark Sculptress, Bard 8, as Mr Feels the Eels
  • (1) CR7 XP3200 Mutated Orc, Barb 7, as Quiche Hating Orc
  • (1) CR7 XP3200 Firestarter, Barb brawler 7, as herself

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A05: Ox-Strength Tavern *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The worst sailors, mercenaries, thugs and dock-workers frequent this place, making it one of the most dangerous bars in the city. Its wooden floors and sturdy furniture are scarred from brawls, and the plaster on the walls is broken away in places from the brick underneath. Tucked against the large, steel diamond-pained windows are a few narrow booths providing a view of the street and all its traffic while letting smoky sunlight stream in and preventing patrons being thrown out through them. Little lamps hang from the ceiling beams to provide light when the sun goes down.

At the back is a long bar of pitted, much-polished oak sitting beneath a bay of cuboards. Its here that the owner of the bar can usually be found operating the taps and fiddling with the large copper samovar on one end against the wall when she isn't out serving drinks and basically running the whole bar. There's even a few potted violets behind the bar in the open case where bottles are stored. There's a sign in chalk listing the house specialities, along with whatever will be being served for dinner that night.

The food and drink here is good, despite the clientele's rough and frankly undesirable nature and the smell of pipe tobacco and beer that never seems to come out of the wood; the most popular thing being the curries redolent with spices and the hard ciders, both of which she makes herself in the kitchen. Part of the bar itself, it should be noted, bears the marks of electric damage, with spidery black burn marks radiating out from a charred spot right near the inner edge, where the 'tender stool is located.

Over against one wall is a pot-bellied wood stove, with two much-abused leather chairs facing it. Near to that is a locked door that appears to lead to the owner's apartment above the Ox, while a pair of swinging doors at the end of the bar leads to the kitchen.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

It's Thursday Night at the Ox! Which is a good night for a fight, just like every other night. The weather has been hot and muggy, and that has made everyone hot and in the mood for punching a mug. The tension in the air is clear, the way everyone has their stein held tightly, they are on the edge of their seats, ready.

A few regular patrons, nay, regular brawlers are picking out their dance partners for the night with overt hostile glances. There are stories there, one for every missing tooth and tusk, and another chapter might be written tonight. Some are almost amicable, after all, you fight what you know and everyone enjoys a little payback. There will be blood, and casualties, but hopefully no death. After all, it's only fun if someone loses an eye.

The door opens and a white-scaled sith strolls in, abruptly pulling upright and very straight. Enough that she's blocking the door. She gives a wary look across the room occupants, then glances at the bartender. "Should I... come back later?"

"Nah Cryo, stay in the kitchen, you'll be fine."

Braelnoir, usually in the willingness to alter someone's bite signature, steps into the Ox with her usual swagger, coming to a halt behind the white sith, "Oh, hi!" she chimes in merrily.

"Brael!" Cryo turns on the spot, her tail tucked in against her legs and gives her scale-sister a hug. She keeps her in the cold embrace, scaled snout close to the womans' face. Her expression is difficult to read, but there is worry in her voice, which is also kept low, "They're about to fight, I can feel it. I'm doing the Icebox rounds, it won't take long, then we can go somewhere. You'll shout, if you need help, right?"

Braelnoir meets the hug with vigor, and the wary eye over her sister's shoulder, "It's th'ox, luv." she replies with a jolly grin, "'course they are." She releases her embrace and nods, "Sure, sure. Nice an' friendly. Oh, mind holdin't this for me?" She takes off Firestarter's gauntlet to hand over to the sith, "Keepin' it friendly an' all." Because a face full of acidic spikes is less friendly.

Cryo loosens her hold, slipping back a little, looking Braelnoir over. Perhaps memorizing details in case any need to be set back. She takes the gauntlet, impressed with the weight, "Of course. Be careful please. You're so strong, I envy you. I'll be out soon."

The sith turns, and with a lightness on her feet reminescent of her time at the Fernwood, she's through the crowd, past the bar and into the back without disturbing anyone and avoiding trying to find an excuse with her.

Leaving Braelnoir 'alone' in the bar, with the rest of it eyeing her and each other. There's a few familiar faces, the Arvek Nar that was Cryo's date the other night, Kacper, an Orc from the Colosseum, good at unarmed, a shock of dirty-blond hair.

Oh...

It's the back of the barker from the event where Braelnoir was a mermaid bride. It's not distorted by a water/air transition, but she'd remember that view anywhere.

Oh!

Brae's eyes light up as she sweeps the joint, noting several of the regulars as well as Kacper, but it's Mr Feels.... oh, Eels for the Feels, himself, that holds her eye. The Korite clasps her hands behind her back and starts to walk with a coy, girlish sway toward the man, trying to angle to keep her shoulder emblem shielded from him by her body. After all, she hasn't seen him since she lost her fluke, but that mark is kind of distinctive.

The door slams open with sudden force, ricocheting back from the wall on the hinge side. The returning door rebounds again, this time with a metallic -clink- as the latest entrant steps into the establishment with heavy, thudding footfalls. MAC-B1G comes to a halt several strides in, perhaps in the middle of the room. A new challenger? Contender? Someone looking to leave their mark?

Its faceplate pans a full three-hundred and sixty degrees to scan the establishment and patrons, many of whom appear to be energetic and may or may not have their attention focused in its direction. One large primary manipulator lifts and... begins slightly oscillating at the mid-joint.

"Greeting protocol initiated. This unit acquired data indicating that this establishment is an idea location to acquire information regarding the following topics: knitting, floral arrangement, and preparation of a foodstuff known as quiche."

Merek walks up into the tavern, although he doesn't look like he wishes to involve with the fight. The man makes a way to a table to find a little place to settle in and watch.

Randolf's entrance isn't quite as grandiose as MAC's. The burly dwarf makes his way into the bar, looking around with an appraising glance. "Och, -finally-, a decent bar!" he says happily. He makes his way over to the bar, scowling as the bartop hovers right at nose-level to him. He hops up on tiptoes, peering over towards the bartender. "Oy, missus! A pint o' mead, an' it please ye!" he orders. He gives one of the barstools a hairy eyeball. With a grunt and some effort, he manages to clamber up to sit precariously atop it. He wiggles his rump a couple times, to make sure the thing won't collapse under his hefty weight, then looks back to the bartender as he waits for his drink. Blithely unaware of the brawl about to break out.

Mr. Feels the Eels is currently working on a fourth drink at the bar, getting unpleasant looks from the bartender. Mr. Feels doesn't fit, a little too cheery and overconfident, a typical bard. The Ox isn't the place to be picking up girls, unless the next move is going to be an suplex and one is really sure it can be pulled off. Hearing footsteps, sensing a presence, he turns and grins at Braelnoir. There is no sign of recognition in his eyes, "Hey lovely, here to watch the fun?"

Then the door slams open, and -something- strides in. All attention turns towards MAC-B1G, the tension that was building earlier strains to a silent 'snap' that is broken by an angry shout, "I HATE QUICHE!"

Then it's off to the races as everyone lunges off their seats.

"1 to 2 the Golem doesn't even notice the first punch." Mr. Feels bets with Braelnoir.

<OOC> Braelnoir says, "power attack"
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon0-2: (16)+10+-2: 24
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon0-7: (19)+10+-7: 22
GAME: Braelnoir rolls 1d3+7: (3)+7: 10
GAME: Braelnoir rolls 1d3+7: (2)+7: 9

Braelnoir whirls on her heel at the sudden slam(s) from the door and her head cocks a bit on sight of the golem. That's not a common model, anymore... and, "Th'fuck is quiche?"

It's about then, that Mr Feels chimes in and she turns a too sweet, slightly cynaide smile, "W'hello, there, luv...!" she purrs in a particular... subshade of lust, "I like ta make some a'my own fun with you...." On his bet, she barely turns her chin toward the door, not taking her eyes off him. her lips part in a wolfish grin and with an exultant, "Yer on!" she brings her fist across his head with a, cry to let "KORRRRRRR!" know someone's about to get their ass kicked, finishing her invocation in time to put it's mate across the other side of his dome.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+18: (19)+18: 37
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+13: (14)+13: 27
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d3+9: (3)+9: 12
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d3+9: (2)+9: 11
GAME: Quiche Hating Orc damaged MAC-B1G for 23 points of nonlethal. 23 total.

The Quiche-Hating Orc launches himself off his chair at the Golem. His dietary choices have done him well, he is a mass of muscles. In an eerie echo of Braelnoir's assault, he lets fly two massive fists at the golem's center of mass.

>>BOOM<< >>BOOM<<

The blows land, shoving the unit back from the impact.

On a positive note, Braelnoir won the wager.

<OOC> MAC-B1G will activate Titan Armor for DR 3/Adamantine and Fast Healing 3. Step away and activate Toughen Construct.
GAME: MAC-B1G activates its Titan Armor, gaining: +4 Dex
GAME: MAC-B1G casts Toughen Construct. Caster Level: 8 DC: 14

MAC-B1G does, in fact, notice the impacts, and not just from the reverberations. They are enough to overcome its inertia and move it. This movement is then continued as the Multipurpose Assault Construct takes additional steps to the rear to halt and stabilize. "Defensive measures engaged." Additional plating rapidly telescopes and extends along its chassis in a staccato series of clinks and clanks. "Threat assessment: moderate. Cause: Unknown." Cyan optics glow more brightly. "Cease hostilities. You have three seconds to comply."

"Wha... the...?" Mr. Feels gasps, as Braelnoir's punches catch him off guard, ring his bell and bloody his nose. As he bleeds into his mustache and down his mouth, he pushes a chair in the way of the korrite. "Who... why?"

<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Okay, Will Save, DC17"
GAME: Braelnoir rolls will: (4)+1: 5
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Okay, Spell is Charm Person, so suddenly he's a friend."
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "the Bardic Performance, is Fascinate"

Mr. Feels flips his fingers around, as if strumming an air lute, tracing a few patterns, one of which definitely included a heart-shape, all of which are directed towards Braelnoir.

And she feels... funny. Like she's just punched her best friend. One might say childhood friend, except hers wasn't very pleasant, so new bestie for sure. How could she have done such a mean thing.

Mr. Feels, meanwhile, is trying to put his nose back in place and fascinate the crowd around him, singing randomly.

Three Fisherwomen cast out their nets ~ idie hidie hoe
to see how their fishing would go ~ idie hide hoe
but wouldn't you know, nuthin' but trow ~ idie hide hoe

It's terrible, sounds terrible, and it's only after he's a few bars in does he realize it also doesn't work in combat.

Braelnoir's grin, wide eyed and fervent, suddenly slackens into a vaguely guilty horror as the man's spell takes hold. The Korite, fist drawn back for a furtherance of the festivities, instead slackens to her side and she cants her head as she sullenly shuffles forward, "I'm... sorry, luv, I just.... ya sicced them squids on me... was so mean...!" The merc fishes out a kerchief from one of her belt pouches and reaches concernedly for the trickle of blood under his nose, "C'mere, let me a'that." before the singing can get started. She shouldn't, she knows feels are involved, but she has to giggle behind a hand as those first few bars go awry, "I'm sorry... aww, luv ya know better'n that sorta jingle durin' a rumble... it ... I'm sorry, it just ain't yer gift...!"

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d6+6: (2)+6: 8

The bard's singing, gratefully, stops as Braelnoir tends to his wounds.

The rest of the bar has descended into chaos. The opening round of glasses have been thrown, and people are down to punching, squaring off in twos or threes, or chain attacking. Namely, getting hit, then hitting the next nearest thing. It isn't easy to spectate, there's always the danger of a flying body landing on the table. Kacper, watches behind his with an angry wariness, back to the wall. Randall has two scrappy halflings hit the floor in front of his, and wrestle beneath it. Nothing has come Merek's way, yet.

>>BAM<<

A fist comes out of nowhere, and cold-cocks the bard again, twisting his head and jaw around, spittle flying. As it pulls back, it's owner is instantly recognizeable. Firestarter! The generous arvek nar from the pool.

"I'll give you three seconds..." The Orc with the dietary restrictions growls, adjusting his footing and flexing his muscles. With a mighty roar he flings his fists out. Slow, obvious, the power he's putting into them affecting the accuracy.

"One!" Wffff... it misses MAC-B1G.

"TWO!" Also misses...

<OOC> MAC-B1G says, "Titan Fists slam attacks"
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls weapon4-4: (12)+12+-4: 20
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls weapon4-4: (4)+12+-4: 12
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls weapon4-4: (13)+12+-4: 21
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls damage4: aliased to 2d6+6: (5)+6: 11
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls damage4: aliased to 2d6+6: (10)+6: 16

MAC-B1G lifts its manipulative appendages, the trio of 'fingers' at their closing into a roughly flat striking surface. They then suddenly thrust forward, less from body movement and more from sudden extension via hydraulics. After a strike to the oruch's face, they cycle and repeat rapidly as it directs, "You must cease. You must cease. You must cease."

The orc is repeatedly punched in the face. This does not help his face, it does not harm MAC-B1G's striking surfaces.

Mr Feels, meanwhile, yelps as he's staggered and almost knocked into Braelnoir. Quickly, he steps back, beside her and away from Firestarter. His hands flash, and he's drawing symbols in the air with little sparkles, hearts, all directed at Firestarter.

The spell lands, and her demeanor changes the Arveck Nar version of Braelnoir's expression, surprise and shock at what she's done to a friend. She also grabs a napkin, reaching forward to dab at his wounds.

The man laughs, a mad cackling laugh, in pain and desperation. "It's OK girls, it's fine, it's fine. What's a little blood amongst friends? Say... I just had an an idea."

There is a very pregnant pause, "Why don't the two of you fight over me?"

Firestarter seems to be considering it. She grins a jagged hobgoblin smile, her nose seems lit, "How about it luv? Couple rounds, see who is harder?"

Randolf lifts his mug, just about ready to take a sip--when a brawler crashes into him from behind. The sweet brew splashes all over his expensive wizard robes and soaks his tartan. "What the--?!" He turns just in time to catch a fist to his large dwarven nose, popping his head back. "GURRK!" And if that weren't enough, another body goes flying, sending his bar stool crashing down under him. He lands on his rump with a heavy thud. "GWAH!" With a flailing of stubby limbs, he scrambles to his feet. "Right, -that- tears it? You lot want a piece o' -me-?! BRING IT!!" With a thunderous roar, he joins the fray. Laying about with those great ham-hocks he calls fists, and adding a solid head-butt here and there for good measure. He's a tough old bear, too, taking shots as good as he gives. Soon enough, though, the tussle works itself out. With his nose bloodied, his lip split, and a lovely shiner swelling his eye shut, he looks around to observe his handiwork. He stoops to pick up his bonnet that was lost in the fray and sets it atop his head, then stoops again to help the two groaning halflings to their feet. "Och, c'mon, lads. We'll not be gettin' any drinkin' done here. Let's go find us a pint, eh?" Swinging a hefty arm around each halfling, the burly dwarf makes for the door, letting loose a belt of laughter. "By Reos' beard, I've -missed- Alexandria!" he booms cheerfully as he makes his exit, his new drinking buddies in tow.

Braelnoir makes sure the bard's poor widdew nose isn't too far out of alignment (It's not pressing against a cheekbone), then straightens in alarm as suddenly her bestie is knocked almost into her. But, as Mr Feels puts the whammy on Firestarter, and there's reconciliation all around, "Sure, why not, luv?" and she brings up her dukes, knuckles popping staccato as she gives the Hob a change to bring her mitts up in turn, rather than just outright slugging her.

<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "She goes for a grapple"
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+15: (8)+15: 23

Firestarter grins, raising her fists, then suddenly lunging forward to grab in a way that wouldn't end well, except she doesn't quite. Braelnoir is able to squirm away before she gets a good hold. "Now you can pretend I got handsy," she's in good humour, low and ready to move.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+13: (2)+13: 15
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+8: (11)+8: 19

"Three..." Wffff. The Quiche Hating Orc is not complying. He is also not hitting.

"Three again..." He's very consistent in that.

GAME: MAC-B1G rolls weapon4-4: (8)+12+-4: 16
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls weapon4-4: (10)+12+-4: 18
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls weapon4-4: (3)+12+-4: 11
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls damage4: aliased to 2d6+6: (7)+6: 13
GAME: MAC-B1G rolls damage4: aliased to 2d6+6: (8)+6: 14

"This unit" MAC impacts its contact surface into the noncompliant oruch "does not intend" another impact "to inflict harm." Perhaps that is why the third strike goes wide.

"That's it girls, that's it. Let me see how much you love me." Mr. Feels says, a smug satisfaction barely disguised by his friendly tones. "You are so beautiful like this! I've never seen you more lovely."

As he praises, he steps back to give the two women room, then looks around the rest of the Ox. One wrongly placed flying chair will undo his spells and he's had enough punches for the night. He sneaks out, carefully working around the chaos, resorting even to a cowards scurry under some tables and around the edge of the room.

GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon0: (2)+10: 12
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (7)+9: 16
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon0-5: (6)+10+-5: 11

After her evasion, Brae shoots 'Starter a grin, "Na'bad, almost got me, there!" With that, she hooks a first toward the hob's sid to try and get-whoops! She jukes past a hasty counterpunch, anthe the lip of her demigauntlet rings against the edge of her armor. A quick sidestep, and Brae thrusts her bare fist in a cross to try and give Firestarter some chin music, but the other woman nimbly dances aside.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (1)+9: 10 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (4)+9: 13

"Gotta be faster!" Firestarter dodges back, then it's her turn!

Two miss. Her first punch, a buckle on her bracer catches on the bar and she nearly shoves herself backwards. It completely stops her fist, forcing her to tug it off. The follow-up haymaker doesn't even come close. "Getchya next time."

The Quiche-Hating Orc and the Recipe-Seeking Golem get down into a very predictable exchange of blows. The orc bellows, throws two fists. The Golem reaffirmes, it does not want any trouble, and rapid-pistons three impact-punches. The Orc misses, the Golem doesn't, and the Orc counts "Four".

Mr Feels has made it about halfway to the door, sneaking peaks at Braelnoir and Firestarter to see how their fight is going. He's almost insulted they haven't managed to hit each other, and calls coyly, "Well, I thought you loved me more than that. I'll be getting ice-cream, and ice, for those pretty, pretty faces. Byeeeee~"

GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon0: (13)+10: 23
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (8)+9: 17
GAME: Braelnoir rolls 1d3+3: (1)+3: 4
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon0-5: (12)+10+-5: 17

"Course!" brae laughs in good cheer, evading another counterpunch to lay one upside Starter's head. She isn't hitting nearly as hard as she can, mostly since she isn't sure the other woman's really throwing her full juice back her way. "C'mon, luv, we gotta make it good fer-" With Feel's stated mission change, she looks back his way with her second swing, "Awww, don't leave yet!" and misses by a mile.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (5)+9: 14
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (16)+9: 25
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d6+4: (4)+4: 8
GAME: Firestarter damaged Braelnoir for 8 points of nonlethal. 8 total.

"That one's good." Firestarter says, grunting as Braelnoir connects. She grins, which most would know is unusual for an Arvec Nar, but perhaps being a flame coloured one leads to certain personality difference.

Her first punch misses, or was a feint, as the next one gets Brae solidly in the gut. She also calls Mr. Feel's way, "Yes, don't leave us yet. Look! I really did love you."

And from the bruise in her belly, the korrite knows, love hurts.

The orc and the golem continue their exchange. It seems the quiche forces will prevail. Meanwhile, the lightweights have been knocked out, and the serious brawlers are working on each other.

"I'll be right back! Love you. Hugs and kisses. *smooch*" The slimy bard says, cooing across the battlefield that is the bar. Then he oozes out the door.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (17)+9: 26
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d6+6: (2)+6: 8
GAME: Braelnoir rolls cmb: (17)+10: 27
GAME: Firestarter damaged Braelnoir for 8 points of nonlethal. 16 total.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon0-9: (1)+10+-9: 2 (EPIC FAIL)

Sullenly, as she can't impress Mr Feelz anymore, Brae turns back toward Firestarted in time to be surprised by a belly shot which knocks her back a step. As the other woman is still reorienting after, she lunges in to try and grab the Hob, managing to get around an arm and her back before hooking her fist in for a resounding THUD.... as she skins her knuckles against the edge of her breasplate.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+15: (2)+15: 17
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (6)+9: 15

Firestarter attempts to reverse the hold, grabbing for the wrist behind the knuckles sliding across her chest. A move which misses. It would be so much less sad if they'd been drinking first, but perhaps it is a side effect of the charm spell. She doesn't like Mr. Feels much either, especially when he isn't around to impress.

Her follow-up punch, likewise, fails to land. Missing shoulder and passing underarm.

The door to the kitchen opens tentatively, Cryosanthia peeks around ready to duck flying chairs, crockery or patron. She's not surprised to see Braelnoir in a fight, however she clearly is with her partner. "Firestarter! We've been looking for you for ages."

Her eyes glitter as a memory is pulled up from long, long ago. "Hey, when you're finished, can this one have a go with the winner?"

Combatty Sturf

 ===================== Current Initiative Order - Round 1 =====================
 ---Init--Name------------AOO-Notes--------------------------------------------
     22   Mr Feels            
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     20   Braelnoir        1  
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     15   Firestarter         
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     11   Quiche Hating O     
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     3    MAC-B1G          1  Flat-footed (0 rnds active)                  
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 ==============================================================================

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|   Name   |   Race   |   Class   | CHP | HP  | AC/FF/T |CMD |For |Ref |Wil |
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
|Braelnoir |HUMAN     |Brg/Ftr    | 66  | 66  |22/19/15 | 25 | 10 | 4  | 1  |
|MAC-B1G   |WAR_GOLEM |Art        | 90  | 90  |23/21/14 | 25 | 10 | 8  | 3  |
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 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 |     Name      |  CHP (T) |  HP  |
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 | Braelnoir.....|   66     |  66  |
 | MAC-B1G.......|   90     |  90  |
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~