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    The Arena is abuzz with noise, bets being placed rapidly. The Disciples
of Stormhawk had a good record at the Games, and this Ombre was very cocky
it seemed. Both competitors were going to be powerful players here.

    Bets are lain swiftly as the time of the battle draws near. The judges
nod their heads, and all bets stop in the blink of an eye. One of the gates
swings slowly open, a female figure walking easily into the light.

    A beautiful elven female dressed in radiant snow white robes and cloak
slowly walks forth. She is of slender build with golden hear and radiant
blue eyes but walks with confidence and an air of power.
She wears a silver criclet around her head and carries a staff in her hand.
A silver-studded white leather belt with several pouches lies around her
slender waist.

    Raising one arm to the crowd, Silvara draws much attention, though she
seems to be ignoring it, as her motions and words are those of a mage,
casting her spells.

    The other door opens wide, and Ombre steps easily through the gate, also
speaking the words of magic as the crowd roars at the beginning of the
battle.

    Thin to the point of gauntness, Ombre stands a full six and a
half feet tall. He is clad head to foot in midnight black robes and wears a
half-cloak of blood red hue. His form is blurred softly, his movements
making the eyes ache to keep their lock upon him.

    Silvara finishes her earlier started spell, and releases the magics. A
visible blue ball dashes at her opponent, and stops in front of him, then
fades, seemingly ineffective, though the grin on Silvara's face speaks
volumes.

    Ombre smirks, thinking perhaps the spell failed, though the look on
Silvara's face causes him some conscern. He swiftly finishes his spell, and
disappears from sight, relief at least, from looking upon his form as it
shifted underneath his magics.

    Silvara smirks at the disappearing defiler and mutters something under
her breath.  She then gives a menacing swing with her staff and a fireball
of uncommon intensity shoots toward the place were Ombre used to be.

    A scream of agonized pain can be heard from nowhere it seems as
Silvara's spell managed to catch the defiler.  A thud can be heard as the
body of the defiler is slammed bodily against the gate into the Arena.
Slumping at the ground.

    Magics slowly fade away from the death of their caster, Ombre laying out
across the ground, burns covering him head to toe.

    The crowd looks on in surprise, then breaks out in laughter, and
cheering at the easy defeat of the boastful Ombre.

    "I declare Silvara, the winner!"  One of the judges calls as the guards
and healers walk slowly towards the still smoking corpse of the mage.