Melanos stands unflinching as his employer and friend vents his frustration. "We have eliminated the group of assassins. Unfortunately we weren't able to capture them as I'm sure you would have liked. They managed to destroy their own camp before we arrived so I believe they knew we were coming. No evidence of their employer was found. We couldn't find the group's leader amongst the bodies either." Melanos sighs deeply.

"Have you tried divination magic on the dead?" Torgal slowly walks toward the small table just inside the exit to the balcony. Grabbing a decanter of wine he pours himself a small glass. Next he pours a mug of dark brown ale and hands it to Melanos. Melanos takes a few steps forward and reaches for the mug.

"What's this? A new ale?" Melanos sniffs the dark liquid, smiling pleasantly at the aroma he quaffs half the mug in a single swallow. "Very nice." Melanos looks up at Torgal, "We used divination magic but they didn't know anything. Typical of their business. They follow orders not knowing where they came from or why they are doing it. Not a single one knew where their leader had gone either." Melanos follows Torgal out onto the balcony and into the bright torchlight of the arena.

"Figures…" Torgal stands next to the rail and looks over his shoulder at his friend, "The ale is not from anywhere around here. But it will be much more available, as well as many other luxuries once our plan has been completed. Assuming no more 'disruptions'. I guess we should get this fight underway. It seems to getting rather intense down there." Torgal faces the crowd and his voice booms over the assembled fans.

"Ladies and gentlemen! I have kept you all waiting long enough. Tonight you will get to witness the unusual creature known as Flegmar match skill with the veteran Whisper. I can't promise anything less than exciting as these two should surely entertain!" The crowd erupts in unbridled cheer as the gates begin to swing open.

The first to step onto the arena sands is the mysterious Flegmar. His cloak masks the majority of his features but his lizard like jaw and tail jutting out from under his cloak mark him as a Troglodyte. His stench wafting up to the fans also helps mark him as such. Flegmar calmly stands just inside the gate, his clawed hands folded in front of him, hidden by his sleeves. His tongue brushes his lips in anticipation of a meal. The figure of Whisper, a figure equally enshrouded in mystery steps forward onto the sands. His red eyes speak of a burning in his soul, a soul that seems to young to be consumed by such hatred and anger. Flegmar produces a clawed hand, raising it in the air he draws his hand across his throat. "You should be tasty, it seems you are already cooked on the inside…" he hisses across the arena. Faint uncertain chuckling can be heard from the crowd.

The traditional signal pierces into the gladiators' mind and the fight commences. Flegmar begins casting, his reptilian voice forming arcane words. Quickly a blue aura surrounds his hands. Whisper also begins speaking arcane words and a black mist slowly begins to form in the center of the Pit. The crowd silences in awe as a form slowly begins to take shape. Flegmar will have little of it though as he outstretches his hands, speaking brief syllables the blue aura flashes and a black beam of energy streaks across the arena and slams into Whisper as he continues his casting. The color of the sorcerer's face pales considerably and the red fire in his eyes winks out. The empty shell that was Whisper collapses to the floor.

"That has to be the quickest match I have ever seen. I believe a new record has been set." Torgal looks at Melanos in amazement. Melanos just shrugs and finishes off his ale.