"Tonight, the rarest of events…..an event wherein orcs and elves may well cheer shoulder to shoulder for the first time since the breaking of the world! For tonight, it is Dwarf against Dwarf, to the Death!"

"I introduce to you the holy warrior Dis Loveth of the Jarnack, and his rival, a burnt offering for your entertainment, Crucibal Atesh of the Flame!"

The combatants enter simultaneously as Alsimane retreats from the ring, with Dis Loveth pausing to nod and smile to the crowd. Crucibal enters quietly, a sardonic grin on his face as he takes in the pious form before him. Swinging his spiked chain about his flame-etched robes and armor, his countenance soon shifts to one of forbearance as Dis Loveth launches into his ritual challenge:

"I, Dis Loveth Of The Jarnack, have accepted your challenge and hereby present you with an ultimatum. Surrender now, my dwarven brother and you will not have to suffer and be humiliated by me. If you refuse to surrender, I, with conscience clear, will defeat you and purify your soul. Pray to your god so he will accept your soul when you die a quick death. Know that my honor will safeguard this battle."

Crucibal merely looks to his opponent and states. "As I have yet to see you demonstrate any honor, you'll forgive me if I refuse. I will temper your irksome pride, I think."

With that, the battle begins, official sanction be damned. Charging forward with impressive speed, Dis Loveth unholsters his sidearms and fires the first at his opponent with little accuracy. Crucibal stands motionless, his chain weapon wrapped about him as he conjures a great globe of flame to his outstretched hand. With little ceremony, he hurls it towards his opponent and is rewarded with a grunt of pain as Dis Loveth takes it's blast across his chest. Another such ball appears in his waiting palm.

Once more, the combatants exchange ranged fire, and once more Dis Loveth is scorched, but not before managing to graze the flame-wielder with a shot from his second pistol. Crucibal's robes grow more red in color as blood begins to flow from a significant wound.

The honor-bound combatant nods in head in satisfaction, discarding his final pistol and drawing his impressive greatsword. He charges toward his foe, dodging the great chain as it whirls about him and calls out to his nameless god in supplication.

Taken aback by the assault, Crucibal's eyes can only bulge as the mighty weapon cleaves into his side, shattering ribs and bringing forth a torrent of blood to pool at his feet. He staggers back several steps and looks to the wound, his eyes going to focus on something beyond this scene of earthly combat.

Raising his head to the heavens he croaks forth a divine plea and suddenly, he IS fire. The mangled rip in his side bursts with flame, and a searing howl rises to his lips causing the first few rows in the audience to cringe in sympathy. Then, the hairless dwarf halts. Save for a new scar, the sword wound is unmade. He looks to his opponent and chuckles a comment beneath his breath, but it is washed away by the sudden roar of the crowd.

Again the holy warrior charges: his blade poised to strike down this parody of dwarfdom, however with a lightning flash and a violent tug his opponents weapon wraps itself about it's length and it is wrenched away to fall at his foe's feet. Undaunted, he continues his charge, plowing into his adversary and planting a meaty fist squarely into his startled face.
He rises to meet him face-to-face, his greatsword somehow recovered from where it had fallen.

Something akin to hatred boils between the two combatants and rolls out through the crowd. A frenzy of appreciative calls rumble across the chamber as the spectators rise to their feet, expecting the combat to now be joined in earnest….and so it would have been, had Crucibal not stepped slowly away from his opponent and gestured towards his upraised blade, bringing from beyond this world a shrieking whistle which cut through the din of the crowd. The mighty sword began to tremble in the hands of Dis Loveth. Both he and the crowd could only look on in disbelief as the weapon shook, and then shattered, spraying liquid silver and metal shards over both combatants.

" What an impressive blade….will you be able to find another do you think?" Crucibal's mockery brings jeers of approval and howls of disgust from the crowd, and the visage of Dis Loveth turns scarlet with rage. Spiked shield and mace are drawn only to be reduced to shield alone as Crucibal's chain disarms the noble warrior once again. His shield flies with a viscous slash as he clutches once more for his weapon on the ground to better smite this mocking atrocity. Crucibal steps backward and sends a fan of flame to sear him in his attacks, but he does not relent. His great mace swings forward in a frenzy, blocked again and again by the flailing chain of the flame-worshipper. Until once it is not blocked and Crucibal is rocked as the snapping of his wrist can be heard.

He takes a step back, with the obvious intent to heal himself through flame once more, however Dis Loveth of the Jarnack, enraged and intent, will have nothing of it. The weight of his arms and the strength of his newly discovered hatred for the flame-wielding Crucibal seize on the opportunity with zeal, smiting him again, and again as he falls to the ground, defeated.

Alsimane, on his feet with the rest of the crowd, cheers with abandon as Dis Loveth recovers his composure, and leaves the ring. While those non-plussed with Dis Loveth and his faith, quietly grumble words of vengeance.