From the shadows behind Torgal, Ivan Zagad steps forward. His forked tongue darts out from between his teeth, feeling the air, as he speaks. "I, too, have an event to. . . sssponsor. . ." The lizard-man draws his black robes about him and gestures to the gates. "As you requested, Torgal, I brought one of the friendsss. . . that I told you about. If you would quiet the crowd?"

As the eastern gate swings open, the onlookers offer up a friendly cheer. The first combatant is Thayrin the Mighty, one of the favorites of the pit's exhibition week. The burly barbarian, clad in his customary studded leather vest and wielding a massive, two-handed battle axe, drinks up the cheers as wine. He raises one fist to the crowd and shouts, "Tempus! Tempus!"-- though more as encouragement to the crowd than as a prayer for victory.

The excitement builds and the crowd is quiet once more as the western gate opens. Ivan Zagad is little known to many of them, but those spectators who know of him stare at the shadowed gateway in horrified fascination, expecting Thayrin's opponent to be grotesque and frightening. Something moves out of the gate, and the lizard-man hisses in delight--

"Why, it's just a mangy dog!" calls out one heckler. Indeed, the creature is a large, viscious canine, which growls menacingly as it enters the ring.
A wave of disappointment sweeps over the crowd until Thayrin, prepared for his opponent, casts his greataxe aside and draws out a smaller, silver-bladed axe.

"A werewolf! A werewolf!" The crowd settles down once more, anxiously awaiting the fight.

When Torgal signals the beginning of the fight, Thayrin charges at the wolf, axe held high. "Tempus! Tempus!" The werewolf, realizing that its immunity to the barbarian's weapon is no longer in play, howls and shifts into human form-- that of a tall, muscled warrior wearing leather armor and carrying a sword. The werewolf draws its blade and rushes to meet Thayrin's attack.

Kthunk! The dull silver of Thayrin's axe bounces harmlessly off of the werewolf's armor. In response, the werewolf's blade slashes at Thayrin's forearm and draws blood. Ignoring the wound, the barbarian bashes the werewolf in the face with the haft of his axe, sending the creature stumbling backward.

Angrily, the werewolf lets out a howl-like scream and charges at Thayrin. The opponents trade grievous blows-- Thayrin receiving a vicious stab to his chest, the werewolf catching the barbarian's axe in its shoulder. This second hit hurls momentarily hurls Thayrin over the edge. Screaming "Tempus! Tempus!" he swings his weapon berserkedly at the werewolf.

Realizing that Thayrin has gone into a berserker rage, the werewolf grins craftily and retreats, shifting as it does so into canine form. As Thayrin pursues it, the wolf turns and flees toward the other end of the arena. As the crowd cheers Thayrin on, he charges after the wolf. Unfortunately for the barbarian, he cannot seem to catch his fleet footed opponent. The werewolf runs tirelessly around the pit, waiting for Thayrin's strength to sag. The crowd becomes more excited as Thayrin's axe-waving becomes less and less animated.

Finally, his anger spent, the barbarian pauses to catch his breath. The werewolf quickly leaps at his throat, and in a moment Thayrin lies on the ground, his throat torn. Eagerly, the wolf tears at the unconscious warrior's shoulder.

"Stop that!" shouts Torgal. Ivan Zagad shrieks a guttural command, and the werewolf retreats, whining, from Thayrin's body.

"A bit. . . excessive," growls Torgal to the lizard man. "I hope you'll keep your friends under control in the future."

"Of courssss," Ivan Zagad replies, ruby eyes flashing. He grins in satisfaction at the revulsion of the crowd.