"Aye, you have ser. But it's given the renovators the space and time to do their work."

"I see that." Torgal gazes around the room with mild satisfaction. "I hardly recognize the place. What's that you have in your hands?"

"A bottle of Kharjian wine. Jamal sent it up. Your taster said it was pretty good."

"Then pour me a glass. And yourself one." Torgal nods to someone below them.

As the far gate groans open slowly, the excitement in the crowd builds. Torgal's absence has fired a lust for blood in them that this fight promises to quell. When the gate stands fully open, gaping like a toothless mouth, a figure in green robes and a brown cloak strides confidently forth. Many in the crowd recognize him as Ryle Rainer, the bartender of Torgal's establishment. His fans and well wishers scream their support loudly. He draws his swords from their snakeskin sheathes in preparation for battle.

The other gate rises in the same slow fashion. Fenriz, cloaked in his wolfskin with dark circles painted around his eyes, marches into the arena with axe in hand. Raising it high over head, he shakes it menacingly to the crowd's delight.

"This does promise to be interesting," Torgal says before quaffing a glass of Kharjian wine. With a satisfied grunt, he puts the glass down and approaches the balcony. "Ladies and gentleman, I present to you another fun-filled night of barbaric torture, blood and mayhem." The crowd roars loudly, and the corners of Torgal's mouth curve into a smile. "So let the violence begin!"

Both men spring off their heels, rushing at each other intending to kill. Ryle's gait easily carries him faster across the sand floor; he propels himself forward and slashes at Fenriz's throat with his left scimitar. The big warrior fends off the blow with the shaft of his battleaxe while Ryle makes to slash open his gut with his right. Unfortunately, Ryle loses his footing in the sand and the swipe causes him to fall forward a bit. Fenriz, taking advantage of his opponent's misfortune, slides his axe free and buries it in Ryle's shoulder. Blood gushes from the wounds as metal bites into muscle. Ryle staggers beneath the blow but manages somehow to keep his feet.

"You'll pay for that in spades," Ryle snarls as one of his scimitars flicks out to scratch Fenriz's quadricep. Ryle's follow up lunge is batted away.

"It'll take a lot more than you got." Taking up his axe in both hands, Fenriz brings it down as if to split Ryle's head like a melon. Ryle manages to dance backwards and out of harm's way. Snarling and tightening his grip, Fenriz swings to fell the thickest tree in the woods. This time Ryle's footwork is not enough and the axe head sinks deep into his abdomen. Blood and other fluids explode from the wound, drenching both men. The crowd screams and stomps their feet in appreciation of the gore.

Pitching forward onto his knees, Ryle's hands drop his blades to cover the belly wound. Fenriz wrenches his axe free mercilessly, taking off two of Ryle's fingers in the process. In final disgrace, Ryle falls face first into a pool of his own blood.

Jamal claps his hands, tosses out a small leather pouch, and then resumes clapping.

"If half the fighters possess his brutality, I will indeed enjoy this." Jamal remarks to the woman in the red kimono beside him.