Shanna Romm looked up from the formless sack of her robe and repeated, for at least the third time. "These mystic artifacts were granted to me by the blessed of St. Cuthbert himself to smite the evil and the lawless in this place. I will use them for this purpose."

All composure evaporates as a mailed fist flies into the portal next to the legionnaire. "If you want to fight at all you….arrrgghhhh….no matter. You!" An arm flies out to point at the slovenly figure of the door guard. "Go speak to this Ackeron at the other gate. See if he is willing to meet this walking magical arsenal." His eyes turn back to the lady before him, "Bot lets keep things fair…..allow him to also bring in whatever magic he can afford."

The crowd hushes with surprise as the great portals of the eastern gate burst open to admit the form of Alsimane onto the field. Nearing the center of the arena, he casts his voice to the crowds hovering above:

"Patrons of Torgal's Pit! There has been a change in tonight's venue!" A curious murmur runs through the crowd, beginning at the booth of Gremag where a small ochre sigil suddenly appears, denoting that wagers for tonight's bout are no longer being accepted.

"We have two new competitors for your entertainment this eve: new competitors who have agreed to a new form of competition! For this evening, you will witness the conflict between Shanna Romm, the obstinate…." He gestures to the gaping eastern gateway where the simply clad woman enters, obligingly. "…and the dark knight known only as Ackeron."

With a clash the western gates open as well to allow the fully mailed form of Ackeron to emerge. Full upon his shield, the gauntlet and arrow symbol of Hextor glares up at the crowd and brings angry murmurs to the lips of both spectators and his opponent of the evening. Alsimane continues. "Tonight, and for tonight only, our combatants have agreed to face each other equipped not only with mortal steel and sinew, but with all the mystic might their individual fortunes can provide! Witnesses of the Pit, I bring you a combat Majere! Combatants! Fight to the death!"

Surprise touches Shanna's features for a moment as she was obviously not expecting the call to arms with the announcer still standing in the midst of the field. Her annoyance is nothing next to her complete shock as a huge and ravenous wolf appears in the position that Alsimane is now hastily vacating…and charges directly towards her to snap ineffectively at her heels. Ackeron stomps slowly forward, a look of evaluation on his face as his unarmored and seemingly unarmed opponent reaches to her belt and begins reciting a mystic incantation from a scroll there, ignoring the great beast attempting to devour her.

Great magics throw a protective barrier up around her person as she continues to nimbly dodge the attacks of the wolf. Ackeron steps slowly into range, raises his fist and snarls a command towards his opponent: "Sleep!" Again without effect.

"The Hamma" ignores both his words and his summoned beast completely as she continues to read yet another mystic incantation from the scroll in her hand. Ackeron only snarls, resisting whatever the effects of the spell were to have been and repeats them back to his foe, who also seems completely untouched by the words of doom.

The great wolf fades with a snarl of frustration as the two combatants now stand facing one another, reciting pleas to their dieties of law and destruction back and forth without effect. Separated by only a few paces, the air between them seems almost bruised by the power of the incantations searing between them.

A mystic flail matching the weapon at Ackeron's side appears above Shanna's shoulder and attempts to crush her as she sidesteps deftly and fires a stone from her newly drawn sling to bounce harmlessly off of her opponents mail.

A pause in the combat is shattered as the champion of the scourge of battle summons the might of his dark god into himself as he obviously prepares to abandon his attempts to fell the nimble Shanna from afar as he draws his light flail with deliberate cruelty.

A flutter of parchment and the recitation of a mystic ward and suddenly the battlefield is obscured with the sudden rising of heavy fog about the combatants. From his vantage point atop the wall, Alsimane swears to himself as jeers and catcalls begin to flow from the frustrated crowd. He calls for someone to find that "forked tongued devil of a lizard" to dispel the effect before things turn ugly. His call is answered from another from the depths of the Mist.

"CUTHBERT!" comes Shanna's cry from within as the battle is obviously joined in earnest. Crashing blows forcing the crumpling of mighty armors can be heard if not seen as the audience in the chamber suddenly silences itself to take in this spectacle using only what may be gleaned from what curiosly deadened sound reaches their ears. Howls, grunts and calls for divine aid come from either combatant, and both, continue for another few moments until a figure streams, tumbling from the midst with a speed that seems impossible.

Shanna, her robe blooded from the blows of her opponent's spiked armaments, comes to rest nimbly against the wood of the gate from which Hextor's fist was first seen, a pair of nunchuku resting in one of her hands. Calmly removing a vial from her robes she swigs back the contents unhurriedly. The clanking approach of Ackeron stalks to the edge of the mist at the other side of the arena, and swivels to focus once more on his opponent. If he is injured, it does not show.

With a cry he summons a ravenous rat-creature to nip at his foe: drawing minor scratches across her calves. With vehemence he charges across the pit to the roar of the crowd, swinging his flail in an unholy blur. The warrior-woman's nunchuku slides past the knight's shield to ring soundly against his breastplate.

The knights flail slides past her guard to smash solidly against her jaw.

Failing, and fumbling with one of the remaining scrolls sitting at her belt, Shanna the Hamma attempts to conjure some help from her retributive god: some justice to punish the metal brute before her, however the mystic words never leave her lips.

Blow after blow from the spiked head of the dark cleric's flail brings the combat to a brutal and savage end. Alsimane looks to the crowd as Ackeron brandishes the sigil of his Lord to their jeers. He turns his gaze back to one of his men and states. "So much for mystic artifacts."