"You are here, Sssithyigul, becausss I do not trussst you to be alone with the experiment." Ivan Zagad stands beside the imp, watching the patrons settle into their seats. "Besidesss. . . thiss one is fighting a cleric of sssome righteous god. . . we might be entertained at the irony. . ." The crowd begins to quiet, ready for the battle to begin. Ivan Zagad leans into the railing, muttering a word of power to project his voice into the massive, crowded room. "Tonight we have a. . . ssspecial combat in store for you. Dis Loveth, a noble paladin, and a priesssst of Helm, Ackeron. . . their blood will be spilt for your pleasure. . ."

"Or boredom," Sithyigul growls. Unfortunately the whisper, caught in the vestiges of Ivan Zagad's spell, is carried out and echoes through the stands. The lizard-man's grin curls instantly into an annoyed frown, but he coldly ignores the imp and gestures to the arena below as the combatants enter.

First to step into the pit is Ackeron, quiet and imposing. He scans the crowd quickly, saluting them with his sword-hand and raising his shield in the other. Kneeling, he intones a prayer to his god. His words bring an uneasy silence to the room as an invisible presence fills him. When he stands, Ackeron seems filled with a new strength and purpose. The holy aura in the arena increases as the second combatant enters the ring. Dis Loveth steps through the opposite gate. He salutes Ackeron with his greatsword, calling, "I, Dis Loveth Of The Jarnack, have accepted your challenge and hereby present you with an ultimatum. Surrender now and you will not have to suffer and be humiliated, by me, your fellow warrior. 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. . ." He sheaths his sword.

"Begin!" Ivan Zagad's hand drops.

Dis Loveth drops quickly into a charge, drawing his pistol and advancing on Ackeron. The priest of Helm ignores him and bows, hands clasped in prayer. A great gout of black flame and smoke slows Dis Loveth for a moment. When it clears, a huge wolf sits in its place. The beast howls and leaps at Dis Loveth, jaws snapping at his armor but finding no hold. Quickly, Dis Loveth casts aside his pistol and draws his two-handed sword. The wolf snarls and pounces on him again, but this time he swings his sword and dwarven steel connects with the wolf's neck in a tremendous blow that severs the creature's head from its shoulders. The wolf's body collapses to the ground, fading into nonexistence a moment later.

Meanwhile, Ackeron finishes a second incantation. Pointing at the dwarf, he shouts, "I call upon Helm to smite my foe!" As he lowers his arms dramatically, a shimmering form appears in front of Dis Loveth-- a bastard sword, formed of the essence of Ackeron's deity. The weapon moves at Dis Loveth as though guided by an invisible hand. Dis Loveth ducks to avoid a blow from the sword and retrieves his lost pistol. Quickly, he aims and fires the weapon-- and misses. Unfazed, Ackeron raises his hands as though reaching for the heavens and intones, "Helm, grant me your power!" A field of holy energy flickers about him as he speaks.

Dis Loveth casts aside his first pistol and draws his second. He fires, and the bullet strikes Ackeron in the leg, sending the cleric sprawling. Ackeron snarls in pain but places one hand on his wound, murmuring a quick prayer. When he removes his hand, the wound is gone, the leg whole-- now he draws his sword and rises to meet his foe. The two warriors come together with a mighty clash of steel. Dis Loveth's greatsword crosses Ackeron's longsword as each combatant tries to find a weakness in the other.

Suddenly, Ackeron sidestep's one of Dis Loveth's blows and slashes at the dwarf's shoulder, at a joint in his armor. Dis Loveth tries to raise his greatsword in defense, but his injured shoulder fails him, and Ackeron lashes out triumphantly at Dis Loveth's heart. The dwarf gives up trying to raise his weapon and blocks the blow with his arm, pushing the sword aside as he growls in pain. With that desperate defense, a new light enters the dwarf's eyes: anger and frustration bred by pain. With a booming roar, he raises his two-handed sword high into the air and charges at Ackeron, lashing out berserkedly. The priest flourishes his blade and ducks as Dis Loveth swings; he viciously stabs his sword overhand into Dis Loveth's midsection. The dwarf collapses to the ground, bleeding and defeated, his greatsword slipping from his hands.

"You have fought nobly," declares Ackeron as his opponent falls into unconsciousness and the healers begin to step into the ring.