The crowd rumbles in anticipation of the final fight of the regular season. Long overdue, murmurs of discontent can be heard throughout the odd assortment of people. Those closest to the Arena Master's balcony, those blessed with wealth and privilege, seem the quietest. Melanos knows that they are complaining the most though. The diminutive gnome continues his scan of the Pit's wealthier patrons, looking for the face he committed to memory. His one good eye spots the balding man, and with a flick of his hand he signals to the guards waiting at the rear of the seats. They move with practiced ease and within seconds the balding man is screaming in shock as the two burly guards drag him unceremoniously from his seat. The patrons around him scatter to avoid being mixed up in the situation and as he is dragged into the tunnel entrances the wealthy once again begin their silent gossip, this time a little more ferverently.

Melanos steps forward to the balcony and clears his voice noisily. "People! Torgal is preoccupied tonight so I am gonna make this brief!" The crowd snaps to attention at the sound of the gnome's voice. "We have Ralmauthar and Melquiades fighting tonight. Enjoy!" With that he quickly steps back, turns and strides into the darkness of Torgal's office. The crowd remains quiet for a second before erupting into thunderous applause as they realize the final fight is upon them.

The gates slowly begin to open from the eastern gate lunges the form of Melquiades. The ladies in the crowd squeal with admiration as he tumbles and spins in the sands of the Pit. Seemingly out of nowhere he pulls forth a single red rose and with the grace of a practiced performer he charges the wall and deftly leaps, catching the edge and flipping himself onto the top. With a grand bow he hands the rose to a lovely young lady. "This victory will be for you." With a gasp from the crowd he disappear over the edge, back to the floor below.

Ralmauthar steps forward from the darkness of the tunnel and into the torchlight of the arena. His silk pants seem almost fluid as the light reflects off their material. The red matches his flaming red hair and contrasts against the painted blues and greens of his skin. The crowd marvels at the beauty of these patterns which cover his body. Anyone else would be an eyesore but the finely tuned warrior wears the colors like art. With a deep bow to the cheering crowd, Ralmauthar of Colors stands ready.

Both men start into action. Ralmauthar begins moving towards his opponent, carefully placing each step he swings outward to his right. Melquiades seems less carefree as he begins to flip and tumble towards his opponent. With a brief flash of movement, the colorful warrior grabs a javelin that was strapped to his back and lets it fly. The javelin soars towards Melquiades and as he finishes a flip he barely has time to twist his frame and avoid an impaling. Melquiades answers back with a dagger that slices through the monk's silken pants but leaves him otherwise unharmed. Both opponents begin a more measured approach, exchanging another javelin and dagger to equally dismal effect. Melquiades begins a solemn tune that elicits a few tears from the ladies in the crowd.

As the two close to within striking distance Ralmauthar grabs a quarterstaff from its place on his back and begins twirling it in a defensive stance. Melquiades makes his rapier dance as the two suddenly collide into a flash of steel, wood and flesh. The crowd seems to go quiet as the two warriors exchange strikes and counterstrikes. A few heartbeats pass before Melquiades breaks off and with a stunning backflip clears himself of Ralmauthar. Both warriors take a second to breath as minor cuts and bruises cover the bodies of each. Melquiades changes from his simple tune as arcane words begin to pour forth and a fine golden cloud settles on Ralmauthar. The monk's quarterstaff, which he was twirling, suddenly flies from his grip, landing several feet away. Melquiades begins another song, a lively dance tune as Ralmauthar steps forward, fists at the ready.

The two once again begin to exchange blows but this time Ralmauthar seems to be on the offensive. With a quick block, Ralmauthar steps forward and smashes his forehead against Melquiades' face. The singing stops momentarily before Ralmauthar delivers a brutal knee to Melquiades' midsection. Melquiades attempts to bring his rapier around but only finds it blocked again as yet another head butt sends teeth and blood flying. Attempting to scramble backwards, Melquiades suffers two sharp kicks to the chest and groin before dropping to his knees. In a huff, bloody spittle coming from his mouth, Melquiades lashes outwards with his sword, catching Ralmauthar in the thigh and drawing a thick line of blood. Ralmauthar twists from the blade and brings his foot around in a graceful, circular motion. As his heel connects with Melquiades' head a sharp crack is heard. Melquiades slumps to the side, his neck at an unnatural angle. Ralmauthar stands over his fallen opponent and with a respectful nod he turns and makes his way towards the gate, blood pouring from many wounds.

The arena clerics quickly tend to Melquiades as a single rose is left in the stands of the departing crowd.