It was such a shame that poor Gremag attempted to cheat that celestial earlier this evening….and a greater shame that the celestial became wise to the occurrence. Still, one thing one must say for the puritanical outsider, he certainly was up on appropriate punishments.

He wondered how prisons in Gehenna were in comparison to their more earthly counterparts…..

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" the legionnaire bellows from his position on the arena rail. "Tonight, we have for you what promises to be the most entertaining match the Pit has seen since its shift from the Prime Material! For tonight, we have not two, not three, but four combatants entering the ring for your bloodthirsty pleasure!"

The crowd responds with a wave of enthusiasm, not truly needing an introduction for this highly publicized match. "Now entering the ring are the first two of our competitors for this match, bringing with them the forces of bestial magus rage and the divine lash of flame…I present to you Flegmar the mysterious, and the dwarven acolyte of flame: Crucibal!" Crucibal strides confidently into the ring, his spiked chain wrapped about him and his hands raised aloft to soak up the roar of the crowd. Whatever invocation the mail-clad worshiper of Khossuth might be offering is lost to the tumult. Flegmar, the curiously cowled troglodyte follows a few steps behind. Silently clutching a heavy crossbow in his cruelly clawed hands.

"And their opponents! A potent team if ever one has entered this not so hallowed halls! Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the Pit Champion Calathra Tealeaf, and the fearsome, mind-bending hobgoblin, Crwag of clan Raag!" The second set of mighty gates creak open across from Crucibal and Flegmar and into the ring speeds the stench-ridden hobgoblin Crwag Raag and the mighty Calathra Tealeaf. An appreciative roar erupts as the crowd realizes that both these champions glide smoothly across the pit sands without stride or effort. The powerful psyche of Crwag realizing movement through alone for both himself and his partner. Tealeaf stands proudly, a large housecat perched upon one shoulder, a weasel upon the other.

"Warriors! For the glory of the Pit! Bring us battle!" And with that, the combat begins in a blur of motion.

Instantly, the halfling champion slides forward, taking full advantage of her enhanced movement to place herself well ahead of her silent counterpart. A quiet gesture towards the form of Crucibal sends both of her woodland minions streaking towards the cleric of fire as mystic protections flash into existence about her nimble form. The great cat of Calathra reacts first and hurls itself with lightening speed towards the visage of the dwarf. But lightening is trumped by a tongue of flame as Crucibal's chain snakes out like a spiked tentacle from the pits. The snap of the weapon is mirrored by a crack of enormous impact as the feline shape flies sideways to crash into the sands with a puff of dust. A small crimson pool begins to form about its immobile form.

Eyes wide at the sudden death of her companion, Calathra turns, startled to see the approaching form of Flegmar, the troglodyte. Strangely, his mighty crossbow hangs by his side and one hand is half-raised with an open hand. He looks towards the unmoving form in the dust, then returns his gaze to Calathra. "That fiend! I know you have no love for Crucibal, Calathra, but I have no quarrel with you!" Mystic chords spring into being, lacing his words as he continues "Surely it is Crucibal and Crwag who are our true enemies here! Let us join our forces and rid this place of their foulness!"

Crucibal's features drop into a grimace at the questionable loyalty his partners words suggest. However, whatever rebuttal might have crossed his mind, never crosses his lips. With a flash of ebony, an object is removed from his gauntlet, and suddenly the east gate of the pit is sheathed in a sphere of midnight. The sphere lumbers towards the center of the pit where both Calathra and the Troglodyte still stand, their eyes locked. A chant from the dwarven priest can be heard from its depths as he calls on his benefactor to strengthen him in the upcoming conflict.

Then, with a flash, Crwag is there beside Calathra. Whether unaware of the exchange between she and Flegmar or uncaring of it, he ignores his teammate for the moment and bends his will towards the troglodyte. It is not until Worturkep, her second animal companion, launches itself from her shoulder, charging into the darkness towards the scarred dwarf, that Calathra recovers from her shock. Moving once more into a defensive stance before Crwag she draws a small cudgel from her belt and states quietly to Flegmar: "You will not turn me from my honor with your spell-laced words beast. Prepare to join me in death, though you shall not return." A word-rhyme of might tumbles from her lips, and the cudgel in her hands bursts emerald with mystic power. Flegmar, obviously intimidated, raises both hands to placate the mighty pair before him and moves back and away. Under the gaze of Crwag his hands fumble with the pouch in which he keeps his arcane components, however he eventually manages to draw forth what he needs and a mystic barrier akin to Calathra's bursts into being.

The dark sphere about the dwarf Crucibal flickers from existence as it nears the center of the pit. Revealing the form or Worturkep latched to his bleeding calf. A flash of rusted metal and the form of the tiny creature is rocked mightily as much of its life is torn from it by Crucibal's attack. However with dogged strength, it holds on and continues to gnaw the dwarf's exposed muscle. Taking one final chunk from his opponent, the small rodent scurries nimbly away and around the weapon of his enemy until he rests once more on the shoulder of his Mistress.

Calathra speaks her words of might once more, ignoring the still retreating form of Flegmar, and a smaller wooden club on her belt blazes with the same emerald glow. Drawing the smaller weapon into her left hand she strides forward to close with this dwarf; dually armed. This cretin who befouls her name and murders her friends. Crwag's eyes flash towards the dwarf as well, once again working some mysterious effect with his mind.

Casting a curious glance towards Flegmar, Crucibal brings the center of the pit into darkness once again: obscuring both he and both of his opponents. Flegmar stands coolly by the wall of the pit, staring at the dark hemisphere before him, motionless. The grunt and clamor of weapons play mix with the voice of Crucibal from the depths of the sphere. Once more he calls up divine aid to speed his victory.

Flegmar's reverie is broken as the form of Crwag slides silently from the darkness. A glance towards the troglodyte sends its arms and legs pinwheeling for balance as the ground beneath its feet become suddenly slick. The lizard-kin crashes to the floor of the pit, with a look of utter surprise. For the next several seconds, he struggles fruitlessly to regain his footing.

Soon after her colleague, Calathra also steps from the darkness, unwounded and unfazed by the battle so far, only to blink in surprise as the crashing form of Crucibal charges out of the now motionless semi-sphere with his voice raised on high to Khossuth. His attack turns however and crashes towards the surprised form of Crwag. The clinking whisper of his armaments snakes towards the hobgoblin with deadly intent, however, whether due to a lack of interest by Khossuth, or the great combat skill of Crwag Raag, the attack completely failed to reach its nimble foe. Unfortunately, Crucibal was not about to be so lucky.

The svelte form of Tealeaf charged in, bringing her enchanted weaponry to bear on the armored dwarf with devastating effect. Behind her the crowd murmured in some surprise as a snarling wolf with eyes as red as the steppes of Gehenna moved purposely from the sphere of blackness and brings battle forward to the lithe halfling. Stumbling back to allow his minion to take some of Calathra's wrath, Crucibal raises a hand to where his visage was already purpling from her assault. With difficulty, he raised his holy symbol on high, for once again the will of the Raag was in effect making it slick and unwieldy. With a glance and a curse towards the hobgoblin, he turned to Calathra once again. With divine might he commands. "Die!"

Easily dodging the assaults of the fiendish wolf, she looks up at him with a curious tilt to her head and states simply. "Too late," and then the froth of 'Anhur's gift' began to drip from her jowls and she closed with him in earnest.

Without warning, the dwarf slips cleanly from his feet as Crwag bends his will on the ground beneath his feet, slicking it with slime from planes beyond. Calathra, her rage bringing her beyond appreciation of the clever strategy stood fast and rained crushing blow after crushing blow down on the struggling dwarf. Knowing the crude taunts Calathra has borne at his tongue outside of the arena sands, ladies in the stands above begin to applaud and laugh in appreciation of Calathra's vengeance.

Her off-hand weapon goes flying as somehow, the still prone dwarf manages to slap it from her grasp with his great chain. The great wolf bounded about her raging form managed to bite swiftly into her arm, causing her first wound of the evening and then her second as she reeled confused. However the minute warrior continued to focus her rage on the unfortunately prone Crucibal. Stepping forward as if to watch more closely, the form of Crwag dispassionately focuses his concentration on the dwarf, and almost immediately, the flesh of the warrior-priest began to smolder.

Raising his eyes, still unable to regain his footing and cruelly outnumbered, Crucibal looks frantically around for Flegmar. His gaze found him finally, resting in a pool of grease across the ring, watching the proceedings. Watching with obvious enjoyment. The flame assaulting his flesh appeared momentarily captured in his eyes and he called out. "Damn you, Frog! Aid me or bear my hatred from this moment forward!"

Flegmar lay on his stomach in the pool of grease the wretched hobgoblin had summoned to immobilize him. He found it enjoyable, and reminiscent of the oils his mother once smeared on his hide as a child. Little did the foul creature suspect that the pool was not what was holding the dark magus back. Flegmar had no intention of halting the assault on his partner. The arrogant Crucibal had had this coming for a long time. Thinking back to his first loss in the pit, Flegmar's great troglodyte jaws stretched into a fanged grin of obvious anticipation. As Crucibal called out his threat and plea however, his chuckles turn to a sigh as his keen mind realizes that he will have to do something lest 'his partner' fall too quickly. That would leave both Crwag and Calathra to fall upon him. As the pool of pleasant filth evaporates beneath him, so does his lethargy. He rises to his feet his concentration focussed on the battle….older hatreds whispering action into his mind.

With the pain of Crwag's flame filling him like an old friend, Crucibal lay fully on his back in a different pool of grease, spinning swiftly like a great gnomish top. His mighty chain whirling in defensive sweeps above his head caused him to whiz ever quicker as he attempted to keep the attacks of the damned halfling maiden away. She had barely slowed her assault when he had managed to knock the smaller of her enchanted weapons away, and now she rained renewed pain down upon him with cudgel and dagger. With that despicable weasel chattering from her shoulder she danced past all new attacks from his wolf, not to mention his own prone flailings. As his summoned beast finally faded into the ether, Crucial swallowed silently as he continued his desperate defense. He felt fully alone, and betrayed by the beast Flegmar. That damned Trog will pay for this outrage! We'll see if Westran's gentle healer can bring Flegmar back to life from blasted whiffs of ash and ether!

He was somewhat surprised therefore, when a blast of midnight flashed from the lizard-mages fist and slammed into the chest of Crwag Raag: surprised and somewhat disappointed as the fire with which the hobgoblin was filling his blood disappeared, and the form of the Raag crumpled to the floor of the pit in a heap of matted fur. Unmoving.

Unleashing a blast of flame from his prone position, Crucibal skidded to a halt as the grease beneath him winks out of existence. Cursing as he notes that both Calathra and her thrice-damned weasel have emerged from it's effects practically unharmed, he quickly rolls to his feet and scampers, painfully into the sphere of darkness still sitting squat and impenetrable in the center of the pit.

Calathra stands panting, her rage running from her eyes like spring rains. Painfully, she leans forward, her hands on her knees trying to catch her fleeting breath. She looks up and across the pit to Flegmar. Picking up the tiny club she lost earlier to Crucibal's chain, she stands fully.

Noting her attention, the troglodyte smiles in a broad, toothy grin. "I still bear you no ill will, short one." Gesturing at the dust a short way across the pit he states "Look! I did not eat your cat while you were busy. We should be friends!" His attempts at ingratiating himself to the mighty Calathra have questionable effectiveness, with no mystic force bolstering the charm of his words. However, she chooses Crucibal as the most threatening opponent and slides, exhausted, into the darkness after him, emerald hued clubs raised aloft.

From within the depths of shadow the voice of Crucibal rises on high, calling upon the healing flame of his careless god, followed swiftly by a painfilled yelp as Calathra finds her target with remarkable speed in the midnight black. A staggered run brings the form of Crucibal once more into view, chased first by the mystic incantations of Calathra, and then by her weary form itself.

Twisting to a halt, Crucibal calls divine wrath down upon the foreign halfling's enchanted club. But it withstands the spell. Deflecting blow after blow from the warrior maiden's cudgels he charges back across the floor to join ranks with him immobile teammate. Arcane whispers bring a streak of frost to slice into his back as Calathra slides slowly after him once more, however, strangely, it has no effect on the priest of fire. Standing, finally, next to his teammate Flegmar, Crucibal once more calls down the healing lance of Khossuth and relieves some of his hurts in the conflagration.

As Calathra tumbles and slides smoothly into combat once more, Crucibal looks over his shoulder to Flegmar and states. "Thanks for joining the fight Frog! Let's snuff this little Lady!" Flegmar states. "No, lets watch her snuff you." And scurries away, followed by the dwarf's curses and a futile swing of his great chain. Again the chain flashes a thorny whiplash, and one of Calathra's clubs again flies from her grasp. To tired to curse, she attacks with the remaining weapon, scoring a palatable hit upon the abandoned dwarf's trunk. Another flash, and Calathra's second weapon rests in the dirt by Crucibal's feet. He backs away, whirling his sweep of chair over the weapons malevolently. Foul curses rise to his lips, directed at Flegmar, who watches happily from across the ring.

Calathra ignores all of this and brings out sickles and daggers to assail her foe. The crash of Crucibal's weaponry against her mystic protections rings out in rhythm like a mighty drum as she wheels forward slashing with knife and sickle. A leap and a hurled dagger brings Crucibal far enough from his position that she can recover her clubs despite the lash of his mighty chain. The mystic fires fades from their hafts as Crucibal holds his action, awaiting the charge of Calathra. Then, he dances through her reach accepting in turn the kiss of her clubs to bypass her mystic guards. He is unable to scratch her. He awaits the failing of her wards and strikes forward. She slides nimbly away. Even in her exhaustion she remains untouchable, whittling away at the foul dwarf: nicking and slicing at him until he bleeds from multiple wounds.

Untouchable she remained, until with a cry of desperate strategy, Crucibal drops his mighty chain to swing loosely about his shoulders, and drew forth a flame-embossed vial to hurl at her.

The alchemist's fire struck Calathra full across the chest, as ineffective against her as Crucibal's flaming fan had been earlier. However a high pitched shriek and tiny claws digging into her skin brought it painfully to her attention that her tiny companion, Worturkep, was not so lucky. Screeching amidst the flames, Calathra dropped her weapons into the dirt at her feet, taking her friend in hand to extinguish his pain.

And so she would have, had the lash of Crucibal not snaked out and snatched the tiny creature from its mistresses caring ministration. Looking to Calathra over the rolling form of her burning companion, Crucibal sneered: "You want this to get personal shrimp? Fine. Let's get person…..ahhhhhh!"

At his feet, Worturkep, managing somehow to extinguish the flames engulfing him, had once again sunk his fangs into the azer-kin's calf. Looking down, Crucibal smashes the annoying creature to the ground with barely a thought, where it lay, motionless. A soft sound causes his eyes to rise back to Calathra as her feet, for the first time this day, touch the pit floor. The fading vestiges of Crwag's enhanced movement bring the tumbling form of Calathra to once more to rain punishment on the form of Crucibal. However this time the servant of Khossuth struck back. A criss-cross of slashes brought Crucibal's embroidered cloak to a crumpled ruin about his feet and his face to a blooded visage of disaster. Mad laughter flowed from his lips however as his chain's thorn-links lashed out to rip a bloodied swath across the halfling's midriff. Standing tall , a scene from nightmare. He laughs at his foe, even as his blood pumped from his wounds.

Calathra staggers back, aware that her protective wardings had failed and tumbles once more to the attack. Feeling the kiss of steel links shred at her flesh once more, she lands in obvious pain, ready to risk all to bring down this evil creature who now matched her blow for blow…..only to find, as she rose to the attack, that Crucibal had already fallen: succumbing finally to the viscous and horrendous wounds inflicted upon his person.

The crowd roared in appreciation as the longest battle ever witnessed in Westran's Realm had its second true casualty. It was stated that from this point on, the stature of Crucibal was raised immeasurably in the eyes of those who found meaning in endurance in the face of betrayal and pain. It was also said that at this time, Flegmar sank to become the most despised creature in Westran's cadre.

Looking across the pit once more, Calathra took in the undamaged form of Flegmar, standing amid a pile of refuse and litter thrown upon him from the hostile crowd above him. Turning slowly, she began to walk towards him. Calling upon powers arcane to re-instate her mystic protections.

"We could call it a draw, Calathra. I enjoyed watching you kill Crucibal." Flegmar tries his viscous smile on the halfling once more.

Calathra continues to stagger forward: drawing a potion from her satchel and downing it in one draught. Some of her bleeding stops, but no color returns to her face.

"I really would prefer if we could be friends." She raises her arm in obvious fatigue and a ray of frost springs to crash against Flegmar's chest. He shows no effects.

"Such a shame. Now I'll have to eat your dead pets." Flegmar unloads his crossbow, it's barbed bolt somehow avoided by the exhausted Calathra, and the battle is joined in close quarters. Tooth and claw grind against mystic protections as the twin cudgels of the warrior-maiden crush bone and shred scales. However, every blow which lands against Flegmar, he ignores. Every shattered jaw or limb creaks eerily back into wholeness before the Calathra's stunned gaze.

A full minute of battle ends as the halfling maiden withdraws at speed, jagged fang marks marring her cheek. "I know you for what you are, foe! Abomination! Your sort has no place on this blessed earth!" Now Flegmar takes his turn to advance slowly, Calathra's words having unforeseen impact on him as his gaze looses focus in a great snarl. Flegmar rejoins the melee. Calathra backpedals, hurling her clubs at her foe without impact, then drawing a flask from her belt. A tanglefoot bag explodes behind the best known as Flegmar as he continues his assault. Alchemist fires bursts behind, and then across his features as he attempts to drag his nimble opponent to the ground. The flames have no effect. A final vial comes from the satchel of Calathra and sails the short distance to impact on Flegmar's brow.

However this time, his claws rise to his face and he shrieks as it erupts and bubbles under the liquid it contains.

Calathra, warrior maiden of Osiris had found the unnatural creature's vulnerability. Reaching once more into her satchel, she drew forth another vial of the clear liquid, preparing to marshal her fading strength to dispatch this evil once and for all.

And so would it have been, had Flegmar, scarred and smoldering, not succeeded in that very instant to finally pierce the warrior maiden's defenses. As her arm raised to deliver justice, he managed to step simply forward and wrap his clawed hand about her delicate throat. Dragging her down into the dust as her consciousness faded, his feeding began.

Alsimane cursing, donned his breastplate as quickly as he could and checked his short blade in its scabbard. Pouring over the balustrades into the pit, an angry mob swarmed down onto the sands: intent to a man on ending the life of the creature known as Flegmar.

Flegmar and Crucibal, victory is yours although not as you might have envisioned it. Hatred is also yours, do with it as you will. Calathra and Crwag, foul deeds and betrayal have triumphed this day, but you will fight again, and bring your vengeance to bear.