"Zagad, you bog-fiend! Delay this much longer and we'll have that mob of trans-dimensional tyrants coming down our throats! Westran's 'guests' are not happy!" Alsimane paces restlessly on the ledge overlooking the maze-way where the sinister figure of the lizard-mage bends in concentration over his work. The focus of his concentration: a great smoke-quart spindle resting on a mighty pedestal of granite. It seems to pulse malevolently with some inner light.

Zagad the sinister looks up. "Perhapssss you have lossst your tassste for our little…..venture?" His serpentine tongue darts from between his lips rhythmically as if tasting the mood of the volatile legionnaire. Only curses answer his query and a frustrated gesture requesting speed.

The spindle groans then, and levitates with a muted hum to rise to touch the highest span of the great cavern. Zagad hisses in malevolent satisfaction. "It is done, law-ling…get away to entertain your mob. I will oversssee things here…..all things…."

Light flares in the center of the darkened pit and Alsimane raises his voice in the sudden hush. The glare reflecting from his burnished armor dazzles more than one unwary spectator.

"Guests from afar! Guests from beyond! Guests from the furthest nether-planes and loftiest realms of the beutifics! Welcome! Welcome to the Pits of Torgal Westran and to the combat of the year!" The mighty cries which ring from the darkened stands contain howls and strange harmonic song…evidence enough that the pit tonight does house guests more than mortal, and less. Alsimane suppressed a grimace.

"You were wise to have accepted our invitation tonight, guests! For tonight, we have the pleasure of a battle like none ever seen! Tonight we have the pit champions of justice and kindness pit against one another in a battle of speed and insight, of chance and flight! Tonight, the mazeway of the minotaur dukedom will provide the spectacle of the three-way clash between Meliquiades the Extravagant, Dis Loveth the Just, and Ralmauthar of Colors!"

Three evenly spaced bursts of light flare on the pit sands as the trio of combatants are revealed. Standing in a wide circle about Alsimane…each is dressed in simple breeches and a chemise. No weapons are in evidence, nor is any other gear for combat.

Meliquiades spins as if to face the crowd all at once, his arms open to receive their adulation and his voice rising to build an eerie counterpoint to the unearthly melodies swelling through the audience. He smiles brightly as the songs snap discordantly in surprise.

Dis Loveth takes the opportunity to yell his customary challenge to his foes, however as he raises his hand to begin his recitation his opponents eyes rise to follow it in curiosity. A great blackened scar cuts grotesquely through the flesh of his left forearm; the forearm usually covered by his divinely embossed gauntlet. As he recites his ritual challenge, some sinister hissing and chuckling can be heard from the blackness surrounding him. It seems the ancient wound is recognized by some.

Ralmauthar strikes a stoic figure while his eyes follow the symmetry of his placement with his opponents with some appreciation. Strangely he is covered head to toe in a dust-dye of grey-rose, to the point where he appears to be a moving statue of light granite. Dis Loveth finishes his challenge, and surprisingly his opponents respond.

Ralmauthar states "I will not surrender, Dis Loveth. Do not be overly righteous this day." Meliquiades merely flips the dwarven warrior an impolite gesture, to the amusement of many above.

Alsimane yells once more. "Your weapons and equipment await you, combatants!" He opens his gauntleted fist and a smaller crystal of smoky quartz is revealed. A mere touch of this mystic talisman will send you forth to begin your combat. Remember! The dread Ivan Zagad awaits you amidst the shifting corridors. Do not leave their confines lest….." He does not get to finish his warning.

A flash, and Ralmauthar has dashed forward to touch the prism. With a burst of arcane power he is gone. Quickly, Meliquaides tumbles forward as well, and then Dis Loveth, until suddenly Alsimane stands alone on the sands. Shaking his head, he lifts his hand higher, the crystalline spindle begins to rise into the air above the pit as it's larger brother had previously, in anther place.

"Now guests, focus your thoughts on this crystal before you. Focus and allow your minds to wander, for tonight you will experience this combat through no mere illusion projected for your scrutiny. No. Tonight you will experience this fight of the righteous from within the minds of the combatants themselves!"

A mighty cry rises from the stands. Then one by one the observers bend their minds to the arcane focus before them. Slowly, almost majestically, their perceptions of the pit before them waver and subtlety, the perception of one of the combatants swims into view…

Ralmauthar of colors streaks silently down corridors of rose colored granite and suppresses a nod of satisfaction at how well his camouflage-dye matches their hue. "I must be attentive," he reminds himself as he flashes quickly through the shifting halls of the maze-way. Cocking his head he listens to a voice raised in song far away across the echoing corridors and shakes his head. Meliquaides is proud and flamboyant, but he is a fool to make clear his location. His flash will serve him no better than Dis Loveth's self-righteousness in this venue…..Rounding a corner, he spots a high pedestal ahead: mounted in the center of the corridor. He steps forward and takes its sole content into his right hand. Examining its weight and its function, He continues to blur through the maze-halls. "How does one work a fire-cannon, one wonders?"

Dis Loveth charges forward without effort, but without great speed as he pushes his dwarven limbs to their best effect. Cursing, he comes to a one of the great black barriers which designates the boundary of this maze-game. He doubles back quickly. "No need to draw the attention of the Lizard-man." He thinks to himself, "Though I would rather be serving his spirit up to the divine than the two I am hunting now…." Up ahead, a pedestal sits. Grunting, Dis Loveth jogs up to it and removes from its surface a sleek blade. "Masterwork Quality" he notes as he takes an experimental swing with the weapon. The rapier hums with the movement.

Meliquiades moves through the corridors singing loudly; the mystical properties of his tune bolstering his mind and his ability to chart his way through this curious place. "It is difficult to entertain, when I cannot see my audience!" he thinks to himself as he throws a nimble back-handspring into his motions….bouncing off one of the 10' high corridor walls into yet another twisted run or stone. Looking up, he notes the larger crystalline spindle spewing grey-light and rotating slowly near the apex of the great cavern. "This must be how Ivan Zagad is projecting the combat to the spectators…Hmmmm..If it is showing an overhead view from that height, then I should make large and obvious movements to be sure that my devoted observers can see….I will…..Eufffffff!" A blur of rose knocks the wind from his lungs and the words from his mind with distinctive effectiveness.

"Stupid bard….or whatever he is" thinks Ralmauthar as he lands a side-kick and then a spinning elbow on the unarmored form of Meliquiades. "He's completely unarmored, and appears unarmed…..I'll finish him quickly. Odd how he continues to sing however, that left cross should have stunned him. A different song than when he began…yet he does not attack, only…." Ralmauthar's thoughts stop as surprisingly, the nimble form of Meliquaides tumbles past him and soars up and vaults over one of adjacent maze-walls. "By Bahamaut's scales, how does he leap so high?" A comet of darkness steaks across the monk's vision, and it becomes clear to him that Ivan Zagad considers Meliquiades' actions to be a violation of the maze boundary. Uncovering his eyes from the blast and sizzle, he notes the acrid smell and the way in which the topmost portion of the wall the bard had vaulted was beginning to dissolve. Hearing the continuation of the bard's song on the other side, he attempts a vault of his own but comes nowhere near succeeding. Shaking his head, he streaks once more in search of his boisterous, and very lucky target.

Dis Loveth runs angrily through the darkened maze-way, coming for the third time to an intersection he had just left. Shouldering the wall angrily, his mind focuses on the song of Meliquiades echoing through the air to his ears. It almost taunted his inability to close with his foe. Taunted, like the discordant choir he had heard earlier in the pit stands, and the vicious unearthly laughter which rose as his scarred flesh was revealed to all. Hissing, evil voices, so much like long ago, on the night when that scar was born, and his world exploded into darkness….Shaking his head angrily, Dis Loveth of the Jarnack brings his weapon back into guard position and charges forward once more to the hunt. His mind once more becoming focused and blank.

Switching once more to the song which should aid him in finding his equipment in this maze-way, Meliquiades was beginning to wonder if it was helping at all. That man of colors, Ralmauthar had lain into him with an intensity which was quite inartistic for a change, but very effective as the cracked ribs along his left side now attested. Wincing as his bruising continued to slow the grace of his movements, Meliquiades glances suddenly upward to see the form of the magus Zagad sweeping overhead. The blast of another mystic assault brings a smile to his face and a renewed spring to his step. Someone was being chastised for stepping out of boundaries it seemed. Having barely missed bearing the brunt of such an assault himself, he was suddenly very happy it was not he.

Ralmauthar smiled with satisfaction as the breastplate of Dis Loveth melted under the acidic assault of Ivan Zagad, just as the enchanted leather mail of Meliquiades had before it. Originally, he had only wanted to place items he found on top of walls to prevent his opponents from finding them, however when Zagad unleashed his mystic might at even these inanimate things, he found some satisfaction in the permanence of this solution. He had of course, brought nothing of his own into the battle…..he was a weapon, trained in the halls of Bountybeckon by the great of the Sun Souls…he was as deadly now as his foes fully armed, and besides he had had no wish to increase his opponents' potential armament from his own stock. Turning his head smoothly, he was surprised to see one of those opponents appear, as if summoned by his thoughts. The song of Meliquiades grew mightily in volume as he rounded the corner next to the rose-colored monk, but couldn't disguise the fact that the nimble man was equally shocked at this sudden meeting.

Blood and bile flowed as Meliquiades attempted once more to escape from his speedy opponent, and once more received only the crushing impact of the warrior's fists for reward. The dazzling showman swallowed his agony and continued to chant out his song of gazelles, hoping that once again it would allow him the grace to leap away from this devastating beating. Springing from wall to wall, avoiding blows as best he could, his feet barely touched the floor of the maze-corridor and he leapt again and again at the tops of the walls about him. Until finally, with a flourish, his beaten and bleeding form responded to the stir of his melody, and he leapt smoothly and gracefully up onto a wall-top. With a bow, and a great smile he prepared to take leave of his out-performed foe and get about finding some weaponry and healing his wounds.

However, with a flash of pain and acrid death, Zagad was upon him. And this time, he was overcome. His thoughts vanish in a flood of agony.

Ralmauthar bends over the semi-dissolved form of Meliquiades and represses a shudder as his features continue to melt in the acid wash of Zagad's 'deterrent'. There was nothing he could do for the man. His spirit was surely elsewhere by now. Stepping around the body of the deceased showman, he focused his mind once more and moves off once more to find the dwarf: his remaining foe.

Dis Loveth kneels quickly next to the small traveling altar on the pedestal before him and chuckles at the circumstance which would bring this item back into his possession at this time. The song of Meliquiades had stopped in a blast of arcane vitriol, and with it, he assumed, the bard's status as a threat. Seeking armament beyond the deceased man's rapier to better carry the battle to his remaining foe, Dis Loveth of the Jarnack rushed up to the pedestal which rested in the midst of the corridor with verve…only to find not a weapon of justice, but a reminder of higher things. Smiling, he rose and turned to continue his chase, then stopped. Standing at the end of corridor far to far away to close with in the time available to him, stood Ralmauthar. And leveled at him, with surprising steadiness was the familiar barrel of Daemona: one of his twin pistols. Ralmauthar speaks: "Meliquiades is dead, Dis Loveth. Zagad destroyed him without cause or mercy. He was a buffoon at times, but still I am sorrowful that he has suffered such an ignoble end."

Dis Loveth does not move, his eyes stay fixed on his foe. "Aye."

"I would not have to bring a fight to you just now, sir. You offered surrender courteously at the beginning of this fight, and said that your honor would safeguard this battle. I offer you the same now. You are unarmored, and outmatched."

The dwarf does not move. "Perhaps, yet I cannot yield, yet." He shifts his grip on his rapier, and the tiny altar under his left arm: all he has for support.

Ralmauthar sighs. "Then let us do this, but know that I hold for you no ill will."

"And I, you. Now lay on, Colors, and let us see who is outmatched."

A burst of fire and smoke and Daemona's kiss leaves it's mark on the check of Dis Loveth, but not before he has burst into driven run and has closed the distance between he and his foe with surprising speed. A rapier flicks, and Ralmauthar's rose-hue is stained with a line of crimson.

The unarmed warrior nods to himself and thinks. "A good hit. He is valiant, but cannot last…such is the weakness of those untrained in warfare clad in so little steel." Whirling with deadly precision he counts his fourth new hit against the dwarf and listens to his opponent's jaw snap loudly. Looking to the dwarves' condition, he feels the touch of his rapier tip across his calf, but ignores its painful tickle. " Yes, he is surely failing quickly."

Dis Loveth stumbles, and twin kicks lash out to knock him right and then left back into the wall at his side. Resting against it for a moment, his breath comes in spurts and his broken shoulder heaves in a dull ache. "Surely I should be dead. Why am I still standing?" Then it comes to through the fog of pain….the monk doesn't want to kill me outright. He had softened his last two blows, the two that had knocked him into this senseless state.

Ralmauthar looks on with satisfaction. Stunned and staggered, Dis Loveth rested now in perfect equilibrium between waking life and the unconscious. One more hit should subdue him….one more to claim victory over man with whom he had no real quarrel.

From the mind of Dis Loveth, all was mist and mockery, and Ralmauthar's form a ghostly pest which slid in and out of concealment with the walls of stone about him. Still, one thing was clear. His opponent was granting him an honorable defeat. Standing forward he raised his rapier high in salute to the surprising justice exhibited by this man.

Only to stare in shock as his borrowed blade passes silently, and with devastating effect through his foe's guard, and buries itself in his throat.

Ralmauthar's mind fades in disbelief and confusion.

Dis Loveth stands, unsure of what is real, and then slowly, painfully, lowers himself to lay hands on his righteous foe. The golden altar beneath his arm glimmers strangely in the half-light.

On the sands of the Pit, the glowing spindle grows dark and sinks slowly to rest back on the palm of Alsimane, even as the crowd roars: rising to its feet.

The burnished form pays no attention. With quick steps he moves away from the arena, and eventually, comes back to the ledge above the maze, where Ivan Zagad is retrieving the larger of the crystals a smug grin upon his reptilian features. "Is it done?", he asks.

"Yessss," says Zagad. "Asss the crystal shared the mindsss of the combattantssss, so did it tap the thoughtssss of the spectatorsss." Handing the spindle over to Alsimane the lizard-magus continues. "Sssome of the more powerful were immune to the sssspell, but ssstill…you have what you wishhhed: record of their thoughtsss, and ample proof of any plansss of invasssion."

Alsimane looks up to the face of the lizard-genius: the dark creature smiling before him. It was only later that he would learn of the fate of Meliquiades and the harsh means by which the rules for his contest had been enforced, and later he would have to deal with the whispered rumors of collusion between he and the dark wizard. He had refused to join his mind to the arcane crystal in the pit, not fully trusting the 'man', yet even without knowledge of his dark deeds, he felt himself shudder as he looked to the crystal before him. He wondered, "What cost have I paid to protect my city?"