Garlorian v Amra

    The day is dull, with a layer of cloud obscuring the sun in
Saberhaven. It's going to rain, the only question is when. However, for the 
people seated around the Arena, the question is who will win the fight about 
to begin. There's been talk of this fight for some time now, but this has 
only served to heighten the sense of expectation; everybody has an opinion 
on what is likely to happen.

    The mayor gives the nod, and the two sets of huge doors at either end of 
the Arena swing slowly open.

    First through is the barbarian Amra, standing some six foot four tall 
and weighing over 200 pounds. The does nothing; his feet a couple of inches 
off of the floor, his face impassive. His well muscled body is today encased 
in black dragon hide. The rumour is that he killed the foul beast with his 
bare hands, whether he'll repeat that feat awaits to be seen.

    His opponent stands a little under six foot, with a red robe covering 
body and head. Within the hood the small blue scales that cover his body can 
just about be seen. Similarly a blue shimmering covers his form. In his left 
hand he holds a staff; the right he points at Amra while muttering but a few 
syllables.

    Seven missiles of pure magic streak from the taloned hand towards
Amra. The human ingores them, and sure enough all seven wink out as they hit 
him.

    Amra moves first, drawing two scimitars and setting off across the
Arena at an incredible speed, his feet barely touching the ground. As he 
does so, he lets out a loud roar.

    Garlorian smiles as he takes down the hood of his robe, to reveal his 
bare blue head in all its semi-demonic glory. He points his staff at the 
closing barbarian and speaks a command word. A bolt of blue lightning 
suddenly materialises in front of Amra and bathes him in vile electricity.

    The human's muscles twitch, and skin and hair burns slightly as power 
grounds itself, but a small arc reaches back to Garlorian, doing very minor 
damage.

    Then Amra is upon Garlorian, his blades flashing in the Arena
lighting. But as the first strike connects with the mage it bounces
harmlessly off and some of the blue veil surrounding him moves up the
sword towards the barbarian. As the blue reaches his hand, it stops, and a 
moment later is gone entirely.

    Amra grins, showing his foul teeth, and presses his attacks, landing 
three more blows in quick succession, one of which surely would have taken 
the mage's head off, had he not had his protections up.

    Continuing his assault, Amra uses both scimitars to no effect once
more, each blow bouncing harmlessly off of the sourcerous teifling. The the 
crowd looks on amazed, as his cloak twists around, gripping a spear, 
thrusting it at the mage, but it too bouces and fails to cause any damage.

    "Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy," says Garlorian, taunting the ineffectual
barbarian before him. "That won't get you anywhere, but this will get me 
somewhere: Zip!" With which he disappears.


    Amra sends a scimitar through the space where Garlorian was, and
connecting with nothing, continues the spin. Seeing nothing, he notices the 
arms of the spectators pointing upwards. Following their gaze, he catches 
sight of his opponent some 20' from the centre of the roof.

    "Run, little mage," he snears, launching himself into the air with a 
mighty leap. Rather than falling, the human continues to rise, with his cape 
streaming out behind him.

    In response Garlorian begins waving and chanting once more, releasing a 
spell a few moments later. A brief look of indecision passes across Amra's 
face, but it soon goes and the barbarian continues his upward climb.

    His next spell is much quicker, and after only a few words and
guestures, the teifling dissappears from view once more. Amra continues 
upwards to the spot where his opponent was and waves his weapons around a 
bit, but fails to connect with anything. Flying in small circles, the 
barbarian starts scanning the Arena for his foe; for this time the crowd too 
are looking everywhere. "Come out, come out wherever you are," he growls, 
"these people want a fight."

    In answer, the air some 60' below and 30' to one side of him starts to 
shimmer, and the form of his opponent reappears, along with a tiny 
projectile shooting from one of his hands. The projectile narrowly misses 
Amra, and promptly bursts into a large ball of flame. But Amra soon emerges 
from the fireball, totally unscathed, and he aims himself directly at the 
tiefling mage. "And now they're gonna get it," he warns as he decends.

    A few seconds is all it takes for the barbarian to close the gap, and he 
instantly attacks with his first scimitar, slicing deeply into
Garlorian's abdomen; blood and guts rapidly beginning to fall from foul 
wound to the ground far below.

    Amra smiles, "Give up now puny mage, and I won't kill you." Even as he 
speaks the words, his second scimitar is whirling it's way towards 
Garlorian's head, and the spear, held in his cloak, is poised to strike.

    A look of pain crosses Garlorian's face, not from the wound, but from 
the action he is forced to pursue.  "Okay," he says.

    Amra jerks his arm back, and the tip of the blade whizzes past, only a 
couple of centimeters from Garlorian's nose. "Good," he smiles, "perhaps you 
have learned something here today: They do say humble pie is good for the 
soul."

    With that, he turns and flies back to centre of the Arena, flying in 
circles and soaking up the applause of the crowd. "We have our winner," 
declares the mayor, "hopefully we'll see you both again soon."

    Garlorian can only grunt a response as he tries to hold his guts in 
while fiddling with a ring on one hand. A moment later, the gaping wound is 
closed, but he still looks in pretty bad shape as he flies from the Arena.