The world continued to turn further into the afternoon.  The air was 
warm and freely flowing over the various pinnacles and crenellations of the 
mighty Arena.  Banners and pennants from various merchant and noble families 
shuddered in the constant breeze and below the throngs of patron shifted 
anxiously for the next bout.  Voices -the shouts of those selling wares, to 
the cheers of those waging bets- blended into a cacophony like the buzzing 
drone of a beehive.  The scents of spiced apples, backed goods, and a 
multitude of ales swirled about the stands.

    It was then that a forced silence fell upon the great Games of
Saberhaven.  Precipitated by the announcer's booming voice -fueled by an 
aura of magic to ensure he was well heard even beyond the Arena walls.

    "GREETINGS LORDS AND LADIES.  PLEASE, TAKE YOUR SEATS, SETTLE YOUR
COINS AND PREPARE TO WITNESS A SPECTACLE THAT WILL BURN FOREVER INTO YOUR 
VERY SOUL!"

    As the crowd obeyed -assisted by the Mayor's well-armed men politely 
directing stray persons to their seats-, the massive double-doors, each 
three times the height of the average man, at opposing ends of the stadium 
groaned open.  In contrast to the plentiful light from the clear sky, the 
halls beyond we dark and foreboding.

    "THIS GRAND DAY WILL BE LIKE NONE OTHER.  I PRESENT THE GREAT, THE
GIANT THAT FELLED EVEN THE TERRIFYING BEAST, THE MAGNIFICENT -SCIPIO!!!"

    With the crowd's cheers, a slight diminutive form strides boldly
into the Arena proper.  Lean, especially for a gnome, Scipio stands a few 
inches shy of four feet.  Bearing the gray complexion of most svirfneblin, 
Scipio is garbed in well-tooled black leather.  Armed with a single short 
blade, a pair of bolas, and a host of slender darts.  The gnome stands more 
then ready.

    "AND HIS FOE, AS MUCH A MYSTERY AS HE WOULD APPEAR... DURAK OF THE
VIEL!!!"

    Another volley of cheers and cries rain from the surrounding masses.  
Some enthralled by the sights, others unable to contain the pending 
excitement.  Stepping from the shadows, a tall man dressed in a voluminous 
black robe. His face hidden behind a veil and hands gloved, he reveals not a 
single inch of skin. Only his piercing gray eyes can be seen above the veil. 
A myriad of amulets and necklaces sparkle around his neck and twin scimitars 
hang from his broad black leather girdle.

    A shield of scintillating colors surrounds him with a globe about three 
paces in diameter. The shield fluctuates through all colors of the spectrum 
while over two dozen specks of pure white light twirl through the shield at 
high speed.

    "BEGIN!!!"

    Durak's eyes darkened and glowed as his hands begun to twists and
bend obviously calling upon some of the Weave.  Within seconds a bright 
golden glow -like the first rays of sun- erupted from his hands, streaking 
like a ballista bolt to the opposing door and ultimately Scipio's chest.

    But after only a scant few yards the spear of light wavers,
seemingly solidifies as though frozen in time and shatters in a chiming ring 
of crystalline motes of light.  Though his face is obscured by the dark 
silken veil and swirling balls of magic, his eyes betray a certain amount of 
surprise and disappointment.

    Not even waiting for Durak's spell to finish, Scipio's own
diminutive hands begin tracing arcane symbols upon the air, while his voice 
recites syllables unrememberable to those untrained in the Arts.  As quick 
as he had appeared, the gnome was simply gone -vanishing into the still air 
of the Arena floor.

    Bursting into a bright existence about a dozen paces from where
Scipio stood seconds ago, a bolt of white hot lightning snakes in the 
flashing serpent of death.  Heading into empty air it merely sizzles off, 
absorbed into the very air.

    Following an instant later, a pair of lancing bright green flames
shoot toward empty air.  At their source -the same place as the lightning 
bolt - a shimmering form stood barely visible to the eye.  It was a third 
person upon the Arena floor.

    Such a development sent cries of shock and confusion throughout the 
looming crowd above.  As they cheered and shouted, the tip of the lancing 
magics struck empty air, splashing into a shower of magical
green flame.  Highlighted in the conflagration is the shimmering and 
pain-wracked outline of Scipio.

    The gnome's teeth clenched holding back the indignity of a scream.
Then silence and peace found his barely visible face.  The magic shrouding 
the svirfneblin shuddered and failed.  There, a few feet from where he 
disappeared, Scipio laid unmoving and very dead.

    A loud bell fills the air, followed by silence.

    "HOLD FOR REVIEW."

    Conversing with themselves and apparently studying the events of the 
battle, the judges conferred.  Finally, after a sense of confusion, the 
announcer's voice boomed.

    "AS SEEN BEFORE YOUR VERY EYES, DURAK OF THE VIEL HAS CLAIMED
VICTORY THIS DAY!"

     Nodding as he is named victor, the veiled form of Durak, still
standing near his entrance doors, glances at the Arena's side doors as he 
begins to walk calmly toward Scipio's fallen form.  About three strides 
later, the side doors open to reveal a tall man with long blond hair tied 
into a ponytail falling between his shoulders. He is dressed in silver 
glittering platemail underneath the traditional vestments of a priest of 
Lathander, yellow adorned with a red sun. A white cloak billows behind him 
as he walks to meet Durak over Scipio's fallen form.

    The high priest of the Morninglord calls aloud, "Lord of Creation,
take this mortal into your fold.  Let his life be renewed this day.  Let his 
rebirth into this world sound to a new beginning!"  As his words grow, the 
sun's light parts the clouds visiting a single ray of light upon Tellafar. 
With an extended hand held open as though giving something to Scipio's body, 
the ray of light drifts to settle upon the deep gnome.  Scipio's body jerks 
and shifts.  Flesh knits over bone.  First a bright pink, then a dusky gray.

    In seconds, Scipio appears completely unscathed.  With a cough, the 
svirfneblin's eyes flutter open with a sleepy and confused expression.

    Durak, drawing his hand from a pouch, presses something in the
gnome's limp hand and smiles.  "Perhaps not the way you intended the battle 
to go Scipio but such is life. Welcome to the Disciples."  The item is a 
small silver badge depicting a hawk diving through bolts of lightning. The 
symbol of the Disciples.

    The gnome smiles with appreciation as he stands on wobbly legs.
"Thank you, Brothers." he says with a bow. He smiles at Tellafar as he 
proudly pins the badge to his vest. "It is truly an honor to join you." With 
an ear to ear grin he adds, "That was quite impressive... It seems I've much 
to learn."