As the spectators sit in the stands and wait for the fight to commence, 
much of the talk is about Anashi's sudden removal from the competition; and 
of the new representative for the Hydra's Heads, Thorne.  When the doors at 
one end of the Arena open, and Thorne steps through, the crowd is nearly 
silent.

    Thorne however, doesn't seem to notice.  Tall for an elf, standing at 
about 6 feet, Thorne has disheveled, dusty-blond hair, with blue eyes 
shining mischievously, almost like he sees a joke no one else can catch. 
Slender and lithe, like all elves, he is dressed in baggy black pants, and a 
black silk shirt.  He seems to be concentrating on something, and doesn't 
seem to notice the crowd's silence.

    As it turns out this is mearely the calm before the storm.  As the doors 
at the other end open and Tellafar enters the Arena the crowd burst's into 
life.  Standing a little over 6 feet tall with a muscular frame and long 
blond hair tied into a ponytail falling between his shoulders, Tellafar is 
an imposing sight. He is dressed in silver glittering platemail underneath 
the traditional vestments of a priest of Lathander, yellow adorned with a 
red sun. And today it seems almost like a true sun is embroidered on his 
chest as a soft yellow, golden glow surrounds the man. A white cloak billows 
behind him as he walks and he carries a long staff with the ease of long 
familiarity while a warhammer is strapped to his belt.

As the crowd alternatively cheers and boos, Tellafar walks forward slowly 
and regally to his starting point. When there he looks at his opponent and 
raises his staff in salute. He raises his voice and it sounds clear through 
the Arena. "Thorne, your evil ways can never hope to defeat my divine 
powers. Surrender now, for you can never stand up to me. I am a disciple of 
the Stormhawk, no one can defeat us."

    As he finishes saying this, the announcer declares the beggining of the 
fight.  There is a momentary flash of green from Tellafar's right hand, and 
then the action begins.

    Thorne, with a slightly sneering grin at the green burst of light, folds 
his arms across his chest.  His stance shifts slightly, a mien of 
nonchalance coming over him.  His eyes stay directed on his opponent, though 
he shows no inclination to emerge as the aggressor.

    His lack of action, however, gives the spectators a better view of him.  
Looking quite unimposing, he gives no sign of the ability needed to stand 
against, much less defeat, Tellafar.  His folded arms, however, do bear 
bands of sharpened metal at the wrist, and two black scabbards, which seem 
to blend quite well with his black pants, hang at his waist.  His 
shoulder-length dusty blond hair is tied back with a simple, braided-leather 
cord.  A single stone orbits around his brow.

    Some of the more intelligent spectators shift slightly with apprehension 
as they gaze upon him; few comprehend his apparent motionlessness, though 
they have enough sense to fear him.

    Slowly Tellafar starts forward, his staff grasped in his hands.  He 
walks toward his opponent while words of magic flow from his lips.  His 
armor shimmers for a moment, and when it fades it has turned into a 
mirrorlike surface, as well as the rest of his body.  With this additional 
layer of protection in place, a ghost of a smile plays across Tellafar's 
face as he continues his advance across the Arena floor.

    Suddenly Tellafar bursts into motion, rapidly making his way across the 
Arena.  His eyes flare green as he looks across to his oppoent, who still 
stands only a few feet from his entry doors.  In the stands, the spectators 
wonder if Thorne has forgotten that he is involved in a battle.

    Thorne waits until Tellafar is halfway across the Arena before his lack 
of movement abruptly ends.  His hands go through a series of quick movements 
before he brings them in, cupping a transparent, shimmering globe 
of...something.  Thorne launches the globe, sending it flying straight for 
his priestly foe.

    Tellafar continues forward and the globe rushes to meet him.  It never 
makes it however, as the globe explodes into green globules about ten feet 
from Tellafar.  The green..stuff..sprays out, but none of it seems to hit 
Tellafar, who continues in his rapid advance.

    Tellafar continues forward until he gets about 90', when his eyes flash 
and a glowing green ray bursts from them.  The bolt of energy races across 
the distance separating him from Thorne.  However, it seems to run out of 
energy, fading away almost ten feet from Thorne.

    A twisted grin pulls at the corners of Thorne's mouth as he gives his 
opponent a slight, appreciative nod. His eyes, however, seem to shine with 
contempt. Members of the audience not focused on Tellafar notice a slight 
flicking of his wrists, revealing gleaming bands of sharpened metal twined 
around his forearms.

    Thorne, his visage strangely blank, void of both emotion and
concentration, bursts into motion, launching himself at his foe with 
blinding incredible speed. As he closes the distance, another blast of green 
light erupts from Tellafar's eyes and words of a prayer flow from his lips. 
The green bolt speeds at Thorne, but again fades away before hitting him. 
Even as the green bolt fades into nothingness, one of Tellafar's hands 
suddenly bursts into flames and he quickly hurls a fiery globe at his 
opponent. The globe hits Thorne square in the chest and tongues of fire 
dance over his form, but within moments they die away, revealing Throne none 
the worse for wear.

    Closing to melee range, Thorne's balled fists flash toward Tellafar, 
though he pulls his swings and hooks them in odd slashing motions. He moves 
rapidly and it is hard to see the results until he steps back for a moment, 
revealing blood streaming down from Tellafar's upper (right) arm.

    Seeing that his opponent is well protected from magical attack, Tellafar 
decides to do it the old-fashioned way.  Gripping his staff with both hands 
he brings it around in a powerful arc, swinging it so rapidly you'd think it 
had no weight.

    Ignoring the incoming attack, Thorne has a mischevious smile on his face 
as he begins the words to a spell.  He never finishes though, as Tellafar's 
staff connects solidly with his chest, sending him reeling back a few feet.  
Thorne, stunned both from the interruption of his spell and the force of the 
hit, tries to get himself into a defensive position, as Tellafar dashes 
forward to bludgeon Thorne to a pulp.

    He has only gone a couple steps though, when he trips.  His arms 
cartwheel as he tries to keep his balance.  Thorne ducks to the side to 
avoid the madly flailing priest.  Tellafar manages to keep himself upright, 
then turns again towards Thorne.

    Thorne shrugs, and a look of slight resignation flickers across his
features.  His shoulders slump slightly, and his eyes express the emotion of 
loss.  To most of the spectators, it seems that Thorne, though very much 
alive, has given up for some unknown reason.

    He starts to back away slightly, but Tellafar is already on him.  His 
staff swings in again and again, hitting Thorne four times before he falls.  
Stepping to the side, Tellafar looks down at his foe, but it seems evident 
that he is not going to rise.  From the judges box comes the declaration of 
Tellafar's triumph.