It's a grand day for a tournament. Unless you're a drow elf, and the 
stands seemed full of them today. Some amongst them who commanded the magely 
arts, or had a big enough changepurse, had shields and clouds of darkness 
obscuring them. Those were the lucky, the rest of the Drow just endured 
under the late afternoon sun, so they could encourage their chosen, the 
priestess Clef. Known to be one of the most favored of Lolth's serveants, 
Clef had carved a name for herself in the Arena, chiseled in the flesh of 
those who fell before her. Today she was to meet a master of the mind, a 
psionicist-fighter from the desert lands of Athas, known as Ebrecus Koldar. 
For reasons known only to Athasians, not that many supporters of Ebrecus 
were numbered in the crowd. Could the drow be a more sun-loving people than 
the Athasians? Only the gods knew the truth of it.

    As the trumpets blare, proclaiming the entrance of the contestants, 
Ebrecus emerges from the south doors of the fighting grounds. Battle-scarred 
and much tattooed, the human is festooned with scabbarded swords and other 
blades. His movement is ever so slightly rigid, evidence of psionic 
enhancement that his body's joints and muscles just weren't accustomed to 
yet. Drawing gleaming twin short swords, each about an arm's length and with 
blood grooves running down the centers, Ebrecus appears ready to charge 
across the Arena ground.

    At the opposite side of the Arena, the dark elf priestess and fighter, 
Clef, emerges. Her armor is black as tar, the product of craftsmanship of 
the drow, or perhaps their ofttime allies, the duergar. It is full plate 
armor, with very few vulnerable spots. If the craftsmanship of the deep 
dwellers is no falsehood, then there are no chinks in Clef's armor. At her 
right hip hangs an indescribable weapon, multihued and writhing as though it 
were itself alive. She carries a sword in each hand, each blade blackened to 
show no hint of silver. One sword, that in her righthand, was as long as her 
forearm. The blade opposite it was as long as her leg if it were an inch. An 
air of confidence radiated from her so palpable that the fans nearest her 
felt all doubts reased of who would emerge the victorious in this match.

    At the command of the chief judge, the two combatants closed towards one 
another at an easy pace, neither wanting to leave themselves exhausted and 
open to attack. In a half-dozen heartbeats the two stood almost nose to 
nose. Each equipped with two swords, the bloodfest began.

    As Clef swung her shorter weapon towards Ebrecus, the human danced away 
adroitly. Overextending her own reach, Clef threw herself off balance and 
was totally open to Ebrecus's blades. Moving swiftly to take advantage, 
Ebrecus swung his blades at Clef with blind fury. But to his total disbelief 
and horror, his keen edged swords passed through Clef as though she (or the 
sword blades) were phantasms. Striking over and again, each blade passed 
through the dark elf as if she were nothing more than a mirage.

    Then Clef recovered her feet, and with a vengeance worthy of a Drow 
cleaved into Ebrecus. Unlike the blades of the hapless psionicist, Clef's 
blades bit true and drew blood in prodigious quantities. Over and over and 
over she hit, until the psionicist looked near ready to fall. In a feat 
which likely saved his life, he floated quickly out of the reach of Clef's 
blades. Airborne and floating some fifty feet over the ground, dripping 
blood like a leaky gutter, Ebrecus concentrated. Clef tried to reach him, 
but he had put himself out of reach of her weapons. She even tried summoning 
the wrath of Lolth, but her callings were ignored as she waited frustrated 
beneath Ebrecus. In time she moved and could cast spells, begining to walk 
upon the air towards her foe. But before she could get close, her magic 
failed and she fell some twenty feet to the ground. While Clef ranted, 
Ebrecus's wounds began to shut themselves, and the ruddy color of skin began 
to replace the palish color he had been reduced to. Readying his weapons 
again, Ebrecus dropped to face his foe again. Before moving against Ebrecus 
again, Clef reached towards her breast and uttered a word in drow.

    Swords clashed, and Ebrecus took another nasty cut just under the 
cuirass. With a feint and spin, Ebrecus hit Clef again. And again his blade 
passed through her like a wraith. But this time he had done something new, 
for the priestess doubled over in pain. But the Drow was no strager to pain, 
and quickly recovered, slicing through Ebrecus with an even greater fervor 
for his hurting her. Before falling before a superior adversary, Ebrecus 
dropped his weapons and raised his hands in a supplicating gesture of defeat 
to the judges. Signaling the trumpeters again, the contest, one-sided as it 
seemed, was called to a halt.

    The drow Clef departed the field of battle with the dignity of a queen, 
while her fans in the audience cheered on. Wounded severely, Ebrecus stood 
in the ring, concentrating again and knitting shut some of his wounds. But 
whatever powers Ebrecus the psionicist had mastered, it seemed that none 
were any match for the Drow priestess. While his 'ghost blades' left her 
fairly much untouched, the same could not be said for Clef. Having lost as 
much blood as an ox at slaughter, the mind-warrior left the field 
vanquished.