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Before beginning episode 7, a brief recap of the story up to this point:

Johannes Bruckner, the Cormorantian swordsman, awoke in a strange prison cell after making port at the Sevahran coastal city of Emmenia. Also in prison was a half-elf maiden named Nima Greenleaf, who was arrested after a failed bid at doing a good deed for an acolyte of the suffering god, Isdurrna. The two conversed, finding common cause. They were freed by a mysterious rogue, then discovered by the giant military man Toril, lieutenant to General Aleksander of Bastos. They learn that all of Emmenia, and much of the surrounding region, has been thrown into turmoil by the insane recent actions of Emmenia’s king, Hector Janessin. Dark rumors of demonic influence upon the monarch have been spreading for weeks.

The two erstwhile prisoners gratefully accepted Aleksander’s offer of scouting work, heading North to Mt. Elesborre to investigate rumors of orcs massing on the mountain’s southern slope. En routh, the two tangled with a group of gnolls, and a pack of vicious wolves. They met the gnome wizard Tadalac Wishmere, who saved them from the wolf attack, subsequently joining the group in their adventure.

After an information-seeking venture into the small, criminal town of Thorn, in which they heard tell of King Janessin heading North in the company of a succubus and other, unsavory characters. They observed a strange group of people, including a woman with facial tattoos, and mutters of a place called “Velth” were heard. The group rides North, discovering a large contingent of orcs guarding a cave at Elesborre’s base. With much daring, the group slipped past the rowdy and battling crew of orcs, and entered the caverns, after sending Canary back with word to the General.

Inside the undermountain, the heroes encountered a trio of trolls, who they set loose upon the orc encampment, discovering a dead body with a cryptic journal along the way, as well as a strange hovering sphere. They encounter an ur-gnome named Mordecai who gave them gifts in exchange for their assistance escaping from this place, which is now rife with devils. All of his people have been killed, he sadly explained.

The group found King Janessin and the Succubus at last, saving the king after a pitched battle in the depths under Elesborre. The Succubus was slain by the mysterious tattooed woman, who warned the heroes off of their present course of action before disappearing…

Toril found them after the battle, and the group made their way south, to Eltuhlich, one of Sevahr’s largest, most violent, and strangest cities…

We pick up now with Episode Seven -- At the Field of Blood:

After warning the trio against wandering into the wrong parts of the city, Toril departed, leaving the three alone in the strange city.  
 
“Let’s get ourselves set up at the inn, and then take a look around the city. We could have a look at the job board if you want, or visit some shops." 
 
Following Bruckner's lead, the adventurers headed for the inn. The innkeep--a kind, matronly human woman who smiled warmly at each member of the group in turn--gave them a discount after they mentioned Toril's name. A large teenage boy (her son, judging from their conversation) helped the group with their travel bags, and saw to their horses.  The rooms were quite nice; each had a small fireplace and a deep purple handwoven bedspread.  The inn itself was a curious structure, very tall and thin, like a sword stuck into the ground.  It was tastefully decorated, with fresh flowers in water in each room, a rack in Bruckner's room for his weapon and armor, and a small desk in Tadalac's that he could work at to prepare spells.  Nima's room had an elegant ivory tub, and the woman indicated that she would have one of her girls bring up hot water at any time.  Bruckner and Tadalac, she also mentioned cheerfully, were welcome to the men's bath house and sauna on the ground floor. 

"Tadalac would like to go eating, then shopping. You should be able to sell those bangles at Llials Emporium, little sister."  
Tadalac explained that Llials Emporium was the largest and best shop in town; it was a large structure that had been in Eltuhlich for over 100 years and was owned and run by three Elfin sisters, the Llials.  "They have all the best wares!" Tadalac declared.  "Plus, the Llias sisters are all famous beauties!" He added happily.  "Maybe Ox can find a bride!" 
 
The group all followed Bruckner's suggestion that they all clean up before heading out to find something to eat, with the exception of Mordecai, who had also obtained a room at the inn, and opted to stay in for the night in his "room" in the root cellar, which the matron of the inn had very kindly offered him when she saw that he didn't like the look of any of the above-ground rooms. Tadalac indicated that he wanted to eat at the Drunken Dragon, "the best tavern in town," according to him. As the group left the inn, Tadalac said to his companions, in Sylvan, presumably so as to avoid eavesdroppers overhearing, 
"Eltuhlich is a very strange and dangerous place.  You should have no trouble fitting in here, Ox; the Eltuhlichuians prize and revere physical might over everything; fighters and warriors of all kinds are praised and sought after.  Magic users like me though," Tadalac shrugged, and finished," we're less popular." Turning to Nima, he said, "I bet you can pick up some useful information here though, little sister.  All sorts of strange folk gather here, from the Doorway-Walkers to slavers to people who are obsessed with Sazarkand, the evil dragon that rules these parts.  Not all folks are bad, though.  That lady who rented us those rooms was so nice!  It's a good place I guess, with lots of bad elements, and some dangerous people in high places.  Tadalac can't risk using magic here--it would give me away, so you too must protect Tadalac!  Ok?" 

The streets they strode down—paved with sandstone cobbles—was full of strange sights. Exotic weapon shops boasted curved swords, and spiked chains ending in vicious morningstars. Half-nude women gestured alluringly from brothel doorways, calling out to Bruckner to come and taste their wares. At a central square, a large fountain was built around a giant’s skull, gilded with gold-leaf, a victory token, the plaque before it announced, taken from Sazarkand’s raid of the Askerops, the mountain-haunt of the Vindrian giants, some three centuries earlier. Two large men were frog-marching a bound and bloodied prisoner who shouted grotesque obscenities, until one of his wards slammed a gauntleted fist against his jaw. Teeth clattered to the cobblestones amid a shower of blood, and the man went silent, his feet dragging bloody trails through the street.

“Who are the Doorway Walkers?” Nima tried to ask, but they had arrived at the Drunken Dragon, and the question was lost in the commotion.

The heroes arrived at the Drunken Dragon, a large two-story tavern from which were wafting excellent smells: the scent of garlic sizzling in hot oil, salted pork, and rich peaty whiskey mixed with heavy clouds of tobacco smoke.  The noise inside was deafening; it seemed to be filled with a huge party of carousing dwarves, and plenty of burly humans, and other humanoid species drinking, eating, and yelling.  Behind the bar stood a large dwarf, who must have been quite muscled in his day, but had now largely gone to fat.  A thick scar ran horizontally across his forehead, and his white beard was tied into three braided knots.  He was in a heated argument with a patron, from the sound of it, over the best way to drop a giant. 

"Tadalac, you know what's best here, but I would really fancy that whisky I smell and some good, roasted meat."  
 
"Tadalac has been here twice, and both times the food was excellent. The first time I got a steak pie with bourbon gravy; why it was as big as me!  I spent four hours eating until I'd finished every bite.  The second time I had lamb chops with mint and rosemary and red potatoes swimming in cream and black pepper.  Mmmm!  Let's get two of both of those things, and a broiled fish stuffed with goat cheese, and a platter of fried bread and salt pork, and a bottle of whiskey!  And a cask of ale!  We can get whatever we want!" he went on excitedly.  "Toril gave us all this gold and told us to have a good time!  Anything else you want to try?" 

"That all sounds good, but I will forgo the beer. Just a glass or two of whiskey, I want to stay clear headed for whatever may come." 

Nima nodded her vague assent, too busy dreaming of a steak pie big as Tadalac with bourbon gravy to do more.

Tadalac looked seriously dubious at Bruckner's judgment about the beer, but in his excitement, finally just giggled, and said, "Oh well, more for Tadalac!" and skipped to the bar.  Nima began to attempt to listen in for anything interesting being said, but heard nothing but a bunch of fighting men talking about fighting, food, and women.
 
Tadalac returned and pulled out three pipes, offering them around, and lighting his own.  He kicked back and put his feet on the table.  "This is the life, right you two?" he asked, puffing out a thick smoke ring.  "Nothing like a good meal and a stay in town after an adventure like ours." 
 

"An adventure, eh?" A gruff voice spoke out.  It was the dwarf barkeep, with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and three small glasses in the other.  A small dwarf was at his side, carrying a small cask of ale and four mugs.  They set down the various drinks and glasses, and then the dwarf said, "Welcome to my establishment; the name's Bagor Hammerhand.  Now what's this about an adventure, eh?  Nothing I love more than a good adventure story."  He turned to the small dwarf who was still standing there listening, and snapped, "Go mind the bar, lad!"  The dwarf hopped to it, while Bagor settled down, and tapped himself a mug of ale, then looked at the three adventurers intently. 

"One time, the three of us snuck by an armored host of orcs and then, finding ourselves face to face with their pet trolls, we turned the creatures loose on their masters. But that's small beer for such as yourself. Tell us of your own adventures."  
 
"Small beer nothin'!" Bagor replied, clearly impressed.  "That's damn impressive that is.  How'd you keep the brutes from turning on you?" 
 
 "As for me", he said, "I've seen a few fights, sure.  Went up and down the Viskal Coast way out west when I was a younger dwarf.  Helped take down a Lich and his pet zombie dragon outside Endola once.  Whew, that was a fight, and no mistake.  But then I took up gladiatorial fighting, in the arena, see?  Made a bit of a name for myself in the Gladiator rings down there in Endola, then eventually travelled East, participating in a fighting caravan.  Settled down here, why, it'd be thirty years ago, and started up the tavern.  You know..." he gives Bruckner a good once over, up and down, "you look like you can handle yourself, lad.  And if you can take on trolls, then no doubt you'd fare well in the ring.  What do you say?  We have a little arena here in Eltuhlich; fastest way to fame and fortune is through the Fighter's Hall.  I'd be happy to sponsor you, you know.  And if you ain't afraid of a little pain, there's no real danger, you know.  Clerics of Pelor are staffed and on hand, to heal up the combatants after the fight, or even raise 'em up should one die.  There's good money in it." 
 
At this point the food was brought out; plate after plate of it, steaming hot, and delicious.  Tadalac took a break from his mug of ale to dive into one of the huge steak pies. 
 
Bruckner: "I would be interested to test myself in the Fighter's Hall, though it would have to be soon. We're needed elsewhere tomorrow." 
 
*chomp, chomp*  
 
Bagor said, "Well, it's too late for a fight today lad, though I like your eagerness!  If your business tomorrow permits, come by and we'll get you set up for a match."  He heaved himself up, and laughed to see the gusto with which Tadalac was eating and drinking.  "Glad to see you are enjoying the food and beer!" he said jovially.  He patted the cask of ale and said, "I'll have them send out another one, on the house.  It was right fine to meet you folk".  He nodded to Tadalac and Bruckner, and bowed deeply to Nima.  He then headed back to the bar, leaving the three to their meal. 
 
Bruckner: "Another time, then." 
 
The group finished their meal, stuffed to bursting; Bruckner and Nima nearly had to pull Tadalac away from the table; and he filled his hands and pockets with the last of the salted pork, and on the way out scooped up the remaining goat cheese into a piece of fried bread, munching it down as they left.  "Good food, huh?"  He asked cheerily, stumbling a bit as he walked. 
 
Your walk through the city was enjoyable, though it was clear that this was a city that forced one to stay on their toes.  The feel of the place was somewhat exotic, with dangerous looking men milling about, and sultry eyed women sitting at custom in high windows, their eyes on the people milling about below.  The group passed a rather brutal looking brawl; a large man was going toe to toe with a massive half-orc, and apparently, winning.  A crowd was gathered about, cussing and cheering.  Two men appeared to be placing wagers with a third.   
 
After a few minutes the three entered the commercial district proper, which was the bazaar they had passed through earlier on the Eastern side of town.  They made their way past the various peddlers, to the huge central structure; the only permanent shop in the area; the Emporium.  There were two main doors, one each on the North and South sides of the shop; as they entered they noticed to their surprise that both doors were guarded by gigantic bugbears wearing half-plate, holding huge studded maces.  Their eyes traveled the room coolly, keeping unsavory-looking characters under particularly close scrutiny.  The place was full of patrons, some looking at various magical items, others trying on clothing or armor, others handling weapons at the far end of the shop.  In one corner was what looked like a small area where an aged wizard sat, enchanting items for a fee.  Nearly anything a person could want could be found in this shop. 

After a moment, it became easy to notice a central figure who was quite obviously running the show.  She was a tall, graceful blonde-haired female elf, with aquiline features and striking blue eyes.  She finished describing the various virtues of a set of enchanted gauntlets to a stout dwarf maiden packing a ferocious looking war axe, then, having spotted the trio, made her way over to them.  "Welcome to Llial's Emporium," she said in a voice like water over crystal.  "I am Laylthlin Llial, the chief proprietress, along with my sisters Solarin and Torin.  What are you looking for this fine evening?" 

After a look at her companions, Nima decided that she was probably the group's best bet at bargaining for a good price for their wares. She stepped forward, and showed the elf the bangles they had acquired.  "Would your establishment be interested in such a purchase?" she asked in Elven.   

 Laylthlin looked over the bangles very carefully, spending several minutes poring over the details.  After several minutes of study, she looked up with a bright smile.  "These are of very fine make!" she said. " I can gladly give you 3,000 gold pieces for each one." 
 
Bruckner then produced his composite longbow for sale;  Laylthlin took the bow and, again, looked it up and down, even going so far as to string it (with ease) and test the flex.  "This is a well-made bow," she said.  "I will give you 200 gold pieces for it." 

After their business was completed, Tadalac said, "What say we go for something sweet on our way back to the inn?  There's a little shop here on the South edge of the commercial district that blends cream and ice with strawberries or chocolate or caramel into a sticky frozen treat.  They call it 'ice cream', and it is to die for!"  He looked expectant and hopeful. 
 
 Bruckner: "Yes, it sounds interesting, this...what did you call it?...Iced-cream?" 
 
They shortly after arrived at the small shop Tadalac mentioned; it was run by a gnome family.  Outside the shop was a small awning striped red and white, and inside was a whole array of whirling machinery, producing, apparently, the thick creamy substance coming out of a nozzle in the middle of the mechanical array.  A bucket caught the substance, then, while they looked on, a gnome promptly scooped out a bowlful and mixed it with fresh strawberries, handing it off to a bright-eyed half-elf child, who nearly jumped for excitement upon receiving it. 
 
The three all got bowls of this strange substance, and dug in.  
 
Afterwards, they headed back to the inn for a well-deserved nights rest. 
 
The next morning a boy arrived to conduct Bruckner, Nima, and Tadalac to General Aleksander 
 
He lead them through the busy hot Eltuhlichian streets; they then headed steadily southward, walking for perhaps twenty minutes or so until they could see a large encampment spread on a vast green lawn; the Sevahran army had evidently taken up temporary residence in what looked like a park district in town.  A stream ran through the fields, and several youngsters sat fishing with homemade poles in an area cordoned off for civilian use.  Armed guards held the perimeter; inside were rows of tents and firepits.  The boy led them to the center of the area, bowed quickly, and was off, leaving the adventurers outside a tent; inside of which they could hear Toril's booming voice.  A guard stationed outside raised a hand in salute, and said, "The General has been awaiting your arrival.  Please, go in." 
 
Inside, General Aleksander's tent was arrayed almost precisely as it was the first time they had visited it, in Emennia.  His weapon rack stood against the Southern wall of the tent, and a simple soldier's cot lay in the Northeast corner.  A huge table was covered with scrolls and books, with a large map of Sevahr dominating the space.  Toril and Alexander looked up from the map as the three entered. 
 
"Bruckner, Nima" the General said, dressed in a simple white robe overset with a red cloak secured at the shoulder with the Bastoran star crest tying the robe at his shoulder.  "And Tadalac, if I remember aright."  He looked at the little gnome.  "I recall your service some years ago, with Toril here.  You are most welcome."  Tadalac bowed deeply, obviously very much in awe of the man.  The General reached for a decanter of water, and poured out three glasses, offering them to the party.  "Please, make yourselves comfortable.  There isn't much here, but you are welcome to what I have."  He surveyed them with what looked like a glint of fatherly pride in his eye.  "You have done great things for me," he said.  "And for Sevahr.  I will be honest, I did not expect to see the King alive again.  You have brought us what we needed most: information.  Toril has told me something of what you found.  Even as we speak, the Lords are gathering for King Janessin's hearing.  It will be the day after tomorrow, perhaps the day after that.  But for now, you must tell me everything.  Spare no detail." 
 
Bruckner told the General everything, including his intimations regarding the king’s state of mind, and his fears of possible collusion against him from within. 

Aleksander listened intently to all that Bruckner had to say, nodding occasionally.  "You are right to be worried about the things you are worried about. Such facts are not lost on me, and are being taken into consideration.  It is good, though, to hear that you had that intimation upon finding the King.  It it is a terrible thing for a King to betray his people, and I did not relish the thought that he had done so willingly."  

He then turned to Nima, and Tadalac, asking them in turn to share their version of events. He sat, pondering a moment, then brightened.  "Very well," he said at last.  "You have all done a great deed of service, and well earned your commission."  He gestured to Toril, who brought forth a bag of coin for each member of the party.  "It is not every day that a group of young adventurers helps to restore peace to Sevahr.  I will expect you at the hearing the day after next, or after, depending.  Feel free to stay at the inn you are at now, I will see to it that the bill is paid for you."  He smiled briefly, turning already back to Toril as he gestured them out.  "A fine young swordsman like you Bruckner, perhaps you would benefit from trying your hand in the Fighter's Hall while you are here; I think you would make an admirable showing."  He turned to Nima, briefly, his eyes intense.  "And you, Miss Nima.  Perhaps you would not mind coming back this evening; I have a task which your special skills are...especially suited for."   
 
He then gestured the whole group out.  "Thank you all again. I will see you shortly." 
 
Having obtained the finances necessary for enchanting his sword, Bruckner requested that the group return to the Emporium to have this work done. Once inside, Bruckner sought out the wizened mage in the corner, who took the sword eagerly, saying, "This is a fine weapon, son.  A holy enchantment is my very favorite to cast, and I can see that you will swing this in defense of goodness and right."  The mage retreated a ways into a small working area, where two young elven lads assist him; one holding the sword carefully over an anvil spread with damask; the second pouring a handful of fine silver dust into one open hand, then very, very slowly, dusts the sword in a thin stream of the substance.  The mage began to chant in celestial, his voice reverberating around the small space in the back of the shop; as he sang, his hands emit soft, effusive light that seemed to bind together the metallic dust and the gleaming black adamantine of the blade. The blade became enveloped in a bright glow, like the heart of the sun, but obviously heatless, and the elves and the mage were unaffected by it.  The mage began to run his hands down the blade, as though he were shaping the energy to fit the sword's natural lines.  This continued for some time, singing, shaping, reshaping.  After an hour, the song hit a final, piercing note, and the energy seemed to fix itself, appearing like an ethereal sword-soul manifesting itself in hues of blue and white.  Then the song slowly wound down, a beautiful and serious ending; the sword ceased its glowing, and looks as it always had.  The mage handed it back to Bruckner with a soft smile; as he gripped the hilt he felt a rush of positive energy, like he had often felt while praying at Eleam's temple, and Bruckner knew his hand would now strike even more true against the foul creatures of the dark. 
 
Bruckner thanked the mage respectfully, admiring his work. 
 
In the meantime, Tadalac walked up to Bruckner, still watching the enchantment process.  Tadalac was dragging a greatsword by the handle with both hands.  He stopped before Bruckner, and looked up with an excited smile.  "What do you think, Ox?" he said, grinning proudly at the massive sword, then back to Bruckner.  "Now Tadalac can stand in the front lines like you!" 
 
Tadalac laughed, then looked confused, and said, "What?  You think it is too big for Tadalac?"  He looked back at the sword, tried to lift it, got it an inch or two off the ground, and then dropped it, panting.  "Maybe Tadalac got ahead of himself!" he said now laughing in earnest.  "I will leave the sword work to you, Ox."  He dragged the sword back, and returned a few minutes later with a very small dagger in a red leather sheath.  "I got this instead," he said brightly, tying it proudly to his belt. 
 
"I just saw little sister talking to one of the shopkeepers; she's going to stay and train with a new type of crossbow all afternoon.  You want to go find that dwarf and do a fight in the arena?  Tadalac will cheer you on!" 
 
Bruckner: "That's a fine dagger, Tadalac, and you well deserve to wear it. Shall we find that dwarf?" 
 
 "To the Drunken Dragon!" Tadalac said.

Bruckner and Tadalac headed to the bar, and found it much more sparsely populated than the night before.  A massive hulk of a dwarf was asleep on a bench against the far wall, snoring loudly, an empty tankard hanging from his hand.  There were a few tables with customers, most enjoying fried tomatoes and bacon.  Bagor Hammerfist was behind the bar, yelling at two young dwarfs about the proper way to pluck a goose.  He looked up when he saw them, and says, "Bruckner, old boy!  Glad to see you back!  Ready for the ring, are you?  As chance has it there's an opening at noon, in just two hours.  You up for it?" 
 
Bruckner: "I am. What are the rules of the ring?" 
 
 Bagor: "Rules?"  He looked puzzled for a moment, then began to nod as though remembering the term, "Ah, I see what you mean.  No rules, boy, save that you ain't allowed to cast no magics in the ring.  Magical enchantments on your gear and such are fine, but no casting of spells; this is a warrior's ring.  But I don't 'spect that'll be a problem for you, will it?" 
 
***
 Bagor invited Bruckner and Tadalac to hang out in the tavern until fight time,   After about an hour or so, he stood up, nodded to a middle-aged dwarf who appeared from the kitchen, said, "The place is yours; I'll be back in a few hours", and gestured for Bruckner and Tadalac to follow him.  He leads them through town, straight to the very center of the city.  They could see the large circular walls of a fighting colosseum from a ways off; it was an impressive structure. It was both brutal and beautiful in form, with harsh black razored stone turrets rising up into the orange sky overtopping marble bas-relief murals of fighters in all imaginable scenarios, battling a variety of horrific beasts, as well as squaring off against each other.  Boys were bawling out the day's fight schedule, and handing out lists of upcoming bouts, and the adventurers notice a large poster tacked on a wooden board and set on an easel; it portrayed a huge half-orc with a hairy chest and a greataxe, grimacing terribly.  Above the representation the words read: 'The Grey King!  Undisputed Champion!"  Bagor nodded at the picture and said, "That's Chrum, or 'the grey king', as he's taken to calling himself.   Pshaaw."  He made a disgusted noise.  "That boy's gotten too big for his britches.  Why, in my day, we didn't self-aggrandize like that.  And I'll tell you true, I won more fights than that boy has.  Anyway, you won't be fighting him for a while yet, if at all.  Come on, let's see who you'll be fighting." 
 
He led them up, straight past the main window where tickets were being sold, through a side entrance that he unlocked with a heavy iron key. They all walked through a tunnel lit by sunlight; with grating holes in the ceiling that allowed the light to shine through.  They came into a well-lit central area, also lit through ceiling grates.  A man was busy with some paperwork.  Bagor cleared his throat, and said, "Braydon, I got a new man for you here.  This is Bruckner, from Cormorant.  He's up for the noon fight slot."  Braydon looked up, and surveyed Bruckner closely.  He strode forward and walked around the others, watching the way Bruckner held himself. 
 
"You ever fight in the ring before, boy?" he asked gruffly.
"Not one like this." 
 
Braydon snorted, then said, "You got a pair on you, I'll give you that.  Look sturdy enough, too."  He walked back to the desk, pulled a piece of parchment out from a stack, and set it down next to an inkwell and quill.  "Sign here" he said, "standard agreement to the dangers, and willingness to be resurrected should you go down in the fight." 
 
He smiled after Bruckner signed (not a pretty sight, but it appeared genuine); he now seemed to look at Bruckner with something closer to esteem.  "Well, glad you're aboard, Bruckner.  You got a tough fight ahead."  He slapped him on the arm, and gestured down the hall for someone out of sight.  "Ryxtan will get you set up.  Good luck."  As he headed back to his desk, Bagor laughed heartily, and said, "Well, that was painless, eh?  Though, I guess that weren't the part that was meant to hurt..." He turned to Tadalac, and said, "Come on lad, we can go sit in the box, and watch your friend fight."  Tadalac patted Bruckner on the arm as they left, saying, "You can do it, Ox." 
 

As they left, a woman appeared from the hallway where Braydon had beckoned.  To Bruckner's shock he saw that she was an Andoli, one of those who had wandered, and returned different. He gripped his sword, and began to adopt a defensive posture, but the blue-skinned woman held out hands of weary peace, apparently accustomed to the greeting.

“Don’t worry,” Braydon said, limping past, “I raised her like my own. She ain’t like the rest.” The Andoli were an ancient sect of elves who had found a gate to another plane millennia before, and had vanished from the sunlit lands entirely. Five centuries ago, some had returned, and they had borne little resemblance to the creatures of this world. Blue and glowing of skin, with star-crossed eyes, and fey countenances, the otherworldly star-dwellers spoke in flaming tongues of inky night and cosmic fire, weaving terrible magicks from planes far removed from the fields we know. Much of the warfare over the past several hundred years had seen the Andoli in the center of it, and their numbers had been reduced in many bloody conflicts. Aside from certain areas of the Woven Lands to the North of the Faussian Sea, the Andoli lived a scattered existence now, at the margins of the world, hated and shunned for their fearful rituals, and alien desires.

Normally these creatures were unequivocally evil and had no place among civilized folk.  She seemed quite in control though, as she said, "Come along then, let's get you to your starting position."  
 
"My name's Ryxtan," she told Bruckner as he walked down yet another stone corridor with lattice patches of sunlight coming in through overhead grating.  "I'm glad you came along; we were just going to send in one of our boys to fight Pyrm today, but the crowd gets tired of seeing the same fighters.  A fresh face and set of moves is always more exciting."  

She stopped in front of a heavy iron grate; past it was the arena: a dusty circle of sand streaked with blood, utterly devoid of ornamentation; 200 feet away Bruckner could see faintly, shimmering in the heat given off by the sandy ground, an identical gate.  She looked at him, and said seriously, "Now, remember, this isn't a game.  Lot's of first timers tend to take it too easy on their opponents being chivalrous and such, but Pyrm's a seasoned vet, and you can bet he won't go easy on you.  You go in there and kill him; remember, he won't really be dead; there's clerics on hand, and no one has ever died permanently in our arena.  Go in there, bury your sword in his heart, and win gold and honor.  Like as not, he'll want to buy you a drink afterwards."  She patted Bruckner on the arm, and turned to walk back down the tunnel.  "When the gate raises, the fight is on" she said.  "Good luck." 
 
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, a magically amplified voice was suddenly heard, dimming the raucous crowd.  "The next fight will be a clash of titans!" The voice said, "An all-out melee between our very own PYRM GREATSHIELD!" (the crowd roared in approval), "and a newcomer to our arena, Bruckner, the BLACK BLADE!"  The crowd continued its cheering, but it was now more expectant than celebratory. 
 
The gate rose, and Bruckner stepped out onto the field of battle; opposite him on the other side of the pitch he could see a tall man wearing a plumed helmet.  A heavy mace rested against his shoulder, and he was carrying a massive tower shield dyed red, a dragon's fiery maw etched into the metal.   
 
Bruckner moved 20' forward, then stopped and raised his sword in front of his face by way of salute. 
 
The crowd cheered in recognition of his chivalrous salute; in response, Pyrm gave a deep military bow, then, whirling his greatshield with surprising dexterity in a crowd-pleasing show of prowess, began to run toward Bruckner down the field, covering 60 feet, placing him 120 feet away from Bruckner, who moved another 20 feet forward. 

With a warrior’s cry, Bruckner leapt forward in a charging dash, closing the distance between himself and Pyrm and bringing his sword down in a focused arc aimed at his foe’s shoulder, between the joints of his banded armor. The gladiator was taken aback by the speed of the youth’s attack, and attempted to bring his shield up to parry, but was a fraction of a second too slow, and the Cormorantian sword bit deep, finding the place where plates met, and biting deep into his shoulder.
 
Pyrm staggered back a half step, then, with a mighty roar swung his heavy mace with the full force of his body. The large man put too much into the swing, the clench of his shoulders and positioning of his feet telling Bruckner clearly where the strike would land. Bruckner ducked deftly under the whistling mace head. 

The crowd was beginning to come alive, and Bruckner redoubled his attack. Pyrm was off balance after his heavy swing, and the youth quickly skirted to his side, and stabbed deep, right above the hip, piercing the banded mail; he pulled his sword out of the man’s hipbone with a jerk, dripping blood on the dusty ground. 
 
The warrior turned, howling in pain and rage, and, tossing his shield aside, grasped his mace in both hands, and swung it downward, toward the crown of Bruckner’s head. As he swung, he slipped on one of the leather straps of his shield, now lying in the dirt, and nearly toppled over, the swing going wide.

After he looses his balance, Bruckner sliced at Pyrm's unprotected throat, but the man got a gauntleted arm between the blade and his vitals, and the black blade glanced off with a loud clang. Pyrm rolled backwards, regaining his shield, and clumsily retaking his feet, fending off another strike with his mace as he attempted to regain solid footing.

 
The crowd showed its support for the bloody spectacle. A chorus of voices chanted "PYRM! PYRM! PYRM!" in support of the greatshield, but rather pleasingly, Bruckner also noted some strong voices crying out for the "BLACK BLADE!" 
 
Pyrm swung again, his mace whirling through the air like a streak of silver wind, but Bruckner brought his own shield up, catching and redirecting the mace head. 
 
The fight was raging in earnest now, as the combatants exchanged blows, sparks showering from the clangs of metal on metal.  Bruckner thrust forward, the tip of his sword aimed at the breach in his armor above the hip opened earlier, but Pyrm smashed the incoming blow away with a powerful parry from his mace.  He followed it up with a backhand slam aimed at Bruckner’s cheek, but the heavily armored man was too slow to lay a hand on the youth.
 
Bruckner swung and swung, but for a time could only seem to find the greatshield, an ever-present wall of steel. Then he spied an opening, scoring a deep hit, hacking down through the rent in Pyrm's armor he had opened earlier; a stream of blood sprayed out as his adamantine blade buried deep.  The man appeared to be dying on his feet, but he managed to swipe at Bruckner with a powerful strike that jarred the bones in Bruckner’s shield arm, and nearly knocked him off his feet.  It was a hard blow to absorb, and the force of it rattled his shield mightily, but he stood firm. 
 
Stepping out of the way of his last swing, Bruckner brought his sword over his head, the sunlight glinting off the tip of the black blade, and with a warrior's roar, brought the sword down onto his opponent’s crested helm, which split in two under the force of the blow, sparks showering on the ground. The man fell backwards, blood and gray matter spraying from the canyon cloven into his helmet, with a low grunt, slamming prone into the ground. 
 
The crowd exploded, the cheers for the black blade buffeting around young Johannes like strong winds.  Clerics of Virian rushed to the side of Pyrm, quickly resuscitating him; he stood shakily, and was led off the field by the clerics.  The crowd chanted Bruckner’s name as his fallen opponent's blood dripped to the sand from his outstretched sword. 
 
Bruckner raised my sword and shield in salute to the crowd. The crowd was enthused, calling his name, and “Black Blade,” and cheering madly.