Drizzt sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. His scimitars were lying on the floor in front of him, absorbing his depressed stare.

"The song was not about you," it was Thelania. "You will find peace before your death."

"Then I better find it quickly," Drizzt replied without looking up. "The next round will start shortly."

The ghaele sat down next to the drow. "You will not die in the next round." Drizzt looked up at her with confusion. She smiled at him, and his mood was instantly improved. It was probably the result of a spell, but Drizzt didn't mind that someone was playing with his emotions for once.

"How do you know?"

"I know things. When you arrived, I knew about your run-in with the ogre. I do not know who will die or who will fight, but I know you will not die. I cannot guarantee anything for the rest of the tournament, but your life is not in immediate danger. You will still have time to find peace."

Drizzt looked back at the floor, his scimitars glinting in the candlelit room. "How? How can I find peace when my whole existence is based on bloodshed? All of my great achievements have come about because of my skill with weapons. Will I ever know simple pleasures? The joy of being a father? The knowledge of an intimate friend? A lover? I am just as out of place on the surface as back in the Underdark. I will never find a true home." He looked up at Thelania. "The song has to be about me. How else can I find peace apart from death?"

"Then pick up those blades and end your life," she replied.

Drizzt looked back at the weapons, not tempted in the slightest. The ghaele could read his thoughts. "If you are not tempted, then there must be something worth living for. Your father found peace." She suddenly had Drizzt's complete attention. "And it was not in his death. If anything, the time after his death, when he was forced to hunt you down, that was the least peace he had ever known. But when he saw your true nature, when you told him that the elf child still lived during your last fight, when he embraced you with tears in his eyes, that was when he found peace. That's when all the pain, suffering, and despair in his life were suddenly worth it. He gave himself for you. He found peace before he died. So will you."

Drizzt had nothing to say. Thelania let him absorb those ideas for a few moments before speaking. "Now you have some fights to watch. I still have a few bets on you." She smiled.

Drizzt returned the facial expression and picked up his weapons. He could make it through this time of battle. He had a long life, and for the first time, he was finally confident that his fighting would not encompass all of it.

Entreri walked up to Roland Rexedia, eying up the black knight carefully. He stood stoically in the vast cavern that housed the arena. So far, he hadn't said a word since arriving on the island, save when he had to answer the questions required upon entry. He was a little over six feet and looked big, but it was hard to tell with the black scale armor he wore. He had a red scale shield and a dragon tooth axe. Entreri didn't know much about dragons, but it was evident from the black armor and red shield that Roland had killed two dragons. Entreri wouldn't be surprised to find out that the axe was made from a third. He was a formidable fighter.

"I hope you are ready," Entreri said, making sure the edgy fighter saw him before he spoke. Roland turned to regard him casually. "Getting a bye like that in the first round must mean you are thought of pretty highly." Still no response. "Do you need a mage to help translate for you as well?" Roland didn't justify the retort and just turned back to look at the arena. The first fight was about to begin.

Yelthium Oleander held his moon blade tightly and secured the straps on his shield. He wasn't going to give up his hold on it so easily this time. He was pretty sure he was going to need it. He looked across the ring into the eyes of his opponent. Lynn Shallarock looked back and smiled at him. The vampire pulled her whip out and casually waved it in front of her. At the end of the whip, five barbed chains chinked together like wind chimes.

She had removed her cloak for the fight, and despite the widespread cliché about female vampires, she had apparently left her black leather at home. She looked more like a dessert gypsy, though her colors were a bit on the dark side. She wore loose, dark blue cotton pants tucked into boots, and a red and blue tunic, open down the front over a tight, low-cut shirt. She would have looked very attractive with her hair tied back if it wasn't for the fact that she had this bad habit of hissing through fanged teeth.

Off to the side of the arena, opposite of where the other fighters were standing, the two sponsors looked on. Yelthium's, an imposing planatar with a broadsword that rivaled the Thunder Blade, watched nervously. He dared not turn his eyes to his left where the other sponsor stood. Garnaax was easily the smallest sponsor here, and apart from Adenae, the elf maiden, he was the smallest being here, period. But the demilich had a way of chilling even the sturdiest fighter to the bone. Unlike many undead, he wore nice clothing and was draped in a colorful robe. His head was bald, his eyes black. And right now, he was smiling.

Lynn didn't so much charge the elf as much as she sauntered up to him. She had a long-range weapon and had no intention of getting too close to her opponent. She flailed the whip in front of her as she approached, but like clever archers on the battlefield, Yelthium could tell she was hiding her weapon's true range. As proof, the vampire lashed out when she was still eight feet away. She stepped forward, her arm extended, and her whip struck. Yelthium was ready and swept his shield in front of him from right to left, clearing the area between them of snapping chains. He was still six feet away and stepped into the clearing with his sword stabbing forward.

Lynn had more than enough time to back away, angling her retreat to her right and the elf's left. The animated whip didn't cater to gravity much and continued to scrape against the shield. Yelthium could feel the barbs start to creep around the edge of the barrier, and before they dug into his arm, he stepped back and hacked down at the whip with his blade.

The chains snapped back and then lashed out at the elf's right side. His moon blade came back hard, and the whip retreated again. Yelthium felt like he was trying to hack at a ghost in the wind and changed his strategy. As the whip went back, he followed with his shield raised. He swept it to the side again and stabbed toward the vampire. She wasn't there.

A shadow at the elf's feet told him where she was, and he ran forward as the vampire landed behind him, lashing out at his back. He turned and rolled, keeping the shield between him and his elusive enemy. The whip played a cadence on the guard until the elf moved far enough away.

Yelthium stood slowly, wondering how he was supposed to get close enough to strike. The whip was far too agile and quick for him to avoid. He decided to let her attack, and he would have to work between the strikes. If he could get inside the whip's range, Lynn wasn't holding a melee weapon, and he should have the upper hand.

The vampire struck again. Yelthium offered his sword to block this strike, thinking he could spin forward to his left, keeping his shield between them and then ending the spin with a backhanded swipe. He didn't get the chance. The chains on the whip accepted the blocking blade eagerly and latched on.

The blue glow of the blade began to dim, and Yelthium's body became rigid as the two engaged in a brief tug of war. The sword’s enchantment was linked to his life energy, and, using the weapons as conduits, the vampire began to suck. The light in the elf's eyes began to flicker, his knees growing weak. From his raised platform, Deltrophan stood quickly, suspecting foul play. Lynn had her back to the mage, but Garnaax sent her a mental warning that she was playing with fire.

The chain released its hold on the blade after only a few seconds, but the damage had been done. The whip came back and snapped out again. Yelthium brought his shield up, but the move was slow, and Lynn scored a hit on his left shoulder. The barb dug in like a viper, and the elf's whole arm went numb momentarily.

The vampire stepped into her strike and spun a kick toward the loosely held shield. Her heel hit the backside, crunching Ylethium's fingers, but the tightened straps of the shield kept it on his arm. The elf swung his sword down at the vampire, now that she was finally within range, but she wore forearm bracers and easily blocked the blow. The whip then struck at his exposed chest, and two of the five chains found their way around the elven warrior's chainmail.

He stood stunned as his life was drained away until Lynn kicked her boot into his head, sending him stumbling backward away from the whip. She pulled it back and then sent it toward his feet. The lively chains grabbed hold of his boots, and the vampire yanked hard, removing one of the boots and sending the elf to the ground.

"Kill him!"

Lynn paused for a moment, wondering who was cheering her on. She smiled in pleasant surprise as she found the heckler. Drizzt walked to the front of the gathering with hatred on his face. "Stop playing with him and kill him."

She gave him a toothy grin, and Drizzt drew his weapons. Each of the apprentices in the cave came to alert, ready to strike down the upstart drow should he try anything. He didn't charge, though. The domed shield was in place and kept everything out as well as in. Instead, he just glared at the woman, Twinkle glowing angrily, almost daring the vampire to try and suck its energy.

"I'm afraid you will have to wait your turn Do'Urdden." She turned back to Yelthium, who had struggled to a knee. He felt like he had just run 30 miles in 100-degree heat. He had no energy left. Still, he saw the vampire walking quickly toward him and suddenly plant her left foot to kick again with her right. He waved his blade in front of him to ward off the kick, but Lynn just held her leg in check until the weapon was passed. Then she lashed out. Her vampire strength sent him flying backward as her toe connected under his chin. His sword flew out of his hand, landing a dozen feet away.

"Finish it already!"

Now several apprentices leveled their staves at Drizzt, ready to cast multiple hold spells if necessary. Lynn also paid the drow mind, pointing her whip at him as if it too was a staff. The chains almost seemed to snarl at him as they wove amongst themselves. "I've always been taught to eat my meals slowly. I don't want to get indigestion."

Drizzt started to charge up the steps, shield or no shield, but he finally noticed the apprentices around the room, each ready to cast, and he held his anger in check.

Lynn saw that he was done for now, and she, too, was suddenly tired of this game. She walked over to Yelthium, still lying flat on his back. He made an effort to cover himself with his shield, but the whip came in, easily circumventing the block and ripped at the straps that held the guard in place. She kicked the shield away a moment later.

Placing the whip at her side, Lynn reached down and grabbed the elf by the collar. Yelthium futilely grabbed at her forearm, but her strength was too much, and she hoisted him in the air. She held his limp body aloft for a moment or two and then brought his neck down her mouth. She drank long and deep, not one drop finding its way to the dirt floor.

When she was done, she placed the dead elf back on his feet, and before he could topple over, her scythe came out and took his head. The cut was immaculate and, in a tribute to her appetite, bloodless. She turned to Drizzt, who could attack now with the shield down. She licked her lips and rolled her tongue like a professional wine taster. "Good," she finally said. "A strong magical edge to it, but . . ." she paused as she locked eyes with Drizzt, "too much sun."

Drizzt swallowed his anger for now, and instead of staring down the vampire, he looked up toward Deltrophan. The host smiled at him and nodded, letting the drow know he would get his chance. Lynn didn't notice the exchange; instead, she turned back to the arena and used her whip to pick up the fallen moon blade. Its energy was gone now, and it seemed to be no more than a standard long sword. But Yelthium's blood was inside her, and she channeled its energy into the enchantment of the blade.

The weapon began to hum with energy. Instead of a blue glow, it seemed to glow – as impossible as it may be – black. It sucked in the surrounding light, casting a shadow over itself. She retrieved the weapon's sheath and strapped it opposite her scythe, just beneath her whip.

The vampire sauntered out of the ring and up to where Drizzt stood. He had sheathed his scimitars, but his hands hovered over the hilts. "It matches better against your weapons," she said with a toothy grin. "I want to give you a fair fight." She laughed to herself and left the cavern.

Roland had obtained his armor from a black dragon he had killed 15 years ago. He had gotten the stupid black to stick its head through a narrow cave tunnel in pursuit of the crafty fighter. The tunnel had been rigged with enough explosive oil to level a city block or, in this case, enough to remove the head of a dragon. He had earned an enormous sum of money and fame from that killing, especially when, upon dragging the head into town, he had said that he had chopped it off.

Roland knew he was a good fighter, but the confidence he had gained from killing the black had taken his ambition to new heights. The nights were not long enough, and the taverns were not crowded enough for him to pick enough fights. Eventually, he got bored, and one drunken night, after bragging how he had killed the black, he was dared to kill a red that lived 50 miles to the north and came out once every ten years for a feeding. He took the bet.

Upon scouting out the dragon's lair, he realized how stupid he was. His old trick wouldn't work as the red would drench every suspect tunnel with fire before sticking his head down into it, and even if he didn't, Roland didn't think he could get enough oil to blow the massive creature's head off. He used a different strategy.

The mountainside had one very interesting feature: a lake nestled high in the cliffs. Roland lured the red into a tiny cavern just beneath the lake and then blocked the exit with more explosives. The whole cave system had been formed eons ago from dripping water from the lake before a frigid winter had frozen the entire lake. The lake had thawed in the spring, but the trail of dripping water didn’t. It remained frozen until Roland loaded both the bottom of the lake and the top of the cave with more oil.

It had only taken two minutes for the foolish red to drench the wrong area of the cavern with flame, and he was greeted with a very rude shower. The cave ceiling had been littered with cracks from the centuries of dripping water, and several large holes were created through which water gushed. The holes were still far too small for the red to get much more than a toe through, and that was how he had died 12 hours later, drowned with a toe sticking up into the bottom of the half-full lake.

Roland had waited two weeks before he was confident that the red had died and was not faking it. He blew open the entrance he had closed, draining the lake, and then spent another two long weeks cutting off the head to drag back to town. It was then that he realized he needed a better weapon.

In his research on dragons, and he had been doing a lot of that, he found that white dragons were generally held to have the strongest and sharpest teeth as they usually preferred to eat their food frozen. No one really knows how Roland killed the white whose tooth a dwarven smith had enchanted onto an adamantium shaft, for it was after that encounter that the fighter had pretty much stopped talking.

He was not talking now either. He stood in the ring, impervious to just about any form of magical damage, and his heavily enchanted armor meant he was also impervious to just about any type of physical damage as well. His axe could punch a hole through stone and steel alike. His arms were corded with muscle, and his strength was enhanced further by two of the four rings he wore. The other two gave him more agility than even the quickest halfling thief.

None of that mattered.

Two minutes into his fight, he was up against the inside of the domed perimeter, pounding on it with his fists. His axe had been thrown to one side of the ring, his shield to another, and now he was screaming for his life.

"Let me out! I didn't sign up for this! I had no idea! For the sake of the gods, let me ou-" and then he suddenly got his wish. He was dead before he could even register the pain that shot through his body, for the killing blow severed his spinal cord instantly. A massive shaft of steel shot out of his chest and lifted him in the air, pushing him through the now absent shield.

Gunthor regarded the man on the top of the Thunder Blade as casually as a cook looking at a piece of meat on the end of a stick to see if it was done. Only this wasn't a tiny piece of meat. Roland weighed over 250 pounds in full armor, but the golem hoisted him up in the air at the end of the equally heavy Thunder Blade as if he was nothing.

Styne smiled to himself as he watched his fighter dispose of the formidable knight and bring fear to the eyes of the others in attendance. Errtu also smiled, knowing that he would be walking the physical realm once again in only a short while. Drizzt might die in this tournament, and though he couldn't do it, he would at least be able to watch it. And besides, Drizzt had friends, lots of friends.

Shri'irinith was not smiling. She was a marilith, and it wasn’t easy to get her serpentine face to do anything but grin broadly. She was Roland's sponsor, and she had thought that for sure someone who could kill dragons would be able to handle a few worthless fighters. She had been wrong.

Styne saw her disappointed expression and couldn't help but rub it in. He had Gunthor turn toward the marilith and swing his massive sword around. Roland came flying off the end of the blade and struck his sponsor in the chest with a bit of magical guiding. Shri'irinith held up the dead man with one of her six arms, wondering what she was supposed to do with him now. Only then did she realize the cave was a lot quieter than it should have been. She looked up to see Deltrophan staring at her.

"Your exssselenssse, your majessssty, pleasssse, I didn't know-"

"Silence, you hissing wench!"

Shri'irinith nearly bit her own tongue off, an impressive feat considering she only had two fangs and her tongue was already forked. It didn't matter anyway, Deltrophan had accompanied his command with a spell, and the poor serpent would never speak again.

"How dare you bring such a whimpering coward into my tournament! Do you think I found that enjoyable?! I won't be able to eat for an age now every time I think of his pathetic whining!"

Deltrophan might look comical when he tried to flex in front of a mirror, but he had other muscles that no one could see, and when he flexed those . . . stay clear.

Shri'irinith foolishly tried to transport herself back to her own plane of existence, but Deltrophan had no intention of letting her go. Like the demon at dinner, it looked like she had just walked into a brick wall even though she had not moved. She tossed Roland aside and tried to slither away. The stone ground around her began to bubble, and six stalagmites rose around her. Their dull points morphed into hands and the shafts formed into elbow joints.

The ground she was on quickly turned to mud, and she could not maneuver in the muck. Each enchanted appendage grabbed onto one of the marilith's arms, and suddenly the 6-armed creature had none. She coiled her body back and screamed, or at least she tried to. Her voice wasn't there, for which everyone watching was thankful.

As the six stone tentacles pulled the dismembered arms into the soft mud, four more came up and grabbed hold of the writhing serpent. They slowly pulled her into the cavern floor, her muted mouth filling up with mud before she disappeared from view.

Deltrophan hadn't needed to lift a finger to cast his spells, but he still furiously straightened his robe before he turned back to the remaining fighters. "Next!" he shouted before sitting down. "And it had best be a good fight." He glanced back in disgust at the spot where Shri'irinith had been and noticed Roland still lying there. "Dragon fighter indeed," he muttered under his breath and casually tossed a magical acid arrow at the dead fighter.

The yellow projectile pierced the black armor with a splash. Steam rose instantly, eating through the scales as if it were boiling oil on an ice cube. Within ten seconds, there was nothing left of the fighter or his armor but a smoldering stain on the cave floor. He turned back with a semi-satisfied look on his face. The mage stared at the empty ring, waiting to be entertained. He would be.

Enrique bowed deeply toward his opponent. "My dear, I truly regret having to conduct this fight. Could but I just gaze on you for the rest of eternity, but alas, our destinies lie elsewhere." Enrique pulled a red rose from his vest and obtained a far-off look in his eyes.

"Your face is angelic,

It chokes me to a cough,

Your head is regally adorned,

Too bad I have to cut it off."

He smiled across the ring and casually popped the rosebud off its stem. "I know it's not my best," he lamented. "I'd have used the one about your breast and how it is where my blade shall rest, but . . . well . . . you’re an elf."

Adenae glanced down briefly at her flat chest and her scowl only deepened. "You will not be able to rhyme so well once I cut your throat open."

"I don't think he rhymes that well with it intact," Druia muttered from the crowd so Drizzt and Entreri could hear.

"I heard that," Enrique said, turning to look at the woman. "You're just jealous."

Druia just smiled back and motioned toward the ring. Enrique turned his attention back to his opponent and ducked just in time as the Feather Blade swiped over his head, almost ending the fight right there.

"Who is going to take whose head?" the elf snapped at him, wasting an opportunity to attack Enrique when he was scrambling. The fighter didn't give her another chance. He got his feet under him and quickly distanced himself from the dangerous blade.

Like with the Thunder Blade, Enrique could tell there was an enchantment on the weapon that allowed a 90-pound 5-foot elf maiden to swing the 7-foot weapon about her body as if it were a rope. He guessed the weapon’s name had significance beyond the fact that its serrated blade looked like a peacock eye feather. Enrique had to remember that. He was good at physics, but it would play no role in how the elf handled her weapon. He needed to keep her from swinging it so freely. His nunchaku had reach, but not enough.

Enrique danced around the ring for a while, playing with the reach of the halberd. Adenae obliged him, giving the nimble fighter a lot of angles and lengths to deal with as she swung the weapon around herself, sometimes gripping the long shaft in the middle and sometimes at the end. Enrique took notice of how quickly she could alternate between the grips, fluctuating the length of the swing by over three feet in half a second. He needed to slow the swing down.

He gripped each of his ivory handles tightly, the 3-foot chain between them hanging loosely. As Adenae swung the center of her weapon around her waist, Enrique feinted forward, and predictably, the elf was suddenly holding the halberd at its end, the colorful blade aimed right at the human's head.

Enrique snapped his weapon up, catching the tip in the chain, which saved his head, but he underestimated the leverage the elf had, and his nunchaku was ripped from his grasp. He almost foolishly went after them, but Adenae cut her swing short, and the blade came right back in toward the defenseless human. Enrique rolled out of the way, coming up 20 feet from the tiny elf.

She stood smiling with the shaft of her weapon on the ground. A foot above her head, Enrique's nunchaku was wrapped tightly around the shaft just under the blade. Adenae shook the Feather Blade a little, and the chain loosened as the two ivory handles fell to her feet. She scooped the chain over her foot and kicked them to the far side of the ring. Before Enrique could even think about running around the elf to get his weapon back, she brought her halberd to a ready stance and swung it about to remind him that with her arms, she had a 9-foot reach, and Enrique was not getting around her.

He pulled out his melee dagger and prepared to face off against his underestimated foe. Adenae put on an awe-inspiring display; Enrique was more impressive. The elf moved the weapon in a blur such that the colorful blade seemed to make a myriad of rainbows in the arena. It never hit Enrique. He dodged half of the strikes and blocked the others either with his bracers or dagger. He knew he could not absorb the full strike of the weapon and always used glancing blows against the shaft of the halberd.

Every time he tried to get inside the weapon's range, Adenae altered her grip and shortened her swing, making Enrique jump back. Soon he stopped trying. He wasn't going to outmaneuver her. He was willing to admit that she was quicker than he was. But he also knew that he was smarter.

Enrique kept his distance now, allowing Adenae to keep her grip at the end of the weapon. She swung it so fast that he no longer tried to block it, scared he might crack a bracer or lose his dagger. He also noticed that Adenae had her eyes half-closed. He could imagine that this elf trained daily with her weapon swinging it about her body much as she did now in a sort of half-trance. He could also tell that while she did not look about much, she had a keen sense of where Enrique's nunchaku was and always stayed between him and the weapon. He just hoped that was the only thing she was paying attention to.

Enrique didn't want his backpedaling to seem too obvious, and he managed to keep it so subtle that even Drizzt and Entreri, who were students of combat, didn't notice what he was doing until the trap was sprung. Enrique managed to back himself up to the edge of the ring, and he carefully reached a hand back as if he were just preparing to dodge. He felt the invisible shield surrounding the ring, smiled, and then baited his opponent. Adenae stepped in and swung hard.

As it turned out, there was something strong enough to stop her swing.

The blade hit the shield with such force that it was a miracle the elf managed to keep a hold on her weapon, but she was severely jolted. Enrique was the only one not surprised by what had just happened, and he closed in on the elf quickly. She again tried to shorten the grip on her weapon, but he was too close to bring her blade around, and she instead struck out with the blunted end of the shaft.

Enrique caught the thrust with his dagger, hoping to cut through the wooden handle, but noticed that it was laced with silver and didn't hold onto any hopes of damaging the weapon. Instead, he punched out under the block with his free hand. His fist sunk into her gut, blasting the air out of her. He scraped his blade along the handle, hoping to take a few fingers off, but she quickly let go and stumbled backward.

He wouldn’t let her escape that easily, though, and his left hand snaked out and grabbed her collar. He yanked her back in, driving his forehead into her nose. The elf somehow managed to hold on to consciousness as her nose snapped and her hands scrambled inside her tunic for some daggers. Enrique hoisted her slight frame into the air, not needing any magic to do it, and tossed her toward the edge of the ring before she could strike with her blades. She bounced off the shield like a rag doll.

Enrique could have finished her then, but he didn't. Instead, he walked slowly and deliberately over to where his nunchaku lay. He picked them up and turned around to see his opponent. She was on one knee, panting heavily and pulling on the Feather Blade to stand up as if it were a crutch. There was blood all down her chin from her nose, and she had a dazed look in her eyes, but the rest of her face showed a gritty determination.

"Let the fun begin," Enrique said. He didn't have a scratch on him. He activated the blade from one of his handles and then let it fall, holding on to the other. He had sheathed his dagger when he had picked up his primary weapon, but now he pulled it as well.

Holding one of the ivory handles, he swung the other one, with the blade extended, around his body in an impressive display of coordination. Adenae struggled to her feet and staggered to meet the human in the middle of the ring. Her weakened condition was partially an act, and she lashed out suddenly. Enrique was done underestimating her and was not taken by surprise.

The human ducked under the strike and lashed out at her legs with his own lengthy weapon. She hopped back and tried to cut down with her blade, but Enrique already had his dagger up to catch the attack. He pushed up with the block as he stood and swung up. The elf had to step back, and he danced with her, keeping his dagger in contact with the halberd and swinging his weapon back down. She had to jump back this time.

Enrique pushed his advantage, and the Feather Blade had suddenly transformed from a devastating offensive weapon to a woefully inadequate defensive one. Enrique only let the shaft block his attacks because he wanted to end this fight as he had promised. Suddenly Adenae was against the shield, and, again, only Enrique knew it.

As her shoulders hit the invisible barrier behind her, Enrique pushed the Feather Blade out wide with his dagger and then swung down at her left arm when she was forced to release the shaft with her right. She quickly let go with her left as well, pulling it back as Enrique's blade came slicing through.

Before she could escape, Enrique kicked the bottom of his boot against her chest, pinning her to the inside of the slightly curved dome. He smiled to her along the length of his outstretched leg, wiggling his foot around a bit. "See," he observed, "no chest." With that, he swung his weapon over his leg, so the blade cut just above the elf's shoulders.

She fell forward, her head rolling ten feet away. Enrique gently flipped her body over and retrieved her head. He pulled a black tulip from his vest and laid it on her body. "This is for the two lips that will never be kissed again and will turn black and cold. Sleep well."

Enrique rose from his crouch, bowed once to Deltrophan, and left the ring without saying a word to anyone. The mage was satisfied. Round two was over.