The air crackled with a palpable tension, a silent prelude to the storm that was about to break. Father Grey, his tabard rustling with an almost imperceptible movement, gripped a heavy oak shafted warhammer. Its polished surface reflected the arcane light radiating from the wizard, Kaelen. The warlock, her robes a flowing cascade of embroidered sigils, held her hands aloft, a swirling vortex of energy forming between her palms. "Put that away, old man," Alexia hissed, her voice a low growl that hummed with unseen power. "Your faith is nothing against the true forces of this world." Grey's gaze was steady, unwavering, a quiet defiance that unnerved the warlock. "My faith is the very foundation of this world, a shield against the darkness."

The crowd is loving the by-play as the oponents circle each other. The ebb and flow of arcane and divine powers make hairs stand on end. Flames and flashes of blinding light were exchanged, tendrils of darkness knocked aside blows from the warhammer with an otherworldly moan. After a few exchanges both fighters were breathing hard. Bruised and burned, but smiling all the same. Then in a surprise move, Grey lifted his hammer over head and threw the weapon across the arena to which Alexia sputtered out, "Only a rook would try such a lame trick!" 

The hammer and words of mockery land at the same time knocking both competitors out!

Alexia and Grey awaken in a dimly lit room laying on cots next to Chuck.

To the side bubbles a pot with something dark and foul smelling. A figure, maybe feminine wrapped in robes and face coverings, tuts over the pot. She scoops some into a bowl then walks over with a silent stride. She looks over your wounds and rubs more of the black paste on and covers it with bandages. The thick liquid smells absolutely foul and burns when it touches the skin. But remarkably the pain soon fades 

"Thanks Gretchen", Chuck mumbles before dozing off to recover from another beating.

After a few hours of rest and click, clucks, and growls from Gretchen, you are fully recovered.

Ember opens the pouch to find

19 Coppers

13Silvers

and 8 Gold

Alexia happily takes a berry from Ember. She seems disappointed that she failed and lost so easily.

Ember wanders into the 'healing room' to check on his friends.  "Don't feel bad.  One wrong twitch of a move and I could have ended up here myself.  The important thing is, you are both still alive and healing.  Now, rest and recover."

He flits over to the other cot, "Hey Chuck.  Sorry about that stabbing thing." Ember offers a goodberry to the prone figure.  "I am curious though.  What motivates you to go out into that pit over and over again?  Why do you do it?"

Ember will spend the next bit chatting with Chuck while his friends recover.

Chucks smiles showing some gaps from missing teeth.

"Well I ain't as limber as I used to be and going into the city is dangerous." he pushes himself onto an elbow, "The last time my lady friend and I went over the walls, we ran into some trouble. I wasn't able to bring her back....So I was left alone to take care of our little girl." at the mention of his child, he has a small smile,  "If I fight all day, I earn enough to feed us for a few more." gesturing at the black robed figure, "Gretchen here keeps me on my feet so It's just a bit of suffering to feed my baby. If I try the city I might not come back next time."

Alexia leans in with interest. "What's so dangerous about the city?"

Chuck laughs, "Us!" he chuckles then he goes on, "We, all of us," making a sweeping gesture, "are Queensmen. We might have our separate gang colors, traditions, and names but as a whole we follow the Queen of Thieves."

He continues, telling you about other groups that search the city for lost treasures or pieces of the Hammer. Sometimes when differing factions run into each other it isn't always friendly conversation. There are also mutated creatures that were exposed to too much of the raw magic - those can be freakish. And of course there are remnants of the undead army of Khaza'gul.

Quote from Wysperra >>

Jackblack nods. "Most of the folks in this tavern are Black Scarves. Different gangs but we're all Queen's Men in the end."

*Oh that's what he meant by Queen's Men. Not a true queen, but the Queen of Thieves.*

"That's well and good, but none of you have faced the amazing boxing wizard. Erm... that's me, The Wiz. Write that down." The Wiz takes off his hat and winds his luxurious hair into a tight man-bun. "I only have one rule: not the face. Boxing is only my side-gig. My real job is as a runway model. Can't risk the breadwinner. Any takers?"

As The Wiz makes his announcement to the crowd, a door in the pit opens and an Elven man strides forward dressed in a purple loincloth. He holds a long curved sword in one hand, his white hair wafts cinematically even though there is no breeze. The man's black skin is almost covered by white tattoos of arcane symbols.

"Dorian... Dorian... DORIAN!" The crowd chants

Roll Initiative!

Dorian Initiative 25 

18 Initiative! 

OOC: Gotta waste the high rolls before the fight for the drama.

Dorian looks at The Wiz and flips his sword point down. Then in a flash of yellow light an image of Dorian streaks forward to try and land a punch in The Wiz's guts!

Attack: 19 Damage: 7

He gives The Wiz a smile and says, "How was that?"

The Wiz releases a most unmanly utterance as he stumbles back. "Just wait for, ugh, my turn." He takes a breath. "I cast Fist!"

OOC: 20 to hit, 2 bludgeoning damage. 

"Ha! How'd you like that?"

Dorian blocks the punch with the flat of his blade making him smirk.

You see him taking several deep breaths, his chest expanding and his tattoos beginning to glow.

GOGO

*Oof, that guy has to have shield*

"Oh hell no! That's magic! I thought this was a simple fight."

Mind Sliver! Intelligence Save 17, or 2 Damage and subtract 1d4 from the next Saving Throw. Potent Cantrip also applies - if the sword swinger saves, he still takes half damage... so 1. 

Dorian INT save 12