The three comrades entered a short hallway with a door on the opposite end and a long wooden table set against the right wall. Upon the bloodstained table lay three swords and three small wooden shields. The fat guard snorted out a laugh as he saw the hopeless expressions on their faces appear. Patty, who was clearly the youngest of the three, gave a menacing glance back at the guard. He hit his chest with a closed fist as a sign of strength and as manly a voice as he could muster said, "I need no weapon." This only made the guard laugh harder.
"You don't want to disappoint your king do you? Ha ha, have it your way boy! I don't care how you die!"
Odin looked at the tattered weapons oddly, chose a sword and grabbed the only shield that didn't have a hole clear through it. He turned toward the door that he assumed led into the heart of the stadium, "Hopefully they will not get close enough for these to be of use to me." He silently thought to himself. Strider also grabbed a sword and shield giving little thought to which one he chose.
A much taller and more slender guard blocked the way of the door they now stood in front of. "Try not to get too much blood on the equipment, it stains awfully badly." He whined as he pulled the door open and let the blinding sun shine into the hall as though it hadn't seen light in years. The three ran into a deafening field. The ground was covered with a dry yellow dirt that was colored only with a few scattered spots of freshly spilled blood. The crowd's cheering was unbearably loud as the anticipation of the final event climaxed. In the center stood a man dressed in all black who wore two empty leather slots designed to hold daggers. One strap was attached to his right thigh and the other hung at his waist on the left. He turned to face the new arrivals and it was clear to all three that he was the cause of the blood stains that now perfumed the stadium with death.
Patty squinted to see the black figure, "One man, this can't be that hard." He turned his head toward Strider and Odin on his left, "Right?"
"He's probably thinking the same of us." Strider hoarsely retorted.
The man began taking large strides toward the unmoving group. A silver dagger could be seen clenched in his right fist as he strode nearer. Patty instinctively raised his fists as if to box and began to shift his weight back and forth from right foot to left in a rhythmic pattern. Odin twirled his sword, with little skill, so the sharp end faced down. He heavily forced it into the dirt and began to murmur in a low voice, partially to himself.
"Save it wizard." Strider exclaimed as he moved in front of Odin and took a fighting stance. "He'll fall by blade, not words or flesh." Patty gave a sharp glance, knowing the "flesh" he referred to was his own fists.