The portcullis lifted, and slowly, a warrior emerged. Clad in gleaming, glorious armor, his golden hair was oiled and his modest beard freshly trimmed. He'd have been the epitome of a knight in shining armor, exactly what the chief adviser had envisioned, were it not for the stream of crimson liquid coursing around the blade in his chest. He fell to the ground, first to one knee, then all fours, until finally collapsing, even his final moments a spectacle of reserved pride. From out behind him came his murderer.

	Another warrior appeared. A giant of a woman, at least compared to those around her, she placed one foot firmly in the dead knights back, wrenching her sword out of him tactlessly. Still covered in his blood, she sheathed it. Her head was pounding as she looked around at the stunned and silent spectators. She took a long drink out of the bottle she held in her left hand. Hair of the dog, and what not. She pounded a fist against her chest, forcing out a raucous belch. It was only as she began scratching her left ass cheek that she finally noticed the warrior at the other side of what she just realized was an arena.

	She looked down at the pretty corpse she had made, then back up at the warrior, then at the crowd, the warrior, the arena, and back down to the corpse, finally putting all the pieces together. She looked back up at the warrior and, with a voice that was unintentionally loud enough for all to hear, said quite eloquently "Uuuh... sorry I killed your friend, but he was trying to get into my pants. If it makes you feel any better, it wasn't much of a fight. The poor bastard hardly got a swing in."