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    1. Descartes 12 yrs ago
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"GAAAAAAH!" a loud roar escaped from the chef as his grip loosened. Gabriel was dropped onto the ground as the chef put his hands on his crotch, protecting his family jewels as he rolled on the ground, keeling over in pain and humiliation.

The crowd had mixed feelings about the halfling bard's strategem, talking amongst themselves but staring at either the bard or the chef, sometimes shifting their attention between the two. The bet takers held their money tightly, leaning into the fight to see if there was going to be anything last minute- a second wind from the chef, or the bard landing a finishing blow.

"Get 'em darlin'!" Crystal cheered.
The abs on the Pravadovan tensed, but felt the shock of Shah-Nahul's legs painfully traveling through the torso. Zharkov grunted as he pushed away,grabbing Shah-Nahul's knee, pressing his weight against it.
There was one left. Quickly Wrasslin flexed, excited that he'd be the one to end everything. Quickly, Wrasslin ran to the final angel statue. "IT IS TIME, YOU STONEY FIEND!" he pointed at it and boasted. Wrasslin puffed out his chest, then jumped upward, attempting to grab it, and crush its wings with his mighty grip.
As the puns kept coming, it wasn't long before the chef finally had enough. In one quick motion, he flicked his hands out, grabbing the halfling by the neck. His grip was tight, squeezing the air out of the little halfling. "I've had enough..." the chef explained. He gripped on tighter, then beat the halfling with his other hand, smacking the halfling around like a punching bag.
After having crushed the other statue, he wiped the dust off his body, pointing to another statue and laughing at it. As it opened fire, Wrasslin did a backwards somersault out of the way, showing off his amazing athleticism. "Haha!" he boasted. "You are no match for me!"
Blow after blow after blow, the chef took. He was definitely bruised, but not broken quite yet. He was, however, apparently angry. In fact, he was obviously angry, a jet of steam could almost be seen emitted from his head. "RAAAH!" he yelled, frantically throwing another punch, just barely missing as he slipped and fell to the ground. The chef rolled around, then jumped back up to try and land another punch on Gabriel's nose.
Wrasslin saw two others being attacked by the stone angels as well. Wanting to save them, Wrasslin ran forth as the two dodged the attacks of the flying enemies. Wrasslin stood before the two angels and pointed. "Stop" he declared. "My name... is Wrasslin. I... AM A WRESTLER!" He ran forth and attempted to grab one and crush it in his grasp.
Zharkov gritted his teeth, stifling a yell as he felt a sharp pain in his back. As Shah-Nahul attempted to headbutt Zharkov, Zharkov slammed his head forward to meet Shah-Nahul's. A bit of blood trickled down from his forehead. A lot of blood spilled from his back.Zharkov thrashed about, attempting to roll on the ground foreword so that Shah-Nahul would absorb the impact of the floor.
A morning sunbeam came down, shining onto Alexander. His armor shambled and shuffled, making various metallic clinking noises as it moved about as Alexander began to rise from his hempen hammock. He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he looked in front of him to see only the tree. Deep bags were under his eyes, deeper than every other wrinkle on his wrinkled old body. A low groan escaped his mouth as he rolled the ladder down. "I miss my wife" he mumbled. Alexander was having a hangover.

Carefully, Alexander climbed down the ladder. A rabbit hopped up to him, smelling him. Alexander crouched down, petting the rabbit over its ears and smiling. "How are you doing little guy?" he said with a warm, disarming town. The rabbit snickered happily, until its sound was suddenly stopped, a dagger shoved through its neck, eyes going wide. Alexander had stabbed it. "And that takes care of breakfast" he sighed.

Over a fire, Alexander roasted the rabbit, throwing on various dried herbs he picked in the forest and bought from the nearby town of Kado. Taking the roast from the fire, Alexander began eating his breakfast, heading into town with a stack of papers.

It was 3 in the afternoon.
Crouching down, Zharkov awaited Shah-Nahul. His arms were held in front of his face, forearms ready to block incoming attacks. As Shah-Nahul closed the distance, Zharkov torqued his shoulder forward, blocking the claw by the wrist using Zharkov's elbows just before the arm could reach his stomach. Stepping forward, Zharkov advanced with his elbow, sliding up the elephant-man's arms to close the distance even more.

Almost too close for comfort, Zharkov attempted to land an elbow strike on Shah-Nahul's left tusk.
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