Zhaneel warily stepped into the shadowy arena. She patted the pouch at her side, replete with phrases; she'd had to use a lot of them to get past the other opponents, but there were still plenty left. Enough for two more rounds, she hoped.
"Far enough," called a leering voice behind her. Zhaneel spun around. At one end of the arena, on a high dais, a wide black throne squatted like a gargoyle. Across the throne sprawled a man whose every atom radiated pure evil. He gazed down at her arrogantly with his one good eye; a black patch obscured the other. The long-haired white cat on his lap raised its head to regard her coolly, then went back to sleep. To one side of the throne stood two men; she couldn't see their faces, but they radiated menace, barely kept in check and waiting only for the word of their leader to be unleashed.
"Piratecat," Zhaneel called. "I'm ready for your third challenge."
"Ready, you say? You've done quite well, for a newcomer--and I do so love blooding newcomers. Let's see how you fare against a more...experienced foe." Light glittered off the tip of the steel hook that formed his hand as he pointed across the arena. "Mythago! Kill, or be killed!"
Stone ground against stone as a hidden door gaped. A hideous figure lumbered forth. Zhaneel was hopeful when she saw this one seemed tired and bruised. Then Mythago reached over her shoulders and drew a pair of matched semicolons, as long as Zhaneel's arm. Their razor edges seemed to spark in the air as Mythago whirled them in a dizzying pattern of attack, shuffling forward toward her would-be prey.
Zhaneel said a quick prayer to her Muse and reached into her bag of phrases...