In his cell, Avendar's gauntleted hand brushed over the top of his polished helm. It was an unconscious act - a muscle memory of the days when he had hair, and flesh, and a life. The days before he had been entrapped in this all enclosing suit of armor. It was enough to drive a lesser man insane, but Avendar had conviction, and the fires of vengeance burned bright in his heart. His quest had led him across Brettonia, and beyond, in search of the foul wizard who had damned him so. Months became years, years became decades, and yet Avendar hadn't seemed to age. Would his hair have been grey now? Would his face have the deep lines of a wise man? If not for this cruel fate, would he be sitting in a country manor, bouncing children or even grandchildren on his knee? Somewhere in those years, he had lost sight of his goal, and had simply turned to wandering - the only thing left to a man who had lost everything. Throgga's words had struck him though. The Orc's breath had stunk, his flesh was unwashed, blood unclean, and his mind was that of a lowly savage - but he had spoke of a 'good death'. It had never occurred to Avendar that his journey must one day come to an end. Even if he found the wizard, would killing him be enough to even the score? Avendar had been sure that he was still mortal - that one day the passage of time would leave him behind as dust. But it had never occurred to him that perhaps it would not, or that he would die before that appointed hour.Indeed, the intermission piece was written for this round. However, this being the final, I want to pay a little more attention to the fighters. The usual introduction and lead up to the opening attacks therefore ran a bit long. Rather than edit it like a good writer, I'm going to break it off into this post. If you really don't care about storylines or motivations, skip this post to go right to the fighting.