Gleaming swords are drawn with speed, steel and strength their masters need.
Circle round, Arena's dust, wit and courage, both a must.
Rogue and Knight, dawn's new light,
Both prepare for coming fight.
Bows are made, a glance to trade, long past wrongs will soon be right.
It begins, crowd's loud sins, drowned out by lust for blood of kin.
Strikes are made, morning fades, concentration turns world to gray.
Into dusk, haste a must, stamina fades with opponent's plays,
and for such violence they gladly pay.

Rogue is hit, fever pitch, knight celebrates too soon.
Before he falls, before death calls, Rogue strikes at time of rising moon.
Knee to knee, face to face, remorse is known without a trace,
Eyes will meet, both know defeat, and in it, honor's gained.

__________________
Havoc