Trubbolsworth vs. Phonay

[Trubbol]

Trubbol did his best to try and put the fire out, but stared down and sighed. His stutter was coming back, he was tired and a little shocked from the fight. “R-right now I am ten times your size and made completely out of muscle and scaled armor, a swing of a limb might throw you across the room limp as a doll, and I can send an inferno f-from my mouth!" He began to get woozy and shook his head. "W-why did we have to k-keep going at it l-like that..." He began to shrink, the potion losing effect. "W-why did I..." The wound from his wing shifted onto his furry shoulder as the now naked canine fell to his knees. His hatchet and wrench over in the corner, and his bag face down with it's contents spilled. "I j-just had to win... I w-want to meet my parents..."

[Shifting Sands]

Kain snaps his fingers and floats Trubbol from the arena up into the stands, next to some caretakers who immediately start on taking care of the bullet wound. "Can't have our entertainment dying on us," Kain explains with another grin, and disappears. A tray of relics takes his place, which is brought over to Trubbol by another mortal. "Your calling card for a God," he explains. "Pick."

[Trubbol]

He grabbed a smaller Relic and looked down. "C-could I have some new c-clothes please? I-i wish not t-to disrespect n-no one..." He stopped talking, looked to what was his opponent, and shook his head and drifted into unconsciousness.

[Shifting Sands]

One of the caretakers wraps Trubbol up in a blanket of linen, patches his bullet wound, and then carries him off to his own room through a wall. The nurse of a sort makes sure to keep the relic pressed tight up against Trubbol.