PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: ...Everything's golden with Newton's Own Philosopher Stone!
COLOR COMMENTATOR: It sure in't golden for The Creature and his boys though Bob. They're gettin' clobbered out there!
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: They certainly are, Clubber. He's had a strong showing for a first-time fighter, but it looks like the Frankenstein from the North is on his last legs. He may have met his match in Mini-Magog.
COLOR COMMENTATOR: I'll tell ya, with giants the short ones are the meanest.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: And Creature can't count on backup from his crew either. They are surrounded. It looks like the other top contenders are making a coordinated move while they're busy with the giant and the Elf Mauler Scholars. It's unusual to see such a large crew, isn't it Clubber?
COLOR COMMENTATOR: Yeah, but the thing is they ain't done much. That Creech and his main boys have done almost alla the fightin'! I don't care how tough you are, ya gotta de-luh-gate a little.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: Well the whole crew is in the thick of it now, Clubber--
COLOR COMMENTATOR: It's beat 'em down or be ground meat, Bob.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: --and they're getting beat down all right. Looks like Keyyalaypkleeplo--
COLOR COMMENTATOR: Say that three times in a hurry.
PLAY-BY-PLAY ANNOUNCER: --It's Leeplo for short, and he's down, along with the homonculus Schleppy the Tote-Golem and Croakwattle Dan the Lizard Man. Here's a fighter we we haven't seen before! Now where did he come from?
Suddenly and without preamble, a slick dude with a zoot suit and a suspiciously tall hat pops out of thin air! It's this guy!
"You fellows," he says in a familiar voice, "will not believe the day I've had." As his friends stare at him dumbstruck, he says...
"It's me! QUAZARN!"
"NEVER," he adds, "trust a doxy in a pants suit," and without a word more he charges Mini-Magog and bops him in his middle nose. The giant grunts softly, then smiles. Grabbing a hand full of collar and a pant leg the giant picks up his new attacker, spins twice, and tosses him over Creature's head. How high would a fly guy fly if a fly guy could fly high? The question's moot: zoot suit lands on his snoot.
The giant continues spinning into a whirling dervish punch, trying to take out The Creature as well but he loses his balance, sprawling in a heap in front of his Frankenstein foe...
[...it's your move Wulf.]
Meanwhile Buck faces down Professor Pain, the elf struggling to his feet after catching the sharp end of a elbow in the neck. Before the Prof can stand Buck taps him gently with his club and he crumples like a bad report card. Buck spins around. "Any other stupid elf dipshit in target range?" he thinks. The orangutan Philimon's just gut-punched one of the others, but the Head Masher's just knocked out Bob the Fighter!
Zarko, as is his wont, lurks near Creature. If the sudden appearance of Quazarn was startling, he's downright baffled when he notices Hobson Twofoot standing next to him. Zarko's head hurt like hell, and the laws of space and time seemed to have called in sick. Just another day in Vanth.