After the delegations from Vermont, the Chaos Collective, the Republic of Rema, the Violet Fate Sect, Spardshock, UREU, USSR 2.0, Rus, and Nichtburg had taken their seats in the front row, Khan Kargan the well-hung rose and walked to the elevated platform in front of the arena.

"Hello, gracious visitors. It is my pleasure to welcome you to my camp, so you can see how the other Horde lives (this is an old joke in the Gefehrlich Horde, and a chuckle runs through the native crowd, though the foreigners don't seem to get it). Whether or not we end up meeting each other on the battlefield, I hope you enjoy yourselves. Now, without further interruptions, let the Tygyrüktun begin!"

The Khan is a man of few words, but much bloodshed. After he took his seat, a gong was struck, and two men entered into the arena. From somewhere in the stands, an announcer calls out, "Krugyl Fehrlyn and Ayzer Morvyl have been quarreling for months over who is the better throat-singer; naturally, they chose to resolve this dispute in mortal combat."

Krugyl Fehrlyn and Ayzer Morvyl shook hands, then walked to the edges of the arena. This was a small arena, designed for small fights; as a result, the crowd was up-close and could practically see the drops of sweat on the combatants' foreheads.

"Bow.... Ready.... Guard.... Fight!"

And with that, the opponents were on each other, grappling furiously, trying to gain some kind of edge that would allow them to end the other's life without taking much of a beating themselves. Fehrlyn managed to get his teeth onto Morvyl's ear, ripping it off his skull with a bloody squelch. Morvyl screamed, kneed Fehrlyn in the balls, and punched him in the throat. Fehrlyn fell back, catching his breath, but readying himself for the next attack. Morvyl grabbed a handful of sand from the arena floor and tossed it into Fehrlyn's face, blinding him; after the sand had cleared, Morvyl was suddenly right in front of his enemy, and he raised back a hand. Before Fehrlyn had the chance to react, Morvyl plunged his fingers into his opponent's left eye, ripping it out. Fehrlyn reared back, screaming in pain, and suddenly, two swords were tossed into the arena. Knowing that any moment of hesitation would cost him, Fehrlyn was the first to his sword, arriving just fractions of a second before Morvyl. Glaring through his good eye, Fehrlyn reared back and swung the sword into his enemy's neck. Cutting through someone's neck is harder than it looks, though, and the blade only made it partway through Morvyl's neck. Using the second of confusion, Morvyl sliced into Fehrlyn's hamstring, bringing him to the ground. Both men somehow managed to stand; but Fehrlyn was standing with a strong limp, something Morvyl noticed immediately. He took aim and threw his sword into the hip of his opponent, then tackled him to the ground, at which point he began beating the crap out of him. Some of Fehrlyn's teeth flew out, landing amongst the audience. Morvyl pulled his sword out of Fehrlyn's hip and plunged it straight into his chest. And with that, the battle was won; Morvyl would need medical treatment for his missing ear and the wound on his neck, but he had won the day. The crowd went wild, and Morvyl was escorted off by the apothecaries. Fehrlyn's corpse would be brought to his estate, where his widow would tend to the funeral proceedings; Morvyl, as the victor, was required to pay for the funeral.

Meta: RP your leader's/delegates' reaction to the events.