I predict Bazil would have won.
That reminds me.
Bazil v. Vollifer said:Leopards loomed over the sprawled form of the general. The golden mane of Bazil Whirlwhick held him flat like a dinner plate. The birds, the skies, and the very earth bent to Bazil's command. But Whirlwhick didn't move. He was listening to the leopards' growls, and he began to chuckle.
"Stop!" Bazil said loudly to the beasts, and they obeyed. "I'm always in search for another strong animal companion." He pointed to the chariot, and a large vulture swooped upon the silver and gold carriage, latched its talons around a vial of swirling green and red potion, and carried it back to Bazil's hands. He took it with a smile.
"Raise your voices!" he called to the crowds all around him, holding up the small potion flask for everyone to see, "if you want to watch a vile human being TRANSFORMED into my obedient vial beast!"
From every direction the crowd thundered and cheered and stomped their feet against the bleachers. Bazil's fans stripped off their shirts and struck muscled, flexing poses. Cat calls and whistles echoed through the ring. Some of the younger women looked jealously upon General Vollifer, yearning for his fate.
Baz - il - Whirl - whick! - Baz - il - Whirl - whick!
Bazil held out his finger and gave a disapproving, panoramic point to the crowd. They stopped their cheering for a long and awkward moment. Then Bazil began to laugh, and the crowds followed suit.
Luck - y - Whick - ey! - Luck - y - Whick - ey!
"This wick BURNS!" he bellowed out to the bleachers, and flashes of smoke and fire puffed up from every corner of the stands. The crowds roared back to him.
Amid their cheers Bazil approached the prone figure locked in his hair. General Vollifer struggled against the strained golden strands. As Bazil neared, Vollifer pulled one of his wrists to the scabbard at his side, where he managed to slice the hairs against the General's Blade. Shaking his hand free, Vollifer drew the sword and struck it through the web of gold. Hairs flecked upon the ground.
"Burn you will," Vollifer yelled, getting to his feet and holding out his sword. "Be certain your pyre will be hot."
The crowds began to hiss and the leopards began to circle. Bazil held up his hands for silence, then he clasped them together. Vines shot up from the ground and wrapped around Vollifer's legs and arms, yanking the sword out of his hand. The crowds burst with cheers.
Bazil approached with the vial, and Vollifer spat in his face. "I'm still going to kill you," he snapped and the crowd gasped. Bazil laughed. Vines and trimmed golden hairs reached out and worked together to hold open Vollifer's jaw.
"This won't be as hard to swallow," Bazil said as he shoved the opening of the vial into Vollifer's throat and forced his mouth closed. Then he stepped back.
Vollifer's face turned red and a little green. He coughed violently, spitting out blood. His jaw swelled and his body cringed. And then he let out a scream louder than the crowds, more painful to the ears of onlookers than even Bazil's puns. The irises of his eyes darkened to yellow, then brown, then black. His pupils faded out, then flashed red like they were backlit with fire. Horns shot up from his head and tusks lurched out from his jaw. His body turned green; his face, blood red. Claws sprouted from his toes and fingers while a scaled green tail writhed in fits as it sprung from his rump. Then his back grew heavy and his breasts swelled forward, breaking open his armor with a clang and thunk upon the ground. His chest was like tightened leather, but the rest of his leering frame was bedecked in scales. Vollifer rose up nine - then twelve feet, a great beast looming over Bazil with a roar that was faintly heard amid the deafening cries of the crowd. Then the leather of his chest began to move and unfold to spread out behind him, a pair of massive red wings as wide as the ring.
The lead leopard of the general's chariot could be drugged separately, released from the chariot and sent upon Vollifer's foes; this was one of its potions, an expensive concoction as risky as it is effective. In a massive overdose, Vollifer had become a twisted cross between a demon and a dragon, the wrong kind of beast for a druid to control.
"Uhm . . . oops," Bazil croaked.