Sargtlin was sitting in a creaky, old wooden chair in the infamous Drital Qu'ellar, the place that he seemed to find himself much of the time. He pondered over that thought as he closed his to the smoke filled room, the walls of the room stained with an assortment of filth over the years.
"So, why do I come here so much?" he thought, taking a breath only to be greeted once again by the stench that haunted the pub, the stench of sweat, alcohol, and quite often blood.

As he sat in his chair, he heard some men whispering to each other, whispering words of a brawl that was to be held in the Battlestand that was in town. Sargtlin opened his eyes to look at the men who were speaking with each other, keeping his long, pointed ears open to any words voiced between them. From what he heard, the winner of the brawl was to get all the money from the fees for spectators, which he knew could be quite a bit.
"So, people call themselves civilized when they pay to watch people kill each other?" he thought, laughing to himself at the thought. He didn't pay any more heed to the men's whispers, but instead raised his tall, muscular frame out of his small wooden chair that groaned under his bulk. He walked towards the entrance of the Drital Qu'ellar, stepping out of it and into the crowded streets of Lómëdor at night.

He felt the cool air rush against his face as he stepped into the streets, though he pressed through the crowd to make his way to Termáre Dagor, the Battlestand. As he neared it he saw it's enormous shape looming above the tiny buildings near it. The massive stone structure was a testimony to death and violence, which is why he liked the structure so much.

He stepped in through one of the many entrances to the building, surrounded by others who were apparently wishing to witness the fight to come. He looked around inside the building, looking for where the fighters could sign in to fight, for he planned to join them. He saw a tired looking man who was propped up against a wooden stand, a notebook laying in front of him.
"Is this where those who wish to compete sign in?" he said sharply to the man.
"Yes sir, if you wish to sign in just tell me your name." the man responded.
"My name is Sargtlin Olath." he said to the man who had signaled to a young boy who was motioned Sargtlin to follow him. Sargtlin walked slowly after the boy who was apparently to lead him to the room where he was to prepare for the fight. Eventually the boy stopped and opened a door fro Sargtlin to enter the room, closing the door behind him.

Sargtlin glanced about the room, though their was not to much there. All that was in the room was a bench to sit on and prepare his armor and gear. He sat down on it, checking his weapons and armor and waited for the fight to begin. In front of him as he sat was a steel gate which he knew would open to let him into the arena when it was time to fight.
"So, who will I face this day?" he thought in his short preparation, much shorter than he had anticipated for the steel gate was already beginning to open. He smiled as he stood up and walked through the opening and into the arena, almost deafened by the crowd's cheers.

Roja Bloodbane inhabited the Battle stand, he was a champion known for brutality and sheer strength. If one was to call Roja Bloodbane small they would be towering giants, for Roja stood at a near twelve feet. His body was muscular and his very presence could clear a building. But he rarely traveled from the very place he was known to adore. Day in and day out he would slaughter his enemies, the lucky ones would get away with severe injuries and survive. All Roja used was a mace that he had recieved from his mother before her death.

Throughout the early part of the day Roja Bloodbane had been slaughtering enemies from small and agile gnomes, to great a mighty ogres. All fell to Roja's might! And with the ogres he held back very little. But he had nothing to feast on throughout his endless onslaught. But luckily he had gone days in the past without food and this had only been a matter of hours. Half of the crowd would cheer him on while the others jeered his hostility. He knew bets were made on him, there were always bets on the fights. Especially the ones he fought.

Now it was time for the next opponent. Roja was covered with blood, and his anticipation for this opponent was great. He was so desperatley hoping that this one would be a true challenge. A metal gate opened, revealing Roja's next opponent. It was a drow which in height seemed small compared to Roja. But Roja knew that Drows could be dangerous, he had fought several in the past and he knew to not hold back on them, but this one was armored, it was truly going to be a fight.

As Sargtlin was met by the raucous noise of the crowd, the crowd that wished to see the combatants fight and hopefully kill each other, he looked over the arena. It was merely a pit full of sand and dirt, nothing to trip one up or get in their way. One thing that he noticed, was that the sand and dirt was mixed with red, the artwork of the dead and wounded.
"So, it begins very soon." he thought as he watched a gate similar to the one he had entered through opening on the other side of the arena. He watched the slow ascent of the steel grate, an odd feeling hitting him for a moment at the sight that met his eyes. Out of the room, came what seemed to his eyes to be a minotaur, standing significantly taller than he and wielded a mace. Sargtlin had never fought a minotaur before but had heard plenty of them.
"This should be good." he thought to himself, drawing his ice sword Erthetril with his right hand while his left hand reached back and grabbed his rune shield off of his back. He fixed the leather straps of the shield to secure it to his arm. He started to walk slowly towards his foe, his sword and shield ready for combat.
"So, who do I have the pleasure to fight today?" he asked with a sinister smile spreading on his face. He knew that attacking first could give him the advantage, but could also be a significant disadvantage if his attack failed. He waited for the signal for the two combatants to begin fighting, his ears listening for the signal bell.

As he listened he had mentally decided what to do.
"It's time to test the powers that blacksmith said you posses, Erthetril." he thought, and then he heard it, the sharp and high pitched ring of the bell, the signal to fight to the death.
"Let us begin our dance of death, shall we?" he said, concentrating on using his swords power as he did, pointing to the ground in between he and his foe. He quickly found it easier to wield his sword's power than he had though, for he quickly saw a large patch of sand and dirt in between he and his foe turn into ice, one of the benefits of his swords power, though he knew that the ice would not last forever it would last long enough to serve as an obstacle. He waited on one side of the ice for his foe's move, waiting to see how he would react.

Ice covered the field between Roja and the dark elf. The mighty minotaur just grunted as he slammed his hoof onto the ice, breaking it where his foot now laid. He afixated on the drow and let out a roar. The ice was going to slow him down, he wouldn't let it throw him over, but having to slam his hooves down to take a step each time was going to take a while, the options were clear, go around the icy obstacle and give the enemy an onslaught of attack. He began to charge around the ice and position his mace in a way to do the most damage to his armored opponent. He rushed and rose his mace in his left hand followed by a battle cry. He brought his mace down with enough force to shatter bones at the drow.

Sargtlin watched the minotaur before him stomp his hoof heavily down on the ice that laid between them.
"Doesn't even bother to answer my question?" he thought in amusement. He knew that if the minotaur continued to march across the ice in the fashion of his first step that it would take the beast quite a while, and he planned to make use of that time. His left hand slipped down to his thigh, grasping the hilt of one of his old throwing knives. He raised it up, targeting his foe, only to be disappointed by the sight of the minotaur figuring out to move along the outside of the ice. He gritted his teeth, not horribly surprised but still disappointed, but he had plenty of other traps in store for this fight, for it had just begun. He waited as he watched the minotaur charge him, preparing himself for his counter to the beasts powerful charge. The minotaur was one of the few that he had met that he knew would have a significant advantage in strength on him, but he had magic and he knew that he could use that to his advantage.

He watched as the minotaur was only a few steps away, swinging his mace down at Sargtlin to cause major damage to him, shouting a battle cry as he did. Sargtlin had prepared for then, leaping towards the minotaur and to the minotaur's right side, going past the beast. He quickly turned back and swung his sword horizontally at the minotaur's spine, intending to hopefully disable some of his foe's actions in one strike. He knew that he wouldn't win this fight through brute strength, but instead would have to rely on targeting, speed, magic, and as much luck as he had, though he never liked it, for it seemed to want to get rid him for good.