[Closed to Count]
Cheers blared from every corner of the colosseum as Tobias began his slow stride toward the center. They had seen him fight multiple battles in the Citadel in the past few months, and he certainly knew how to get the crowd going. Walking at a leisurely pace, the darkly clothed youth stared up from beneath his hood toward the sun. Coins that rained down from above clattered at his feet, and the former soldier gave a toothy grin. "Kill this one and there'll be more where that came from," called a voice from the crowd. "Make him bleed!"
Tobias was far more passive on the topic. The coin was enough to make the competition worthwhile, but few opponents drove him to actually enjoy the fight. The day he found a worthy foe, he would fight with everything he had. He stopped in the center of the ring, pulled back his hood, and squinted toward the master of ceremonies; an Ai'brone Monk focused on weaving the illusionary battlefield. "Have you an enemy for me?" He asked, though the answer was always yes. The dramatic flair only served to rile the crowd.
"Cut him down!" Came a vicious cry. "Paint the sand with his blood!" Tobias had to admit, the ferocity of this crowd was a bit over the top. Perhaps the Monk just had a very boring outside life.
He placed a hand on either of his dagger hilts. His fingers caressed every detail, familiar with the shape and texture of every one of his weapons. Blackheart rested beneath wrappings on his back, loathe to be disentombed. His glittering golden gaze fell on the opposite side of the arena, where he heard the gates creaking open. Tobias' lips turned up in a smirk.