The door rose as he stood with rapier and staff in hand, and Jigano's eyes narrowed at the sight of the small coliseum beyond. It was not his first gladiatorial fight, and memory prickled as for a moment the claustrophobic little arena was replaced with the sprawling pit of Scrapwall in his mind's eye. It was not Isuma on his shoulder, but two goblins, a wayang, and a human woman at his side, and the crowd was chanting for the Lords of Rust to crush the ragtag band of upstarts from Torch. Across from them waited the massive orc Kulgara, her weapon roaring to life with mechanical savagery...
He blinked, and the orc was replaced with a human, one of the last people he had wanted to see, but the fortunate gods had not been paying him much heed lately. Bitterness swept through him, and his fingers clenched around his rapier as he stepped fully onto the sand, heedless of the door that rolled shut behind him. He shook himself roughly, and Isuma fled his shoulder with a squeak of protest, fluttering up to glide above the arena and watch from above as Jigano shifted to guard himself with the staff, eyes narrowed as he gauged the distance between them.
No merry jests or sly greeting passed his lips, his blue eyes instead cold and sharp. Instead of barbed words he flung his sharpened staff at Deimos as he crouched and leapt across the sand to close with the big man, a surge of frustration and guilty shame lending his feet surety as he relied on speed and surprise rather than brute strength.
He blinked, and the orc was replaced with a human, one of the last people he had wanted to see, but the fortunate gods had not been paying him much heed lately. Bitterness swept through him, and his fingers clenched around his rapier as he stepped fully onto the sand, heedless of the door that rolled shut behind him. He shook himself roughly, and Isuma fled his shoulder with a squeak of protest, fluttering up to glide above the arena and watch from above as Jigano shifted to guard himself with the staff, eyes narrowed as he gauged the distance between them.
No merry jests or sly greeting passed his lips, his blue eyes instead cold and sharp. Instead of barbed words he flung his sharpened staff at Deimos as he crouched and leapt across the sand to close with the big man, a surge of frustration and guilty shame lending his feet surety as he relied on speed and surprise rather than brute strength.
