What seemed like hours prior to the present, Anselm had been silently contemplating what methods to use against his unnamed opponent for his own battle. Below, in the gladiator chambers he had watched as those about to fight each other, severely injure and perhaps even kill each other, talk in common tongues, laughing and overall getting along before the blood poured. He had sat aside, watching and observing as was his nature. He peered into the eyes of anyone who passed and perused their bodies, scouring their forms for hidden weapons and examining their potential level of skill based on their musculature and general attitude. He was certainly among equals, though he had already weeded out those that were far beneath him, not even bothering to recognize them as contenders. However, a few had stood out to him, their auras alone making his blood boil in anxious anticipation for his battle. In particular, he had noticed a man wearing a mask. A mask, he noticed, which was beyond tacky and had certainly seen a lifetime of wear. He cringed. I can only hope I don't battle him. I would hate to look at that pseudo-face for an entire battle. How would I even be able to focus on defeating him? He pondered. 

He had seen a few of the gladiators escape into private rooms designated for them specifically. Eventually, he also retreated into a room set out for him in order to properly prepare for his fight. He removed his coat and shirt, folding them neatly to the side, in order to realign his light armor as to shield his most vulnerable locations. He was looking more to advertise his wonderful weaponry rather than to die in front of a crowd. He was a fair fighter but he would be the first to admit that his skill lie in his trade, making rather than wielding a blade. He would allow his pride to be wounded physically and mentally with a few bodily injuries, though he was not willing for this battle to cost his life. From above, there was a loud sound of disapproval and upheaval. It startled him, but not enough for him to inquire what was going on. He was sure to see what all the fuss was about when he reemerged soon enough.

With today in mind, he had specifically crafted a thin scale armor vest for himself. He preferred this type of armor for two reasons, the first being that because of the leather backing, one did not have to feel the cool sting of metal directly on your skin and the second being that he simply loved the aesthetic. Scale armor reflected light beautifully and honestly was the most tailored form of the armors except for chain mail which hung loose, anyway. He had also crafted scale armor wrist and ankle cuffs. On the rest of his arms and legs, he wore boiled leather armor, good at defending against a good bludgeoning but mostly useless against a well crafted blade or careful stab. Nonetheless, were he to be hit in an extremity, he would feel it tomorrow even if his armor held. For weaponry, he was equipped with his trademark battle axe, Echo. Located under his belt on either hip, he had tucked away a small dagger and a throwing knife should he find himself in need of defending himself in close range, though he doubted he would need such weapons. Echo typically kept others far enough away at bay that his smaller weapons were not needed.

Finally, the time had come for Anselm to enter the arena. He left his shirt and coat in the room and sauntered through the designated tunnel that lead to his arena. His name was announced as he entered. A sudden cacophonous wave of applause swept through the coliseum and aided to inflate his ego. He smirked, careful never to fully smile, and with his battle axe in hand, raised his arms to signal that the crowd should continue their cheers. He beat his battle axe against his chest twice, a loud grunt exuding from the depths of his throat, a true sign he was ready. The lights glistened in his armor, creating an array of hues almost simulating a true dragon scale. 

He slowly walked to the area of the arena in which he was supposed to begin, still goading on the audience. He was shocked at how much he was enjoying the attention for simply existing and being willing to damage another while hundreds from Oedir gathered to watch. He peered across the arena to find a sight which made him shiver. The masked man was to be his opponent after all. He sneered. The fun had officially ended. Anselm steadied himself, finding a stable stance from which he could easily defend should the man rush at him, or move quickly need be.

Radulfr Caput Lupinum