Wets-His-Blade pondered recent events as he sat in his chair just outside the short, wood walled ring that designated the combat area for the games that were being held in the camp. Two pretty (in Blade's opinion) Argonian maids were tending to him as his unfocused eyes stared absently at the combatants.

His mind wandered to Krieger's island. Of the fight with the zombie horde, the journey through the dark mausoleum, and the eventual death of that thrice damned Mage. Blade had, as usual, enjoyed plunging the dagger into the lunatic's ribcage in his berserk fury. Everything after that was a bloody, rage fueled blur. He wasn't sure how exactly they escaped, but it didn't really matter. They were alive and that's all that mattered.

When asked by the sailors that had remained on the ship, what had happened, he just shrugged and said simply,
"I killed a lotta shit. What do ya think?" 
And left it at that. Not because he was traumatized, but because these things were par for the course at this point in his life.

He was pleased to have found his weapons at some point during their fight underground and even walked away with a little something extra. During all the excitement, Blade had grabbed an enemy's shield for his own use and had held onto it for the duration of the battle. Later, when he'd calmed down, he discovered that the shield was a unique find. It was a simple round shield for the most part, but instead of the usual dome of metal in the center, it was adorned with spikes. He recalled this type being called a targe, and gladly replaced his old steel one with it.

Upon arriving at the insurgents camp, Blade was led, along with the others and several new allies it seemed, to their tents, where Redguard weapons and armor were available for use. Blade had held up the lightweight gear for inspection and scoffed disdainfully before tossing it aside like so much rubbish.
"Yeah, that'll stop a Dwemer blade like stalks of wheat stop a sickle. I think I'll stick with what I've got, thanks."

He'd found himself at the makeshift arena a short time later, after wandering the camp and briefly considering a fling at the brothel. Of course he immediately signed himself up. When one of the organizers informed him that he also had to contribute to the reward pot, Blade looked up and raised a surprised brow, "There's a reward too?"

Just as he had at the Capitol arena, Blade made quick work of most of his competition in every event he entered. None had been able to withstand his brute strength during the unarmed combat event. And now the weapons portion was coming to a close. He'd gotten more stiff competition here. Armed with blunted weapons of their choice, the combatants tested their skills with a blade and some of the Redguard were quite skilled. More than once Blade had almost been bested by their extravagant patterns and techniques. Normally he could have countered this with the range of his greatsword, but there were none available since even a blunt weapon of that size could be quite lethal. 
So he made do with a broadsword and shield. He quickly adopted a rushing tactic. Since the Redguard could outdo him with technique if he played that game to long, he forced them to play his by charging in with his shield up, disrupting their patterns and gaining the upper hand through brute force. It was a simple tactic and was getting repetitive. But so far no one had discovered a way to counter it.

His attention was brought back to the present as one of his attendants pushed fruit to his mouth while the other massaged his corded shoulders. He slowly plucked the morsel from her delicate fingers with his teeth as he gazed at her. She smiled knowingly before walking off, Blade's eyes following her. His eyes travelled lower and his brows raised as he noticed a little extra sway in the maid's hips, then she was out of range. He turned back to the arena, where the winner of the bout was declared, and grinned. Tonight was turning out well.
But tomorrow promised to be even better.