Jon Easten stood up from his seat, gripping the sheath that laid unattached to his waist next to him. He had been lent the sword by the tournament runners so that he could compete. He had only wielded a sword a few times in his life, but he was absolutely confident in his ability. As he was about to make it down to the combat area, he watched as his opponent was busy impressing the crowd. "Impressing." Jon thought, as he made his way down. "More like 'entertaining'." He stepped onto the dry dirt of the arena, sheath in hand. His opponent looked fairly well trained, and was even wearing heavier armor than Jon. As Jon stared down his opponent, he spat out to his side, and drew his sword from it's sheath, tossing the sheath to the side. The sword could be classified as a broadsword, more than anything. As Jon stood there, he was still completely confident in his ability to win this fight, not worried for a moment that he would not win against this man. The man might have a decade worth of training, but Jon had over a decade worth of determination pushing him to succeed. Jon turned to the announcer for a moment, speaking up "It's not 'Sir', it's just Jon Easten." He spoke, his voice fairly rough, as he turned his attention back to his opponent.