The Gung had many aspects and traditions that they were proud of, but they were not a sociable people. They had no trade relations, and even clashed quite often with the other Great Clans that inhabited the jungles of the north. Of the Gung that had gathered to witness their leader's battle, very few had any idea what was going on when the man they had identified as a fellow of some importance, potentially a Shaman or Chieftain of the Iron Men, seemed to throw away his weapons. However, those that did understand spit on the ground, and made a ward against evil spirits. Among the Gung, who were a fierce warrior culture, surrender was the equivalent of blasphemy. To die after surrender would be to abandon your soul to be reborn as a tree, or a worm, and incapable creature. Only a true warrior would find glory and the ability to fight once more in a new life, a second chance at victory granted by the Gods. It was a disgrace, and it was an equal disgrace to slaughter those who were unarmed. Usually this issue was resolved through banishment, and the coward would die in the wilds, where it was hoped they might find some form of redemption.

Broding stood above the coward before him, and made a sound like the growl of an animal. When he spoke, it was a heavily accented version of the Imperial Tongue. Unlike his looks would suggest, he had been highly educated by his tribe's shaman. The Avatar of Amun, after all, needed to be able to handle his blade not just with strength, but with wisdom as well. "You would wipe the name of you and your men into the dirt? It would be more merciful to let them die as men, then to let them be coddled as children, helpless to decide their own fate." Broding stabbed the Dragonclaw into the ground, bone blade slicing through the gritted stone, leaving not even a blemish upon the strange weapon. As he held up a hand, one of his men placed an axe in it, which he held out to Lord Polvark. His eyes held a lust for battle, but also a sense of honor. Through the hearts and memories of so many warriors, Broding had not only learnt skill, but also a form of compassion all of his own. 

"I shall grant you a warrior's mercy, and nothing more. If you wish to save those who serve under you, then don't coddle and cry. Fight for it, and carve your destiny with your own two hands. To fight for yourself is the only right given to us by the Gods." Broding throws the axe into the air, and it clatters to the ground. He makes no effort to protect himself, but rather gestures for his warriors to stand back. Obeying, they formed a ring around the area, large enough for uninterfered close combat. "You may not be a warrior, but you are a man. Do not fight for the dreams of your leaders, do not fight for the hopes of the future. Choose your own path, little man, and then face even the greatest of odds with a heart of steel. Take the weapon and face me, and if you win, you have my word as a warrior that both you and your men will be released. If not, then I shall grant them a warrior's death. That is all the mercy I have to give."