Alexander smiled when he heard that he was up for a fight, especially when he saw a recent donation of ironthorn steel to the weapons of the arena. He'd been training for months for this, ever since his master had bought the new slave boy. He knew the master would never just give him away, but he had been sure he could convince the old man to sell him to the Coliseum. The old man had been a regular. And, as a gift of sorts, the old man had given a bit of memorabilia but he came from the same people who would sold Alexander to him, to the Coliseum. Alexander was already wearing the armor that had obviously been that of his father, and quickly he picked up the blade of ironthorn make. the owner had actually been gifted straight to him and about dinner had wished to you could have sold it and quickly been able to unenslave himself but he wasn't willing to go that cowardly route that would be disreputable to his father.

Stepping out and he remembered what the previous person had said about taking blood, so he mentally reminded himself to allow a couple of attacks through his guard. As he walked across the sands of the pit he wondered how much of a warrior of that poet's heritage could really have sired. "Hail, son of the muses, let us do battle honorably."