Brennus looked around with little understanding, his knowledge of the local language next to nothing. Still, he was able to just about work out he was being challenged when another local decided to grace the theatre with his presence. The Iceni warrior stared him down, looking part intimidating part odd with his spiked up blonde hair and muscularly lean 5ft 8” frame painted with blue spirals. His right hand nimbly caught the sword by the hilt as it was thrown at him, and he carried out a couple flourishes as an exercise, continuing to stare unflinchingly at his foe, trying to force him to maintain eye contact.

They were about ten feet away from each other, just out of decent sword-fighting range, so Brennus felt confident in his start-up theatrics. They were fighting on a fairly wide stage of about twenty feet wide by thirty feet long, so they would have some room to maneuver if necessary. He looked his foe up and down, judging his worth, a useful ability in the Arena particularly when it came to large group melee. If you could cut the least skilled foe down first it was usually pretty easy to hack away at the more talented opponents from behind. Brennus wasn’t sure what to make of ‘Florian’ quite yet, as he had yet to assume any sort of stance after throwing him a practice sword. He shrugged inwardly.

He quickly assumed what looked like a rough approximation of the ‘Plow’ guard position from the German school of longsword fighting. His left side faced his opponent while his right foot was back and turned. His sword was roughly pointed at his opponent’s chest and the pommel was just in front of his right thigh gripped in both hands. He shuffled forward a step while maintaining the stance, to close the distance and bring the fight to a more suitable fighting range of about six or seven feet.  He then stood there, eying up his opponent all the while.