[@Keileon]

[i]A figure steadily jogged across the field, arms swinging rythmically, knees pumping up and down. Wheat slapped against his legs, parting as his enormous frame drew near. He was making good time, but wouldn't reach his destination until an uneventful, awkward minute after Jason's arrival. He slid to a stop at the opposite side of the road, and without seeming to notice the nearby boy, began stretching out his brawny, sun darkened body. The barbarian was beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. He was beautiful in the same way one could call a gun beautiful, a battleaxe beautiful. A tool honed for a single purpose is beautiful. This man was built for war. Hundreds of pounds of muscle hung evenly on his towering bulk, studded with old wounds numbering in the thousands. Every inch of the giant's body had been guilded from his own craftmanship, emblazoned by the rigors which are provided only by a lifetime spent in dedication to death. 
Tangles of wild dark gray hair were strung over his face, a short braided ponytail at the back of his head. He was shirtless, nearly nude, save for dusty leather tassets, vaguely resembling a homemade version of those padded skirts gladiators from old movies wore, and a pair of huge, gruesome boots. Gruesome? Yes, gruesome. Fuckugly footwear, two jumbles of bloodstained animal hide and steel. He also had a cape. It hung jaggedly to his ankles, and the very weave looked to be made from fire. Flickers of red and orange cacaded up the fabric, flat licks of flame dancing about the behemoth's shoulders and down his back.

After several moments of working out the kinks, of warming up, he'd finally straighten up and lock eyes with Jason. They were a muddy light brown, and in contrast to the monster's body, were friendly and full of twinkling merry. Hell, his eyes were even warmer than those of Santa Claus. He gave Jason a ripe, lovable grin and spread wide his long arms as if meeting an old friend, long missed. His growling roar of a voice was like a baritone cannon, not so much sounding as it was blasting, assaulting all within earshot. It reverberated up from his sweat laced chest and struck tremors in the wheat, striking out rugged, curling words. He had absolutely no indoor voice.[/i]

[b][color=9e0b0f]"Hrah! I am Gonad! Fancy Boy... Good it be to see such! Much fun will we have in this, a worthy tournament!! Come, show to Gonad what Fancy Boy can do and so then will Gonad trade, until had fill fists have had! Hope does Gonad that much fun this will be!"[/color][/b]

[i]Gonad took up his fighting position, knees easing into a half crouch, feet a shoulder's width apart, the ball of his left foot sliding back into a rock solid kickboxing stance. His upper body compacted itself to a rugged block of hunched muscle. His chin was tucked in, open palms facing outward and held to either side of his jaw. His fingers were creased pillars of calloused gristle, spread out near to the size of catcher's mitts.

Oh yes. This was gonna be a good old time.[/i]