[color=6ecff6][h1][center]Aleksander, the Bear of the North[/center][/h1][/color]
Aleksander had travelled many miles since he left his homeland behind – he had slept in barns, cut lumber in return for meals, sold horses (and maybe stolen a few), walked until his calloused feet bled. And all that had brought him here, to some rich whelp’s gated manor, where he could beg another nobleman for the chance to fight his battles for him.

The enormous man tried to shake that thought out of his head as the guards waved him inside and ordered him to follow. This was a different kind of fighting, he knew; to be a gladiator was to kill a man who had chosen to be there, to be rewarded for your victories, to sleep with a clean conscience and a full belly. He had not traded one nobleman’s army for another – he had to believe that.

Aleksander gripped his hammer tighter beneath his cloak as more guards flanked him, leading him silently through the opulent estate. He had never had patience for this kind of beauty, the art of flowerbeds and statues and rich housing. There was a menace in this place’s softness, as though the truth of things was being concealed. He much preferred the harsh beauty of his homeland, all frozen forests and mountain cliffs – such things were always honest with you.

[color=6ecff6]“So, does your master let you speak, or are you not trained for such things?”[/color] he asked of one of the solid-faced guards on his right side. The man did not respond, and Aleksander made the conscious decision to assume that he just hadn’t been able to understand his accent.

Finally, Aleksander arrived at his destination, a vast sand pit that clearly served as some kind of mock arena. On the far side there was a high-backed chair in which a youth sat on a cushion, dressed in fine clothes with a circlet on his head. Aleksander did not know the fashion of these southern lords, but it would have taken a fool not to guess that this was the man he had come to see.

Some distance to his side, a small area had been set up with a few tables of food and drink. There was a girl leaning on one of the tables, a slight red-haired thing in leather armor. Another gladiator, most likely, though she scarcely looked the part. He would have to size her up later.

Aleksander cast his thin linen cloak off, revealing the armor and weapons he wore below. With a few confident strides he stepped into the center of the arena. [color=6ecff6]“I hear you are seeking gladiators?” [/color]he bellowed shortly, and spread his arms wide.