[center][h2][color=7bcdc8]Destin Eindride[/color][/h2][/center]

A few days had passed since a giant hunk of a man entered Risha. They came in, a total stranger, looking for work. Introducing himself as Destin to the townfolk, they had assumed he was a mercenary. One nobleman mistook him for such and wanted to pay him as a guard during an upcoming arena match, but Destin declined that offer. He shared that he was not looking for work outside of the arena, but rather inside of it. He had no experience as a gladiator, but the rumors of Risha being a town for promising newblood reaches far beyond the oceans of Oriens.

Unfortunately for him, he has been spending the last three days stuck in a tavern, jobless and slowly feeling his pockets draining. The world is not kind to an old war veteran as most of the sponsors thought he was already past his prime. Fools, they are. Tyren warriors never pass their prime, even in their old age they fight as fiercely as the first battle they won. If these noblemen could not see that, that was their issue. Not Destin's.

Even on the current day, early in the morning, Destin was searching. He went from advertisement to advertisement and didn't have much luck. After about an hour or so he decided to rest up, finding a traveling minstrel singing a song with a small basket that was meant to be filled with coin sitting beside him. A few rocks, large enough to sit on, were scattered about in the clearing. Since not many people are out during this hour the minstrel must have just started. Destin sat on one of the rocks, opened his pouch and pulled out a coin which he flicked into the basket. The minstrel interrupted his song, pausing the play of his lute to tip the feathered hat on his head.

"Thank ya kindly sir. It's unusual to have a customer this early in the mornin', much less one who pays before ah request. What'll it be?"

Destin grunted with amusement, his lips curving upwards slightly.

[color=7bcdc8]"A song about the arena."[/color]

The minstrel tipped his hat again and began to play another song, his soft voice matching with the slow tune of the lute.

"[i]An arena, it's the place of our hearts! There, a show of our finest battle arts.
Newcomers and [u]veterans[/u], they fight all alike. All it takes, is one fatal stri-hike!
On the outskirts of [u]Risha[/u], a single offer for militia!
A young nobleman, prime in his youth. To take up arms, he resorts to no sleuth.
Hidden in a mansion, he is looking for tal-ent, all in preparation for a grand event.
For tomorrow, the fighters come together as one! In the arena of fighting it'll be all over and done![/i]"

In the middle of the song, Destin rose up from his seating. This minstrel sure was talented at improvising, which is a good thing for the hulking behemoth. A nobleman on the outskirts of town, and a call for militia... no doubt that they were looking for gladiators. It was the best shot Destin had at a job. For such a tip, the man found it fitting to toss an extra coin to the bard, who didn't miss a beat. Only when he saw that Destin was leaving did he interrupt his song.

"Leaving already? Ah haven't even gottan to th'best part yet, sir."

All Desting did was give a reassuring wave of his hand before resuming his treck, this time to the outskirts. He was pretty sure he remembered passing that mansion the bard mentioned a few days earlier, so finding his way back there wasn't going to be an issue.

...

The guards at the front didn't need much persuasion to let Destin through, which was a good thing. He let the guards escort him without protest, after all, it is reasonable for a nobleman to be wary of strangers. That made the man of the north curious, was this mansion of the nobleman who looked for help? Ah, no matter. Even if the hulking beast of a man didn't know the name of this mansion's owner, a name is trivial to a warrior. All that mattered was an able body and worthy strength on the field of battle, like any true warrior. Like him, back when he still fought bravely in the name of Guldbrand.

The man eventually arrived in a large, open courtyard. The first thing he noticed was the seat on the far end, on which sat a brown-haired boy. Clearly not a man as his features were still much too youthful. Was this the lord that was looking for help? They weren't wearing any combat apparel but instead a finely tailored suit. This convinced Destin that the boy was a non-combatant, someone who wouldn't fight alongside them. It didn't cross his mind that this lord may have just wanted to make himself presentable as a leader, rather than a warrior.

The next thing the man noticed was the woman near the food table, eagerly taking a bite out of the juicy fruit in her hand. She was meek and slender, nothing like the women back in Tyren, but also unlike the woman in this country of Oriens. She was much too thin, too sleek. She was either a foreigner from a strange land or someone who kept in shape and considering where they were, Destin was not able to rule out the second option.

The final thing was a burly beast of a man, but youthful. This, Destin was familiar with. The braids in their golden locks and their enormous hammer and shield signified that this man, too, was a proud warrior of Tyren. No other realm could foster this kind of fine warrior, with their pale skin all but giving it away. They were talking to the nobleman at the front, more than likely being another of the applicants. Destin nodded to himself and headed over to one of the training dummies. A warrior's mind and muscles must be equally sharp at all times, but he feared for the safety of this doll were he to unleash the mighty claymore's wrath on it. So, he set down his backpack in front of him, right below the dummy and simply punched it. Twice. And maybe a few more times. The man was no brawler, but one could never go wrong with some physical exercise.