Welcome to Gaia! ::

A cold gust of wind blew across the audience throughout the Colosseum, bringing with it a layer of mist that smelled like brine. The bank of fog rolled over the stage and spilled down the ramp. The chill brought on by the cold air grew more intense, and suddenly a swift guitar riff played, accompanied by an all too familiar howl. The "Immigrant Song" by Led-Zeppelin filled the PA system. The audience popped, not sure who was coming out to such an iconic song, but they loved the music and that was enough. The chill continued to pump out of the Colosseum's climate control until the fans could see their own breath rising in the now frigid air.

Then he stepped onto the stage. Erik Siggtyr walked through the mist, strolling past the stage and straight down the ramp. He was already a man of imposing height, he stood taller than most NBA players; and was as thickly built as an NFL lineman. Added to his build is the chain and boiled leather armor that covered his shoulders and torso. On his head he wore a round helmet with massive ram horns jutting out from the sides, and a curtain of blond hair fell down the back of his neck from under the helm. But most shockingly was the five foot claymore slung to his back. The audience loved the sight of the armor clad man, cheering for the concept, already worked up because of his music.

Mist slowly swirled around his legs as Erik came to a halt at the apron. Then as the music peaked, Erik reached up grabbing the top rope and used it to pull himself up onto the apron. There he swung his leg over the top of the ropes and stepped into the ring. Erik stood in the center of the ring, and reached up behind his back pulling the sword free. The sheath came with it, and it wasn't until he held the massive weapon above his head that the iron straps holding the battle scabbard in place became visible.

Normally Erik would remove his armor, and even set his weapon aside; but in tonight Gladiator match it was obvious he planned to use them to their full abilities.

Arson's lack of vocabulary was irrelevant to the match. Tonight he was facing a man that took Arson's only advantage away from him. He was not the bigger man, nor the stronger man in the ring. Piercing blue eyes glared at Arson through the helmet, but instead of responding Erik just smiled. He ignored the fact that Arson just spat a wad of phlegm on his boot.

Erik bounded forward, his long legs carrying him swiftly across the distance, and he swung the massive claymore with years of training behind it. Aiming the steel bound blade at Arson's midsection with enough force that had the scabbard not been in place, would cleave Arson in two.