Dru’ul allowed himself a moment to revel in the ear piercing cheers of the crowd. Waving his hands, and pounding his chest in a salute to those who would honor him with their ululations. He was not the swiftest Mul in the gladiator pens, but he had what it took to survive.
His colleagues were still soaking in the applause as he turned his attention to the arena. Each fight was a different beast, and each one needed it’s own individual approach.
He watched as the Tornado Spires whirled into action. Each appeared to be a wooden training dummy, with stakes jutting from the center pole. These totems however were instilled with a primal air spirit which whirled madly. Anyone caught within reach of the totem’s arms would be met with a sound beating, and a short flight.
“I thought they were going to leave us the best for last” Ghard complained. The Dray was cocksure, but capable.
For his part, Dru’ul agreed with his reptilian friend’s assessment. Their opponents were nothing special to look at. Scrappy desert warriors perhaps, but hardly arena-honed fighters. The Kreen seemed to be the most promising of the lot. Perhaps he’d even get a good workout.