The crowds cheered, their voices granting him strength.

He gripped his sword tighter. He could feel the hilt against his fingers. He could feel the sweat on his arms slide down, the autumn breeze cooling skin and perspiration. His heart was beating through his brain, undulating with the sway of the crowd. The clouds were cheering for him. He felt like the sand of the pit would swallow him whole.

"I am Iero!" He shouted across the veins of his throat, his insecurity only giving rise to his blood boiling, the tempo of the roaring stands becoming one with his voice. "I am your hero!"

Iero, his mother had called him, though she knew not where he came from. She found him as a child huddled in the mountains atop the body of a troll. Was he the child of a troll, had one adopted him, or was he merely a freak accident of this world? The magician of their local mountain village said he was a mistake, a freak, the child of a troll but the face of a man. His strength held no equal, and his brain was slow, coming to concepts like a dim-witted child for all his years as he grew.

When he was thirteen, he killed the magician of their village and was sentenced to the prisons of An, a dreadful labyrinth in the bowels of the old stronghold, where he found himself merely a pawn in the games of the city's nobles. He was dull-witted, sure, but he did know when he was being used. He had been in these pits for the last ten years, and relished them no stronger than the first day he was handed a sword and told to kill the criminal in front of him. But he knew no other life.

OOC: Other people could join in, if they like. We could have a little brawl!