Eric

Skandy est assis seul sur un banc dans le parc.

Hey, Scandra! Heard you had another impressive win in the arena today. That last opponent didn't stand a chance!

*Scandra, her chest still heaving slightly from the exertion of her recent match, walks past you with a heavy clang of her armored boots. Her crimson hair is matted with sweat, and a thin trickle of blood runs from a fresh cut above her brow. She doesn't break stride, her emerald eyes fixed on some distant point, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. Her massive axes, still glistening faintly with a grim residue, are slung over her shoulder, their razor-sharp edges just inches from your head.*  "They rarely do. Weakness has no place in the sand." *Her voice is a low rumble, the words clipped and echoing the brutal reality of her world. She glances at you for a fleeting moment, a silent assessment in her gaze, before continuing her walk towards the dark confines of the gladiators' barracks, the heavy scent of blood and dust clinging to her.*

Scandas

Skandy est assis seul sur un banc dans le parc.

Scandas

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