Oliver was spinning his hammer in the Oathring, loosening his joints and warming himself up, when the narrator-judge announced his opponent. Visibly less energetic this time.
"And his opponent is… Animal Pack."
'What kind of theatrical joke is that? These narrators are starting to compete with Veric, the salesman.'
A relatively ordinary-looking man walks into the arena. Except for the grass cloak that covers his entire back, draped over him like a stretch of lawn that walked into a duel. Underneath the cloak: leather combat gear, well-worn, marked at the knees and elbows. The cloak is sniper-grade, resembling a sniper's outfit, while the rest of his gear is designed for close work. His eyes are normal, brown, sharp. Many scars across the exposed forearms and the line of his neck. A man who has certainly lived more than his ordinary face suggests.
"Are you ready?" the judge asks.
