A brief exchange, Namida and Devrin
Once inside the arming room, Namida eyed those already there as they returned her scrutinizing gaze, some even exchanging hushed whispers when she passed. She could easily venture a guess as to what they were plotting, but if it phased her in the slightest it certainly didn't show. Clopping her way to a vacant area of the large room, she began the task of unbuckling and removing her myriad of belts, saddle bags, armor, and weapons.
With the task of signing up for the Selection done and over, Devrin surveyed the groups of challengers making way to the Arena's armory. All eyes were on the elephant - er, centaur - in the room. For such a large space, Devrin could tell the woman was out of her elements indoors. On the battlefield would be a different story. When was the last time he was kicked by a horse? he wondered, beginning to unbuckle the straps of his cuirass. He found a spot near 'Nami' the Centaur, and cast a glance in her direction.
The rules and limitations of this particular arena irked her, she was a living weapon who seldom had to practice restraint in battle, but she would manage. The lack of guards within the arming room also unsettled her like a biting fly refusing to be shaken off. Piling her belongings in a careful heap, she straightened and stamped a heavy hoof twice, eyeing the rest within the room and snorting.
"Rules be damned. Any of this goes missing, I'm cracking skulls until it's back."
"Talking about cracking skulls already, are we, miss?" he jested amid the task of unbuckling his cuirass. He'd miss the weight and protection around his abdomen, should be end up on the wrong side of a provoked centaurian female.
If he recalled correctly, the rules were pretty basic and made to limit life threatening injuries. An ‘eye for an eye’ mentality, Devrin was used to. Holding back and not killing his opponent was another.
"Execution is a hefty price to pay for casualties," he said, suppressing a grin, "but punishment for thievery might be waived." Pure speculation, of course, but only a fool would steal from other warriors if they stood a chance at becoming a Lion Heart.
Namida gave the man a sideways glance and huffed, seeming to barely take heed of his presence. Small talk and sudden attempts at thin comradery were rather foreign social constructs to her. For a span, it didn't seem that she would respond at all as she let her eyes wander the weapons rack. Lifting a broad sword from it, she fingered the edge to test its bite. Dull. Returning it, she spoke. "Hard times make for bigger risks taken. People are desperate and this festival is nothing but an eye-wash."
Finally settling on her choice, she took up a large steel war hammer and tested its weight and balance before nodding to herself. If she were prevented from cutting her opponents in half, she'd settle for knocking the sense out of them.
The Centaur was a tough character, that's certain. Removing his sheathed swords from his belt, he paused, almost contemplating their absence. The battles they had saw him through were each more daunting than the last. The sheathes themselves had seen better days, often used as blunt objects. He gave a quick once-over at the weapons racks, scoffing at the selection.
"Nothing in life is guaranteed," remarked Devrin, storing his swords and last of his gear. He wasn't a man of modesty, but being gearless and weaponless... He felt nude. Their generation's King had damn well be worth the embarrassment.
Devrin strode toward the weapons rack, his dull eyes surveying his choices. Nothing that would keep him alive long outside the Barrier, but killing an opponent in this tournament was akin to digging his own grave. Fate be damned, Devrin had already chosen his own graveyard. No need for burials or an audience. He chose a short sword, testing its weight distribution. Ambidexterity was a bonus, but nothing felt more comfortable than a hilt held firmly in his right hand.
Unsheathing the sword, he held it in the air, judging its edge. Good quality, but the edge had been dull for the occasion. He couldn't help but laugh. "I'd be dead before this," he gestured toward the weapon, attempting to gauge the centaur's reaction, "could cleave a hand from a hobgoblin."
That statement did manage to tease a chuckle from her. "Well, you could at least slice it off a bit of bread first" Her long tail gave a lazy swish as she shouldered her weapon and turned her attention full to him.
Namida knew a survivor when she saw one. Due to a lifetime in the far reaches of The Fringe, the telltale traits were unmistakable. With a lowered voice, she continued. "I have a feeling you've made due with worse. Stay out of my way and you should be fine."
With that, she strode past him through the central gates and into the arena. The sudden bright glare of sunlight washed over her, accompanied by the rumbling cheers of the crowd. Her scarred hide gleamed harshly under its light as she and the other fighters moved into position.
Pawing the ground in anticipation, she pushed the war hammer from her shoulder and readied her grip as she eyed the other contestants, sparing only a split-second gaze at the wall of watchers in the stands.
Her eyes then fell to the few gleaming men in armor suits and she snorted. Medics, by the look of their designated markings. They would certainly have their hands full today.
The roar of the crowd thundered back to life as the starting bell tolled. With flashing steel and battle cries, the three hour fight was on. Namida watched as a large group of fighters eight strong broke off from the main group and rush toward her, which came as little surprise to the Centaur warrior. She knew how rare her kind was and how much prestige would be won by besting her in battle. If they were as trained as they looked, they had her beat with their number, but as long as she kept them scattered and unable to surround her she still stood a good fighting chance. Scowling, she reared and thrust her war hammer skyward as she bellowed a wordless battle cry, lashing at the air with her front hooves before dropping into a full charge.