Gebruiker:Nhf03xoy06
The arena was a storm of iron and sweat, where every breath tasted like blood and the ground turned to mud underfoot. Axes clashed against shields with a sound that was less a ring and more a groan of tortured metal. There was no choreography here, only the wild, exhausted thrashing of men who knew that hesitation meant a blade in the ribs. A fighter slipped on the slick earth, and before he could rise, a boot came down on his wrist; the snap was audible even above the roar of the crowd. Faces…