The dwarven war chief was on his feet before the roar reached the upper tiers, laughing so hard the braids in his beard shook, and the smiths in the row behind him were already arguing about the relic's craftsmanship while the rest of the colosseum was still processing what they'd seen.
"That saber!" He slapped his second on the shoulder hard enough to stagger the man. "The damn thing came out and showed off like a jealous wife!"
His second straightened and shook his head. "Can't blame it. To do such a disloyal thing to your weapon..."
A small smirk sat underneath despite all they went through, the dwarven blood in them amused beyond belief that the blade would do such a thing.
For a moment, he even forgot he was a prisoner of war captured by a man who didn't have the most noble of reputations.
In the elven sections, Myrasyn sat down.
"Phew..." She pressed a hand to her chest, exhaled once through her nose, and started fanning herself with the other hand.
