The next combatant came to the sound of Zenkojjinian fireworks. Two fancily-robed Hu'lani nodded to a third, and then the wave of colour and sound ceased as suddenly as it had been conjured. The crowd - having been up until only moments ago roaring their approval at this myriad of foreign celebratory gimmicks - fell dead silent. The sound of huge boots scraping along the gravel, parting it as they went, filled the arena instead.<br/><br/>The huge, muscular, heavily-dreadlocked, towering form of Ganim Traiborn strode into the arena, announcing his presence in the only way he'd ever known.<br/><br/>With a huge shit-eating grin.<br/><br/>The exotic-looking man's armour was minimalist; a leather vest with three, thin, segmented steel plates covered the majority of his torso but left his arms bare and free, a risky move belying common sense, but Ganim had always hated heavy armour and supposed that a giant with good speed, agility and ease of maneuverability would be a much more unexpected opponent than yet another heavily-armoured behemoth.<br/><br/>He observed the battlefield, his eyes taking in every obstacle intently, before smiling and moving on to the next deathtrap. The lions were his first point of interest, no doubt from his native country. Having hunted them from a young age, he felt much more comfortable with their presence, and was confident that he'd have the most experience dealing with them out of the rest of the competitors.<br/><br/>The spikes, again, were a primative but potentially game-changing addition to the conflict. What possible tactical advantage covering the spikes in gems could be, Ganim had no idea, but he knew full well that Mr. Kettle was nothing but a showman at heart, content with nothing but being able to flaunt his wealth in the faces of those who will only end up contributing to it.<br/><br/>Now... the gem encrusted lions...<br/><br/>Ganim took one glance at them, in all their bright pinks and yellows, and then burst out laughing. No doubt they could tear him apart if he went remotely near them, but he couldn't help but find them hilarious. If anything, he found himself more distracted with what would be done with them when the show was over. They were the Drag-Queens of the Jungle, after all. Brushing his dreadlocks from his eyes, he attempted to find a viable strategy to deal with them. Unless they were made of diamonds or something, precious fancy gems of which Kettle was partial to were rather brittle. He supposed he'd have to dent their head in with the largest rock he could find, or maybe use the fact that he could get a better grip on one and attempt to throw it towards a melee. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. Depending upon the hardness of the materials they were covered in, they may be his best way of dealing with the golem.<br/><br/>But first, there was the issue of the crowd.<br/><br/>He turned to the stands. All manner of people had come to watch, quite a few from places he hadn't recognised in his travels... others were the scumbag Darmlanders he supposed would have a stake in such an event. Never above the opportunity for some networking for his band of mercenaries and his own status as a Ronin, he bellowed to the crowd: "DA HEAD OF DA FIRST MAN TA DIE IS MY GIFT TA YOU!" He raised his arms up, roaring the sentiment above the noise.<br/>Being the only one so far to appeal to the crowd, he hoped he could get their support behind him and hopefully gain some future business. Next was the fight itself.<br/><br/>He eyed up the very first target he saw, observing as the man crouched in pain and a full wing span of around six feet jetted out of his back. Marking the fellow "team member" as both his closest target and priority (he didn't, after all, really want someone flying around the battle and keeping fresh, picking him off when he least expected it) he grinned widely at him. "Ya know," he shouted loudly, with a small maniacal snigger "ah've never ripped a man's wings off before. Gotta wondah what dat feels like, m'ahrite?!"<br/><br/>The sound of rasping metal rang out as Ganim slowly drew his machete, held it up in a 'head chopping' motion to the crowd, and then waited in a ready stance for the trumpets to flair a second time.