Despite the humiliation of being heaved onto the arena like a child and the crowd's scornful remarks, Adam walked with his head held high and his back straight. The orcs clamored that humans were honorless weaklings. Others commented on his plated orcish gloves, boots, armguards, belt, and single pauldron, asserting that their equipment would fit kobolds better; that Adam was casting aspersions on their ancestral culture by blending it with his human shirt.
As expected. It mattered less than Grum'Thal and the legendary warriors.
They glared at him from the shade cast by the nine banners stretched across the box of their platform. He ignored them all, his eyes locked on Grum'Thal's leather robes, peering through the darkness of his hood even though the only thing he discerned was the sheen of the great shaman's red eyes.
