So this was the gods' land, was it?

The sleek male had found his way across the curiously alive terrain, though the air was dry and seemed to threaten death at every passing moment. As though it were an entity all too familiar in these lands, and it found itself rather displeased at the new inhabitant. With an inward grin, cheeky and arrogant and invisible on the outside, the mutt took shameless satisfaction in denying the entity's wish. Oh no, he would not greet death here, if not as a well-matched opponent in this game of wits.

Here he would thrive and welcome the challenges that came.
He would overcome them, claim them.

The dry rocky land gave way into a magnificent chasm, that from the looks of it had been put to some theatrical use. Resting himself at the ledge of this canyon, staring down to where he could almost imagine center stage to be, he wore an air of nonchalance about him, heavy and boding. A subtle pursing of his lips would be all that betrayed his curiosity, his eyes focused on these pits.

If he listened hard enough - which wasn't too hard to do when the air itself was deathly silent - he could almost hear the roar of the gods as they cast their support for their respective warriors. Blood spilled and limbs torn and lives slain, but it was all a bloody good show.

How barbaric it all was, but if it kept the brutish in line and could satiate their bloodlust in a manner that didn't risk his life, then so be it. They could have their blasted spars and matches, but Polaris would stick to what he knew he could accomplish. Not that he couldn't hold his own, of course, should the need arise. But he had greater ambitions than to win momentary favor in such tasteless acts.

Oh yes, Polaris had great ambitions.
He could only hope he'd been sucked into the right cult to fully realize them...