Quick to anger, even quicker to strike, the Duelist is a man of haughty character and deadly skill. He is brash and confident. Some might call him arrogant, but he backs up his taunts with a keen blade and a callous heart. The Duelist is a thrill-seeker, always sniffing out conflict and picking fights. This habit has gotten him in trouble countless times, but he's always survived with skill and guile. The Duelist is a master of close-quarters combat, dealing lethal damage with a wide array of weapons while escaping most harm. Women swoon at the sight of him, men tremble at the thought of him, and few that face him in battle live to tell the tale.

I stood in the sand, blade raised over my head, blood dripping down the blade onto my tightly clenched hand. The crowd's cheers washed over me as I basked in the glory of my hard won victory. I closed my eyes and enjoyed their screaming of my name. This is life. Exhilaration, fame, glory, adoration. The only life for one like me.

I sat at my table, quietly enjoying my wine, ignoring my two companions toasting my victory. The door opened with a bang. Lord Talynn entered, his guards glaring at anyone they deem too close to his noble hogness. I allowed myself one derisive glare before ignoring him.

Lord Talynn dominated the inn. His guards roughly shoved several other men out of their seats because Talynn wanted more room to himself. 

I fingered the hilt of my sword, thoughts turning, like my companions, to the duel. It had been close, that battle, far closer then I would ever admit. He called me a cheater, a fraud, and claimed I had sabotaged my opponent. He thought his reputation would protect him, that those that backed him would intimidate me. He was wrong. 

The guards are beaten with blood. My blade, slick with the blood of his protectors, whips past his ear. He raised a hand, as if to protect himself, calling out again and again for someone to stop me. People were fleeing the inn, desperate to put distance between themselves and the scene. Talynn was begging then, dignity forgotten in his terror. I silenced his lying tongue forever.

When they arrive, Lord Talynn have dead at my feet, and they attempted to take me. My sword, friend through a thousand fights, is wrenched from my grasp, snapped against the stone floor. And then they overwhelmed me.

I care naught for riches, little for friendship. The duel is all I need. I may be an exile, but I will carve a road back to Oriath, one foe, one victory at a time. Fortune may have banished me to Wraeclast, but I will live to hear them scream my name in the great arenas again.