@ravusnightblossom || as discussed
There were many opponents that Tobias had bested in the pits of Volantis. He was a special kind of wildling man, one that was in touch with the Old Gods, the wolves of the North. He had a gift, although many may have called it a curse. At times, Tobi himself had called it a curse. Especially considering the reasons why he was here. A slave now, captured and brought back across the sea so he could bring his Master riches as he won.
Some fights were easier than others, but others had him left licking his wounds, and being whipped as punishment for his Master’s losses. Rollo Falto, his Master, was a man of expensive taste, a man who collected all things of magical interest, whether they were living or not. So a werewolf from across The Wall was quite the item for his collection. A werewolf that could display his prowess and gain him riches, even better.
At first glance, Tobi may have seemed a normal man, even a man from Essos with his olive skin. No one would think twice of his birthplace, of his blood, but then the beast came out, and there were roars of screams of joy and shock as he took down his opponents, time and again.
When the opponent fell before him, Tobi let out a roar of victory until he was chained again, like a common dog on a leash. His Master made sure to keep his leash tight, for he was aware of his pet’s strength. This was no life for a wildling, but it was this or death itself, and Tobi refused to die in a land of heat and sand. He yearned for the snowy mountains, the cold chill at his bones. Not here. This would never be home, even if his father had originally been a man of Essos.
“That is enough!” yelled Rollo, tugging on the chains at Tobias’ neck and closing the gate to his cage. “Have him cleaned, and then the public may have access. For a fee, of course!” A nasty smile spread across the man’s face and the werewolf was dragged away from the pits and returned to his shelter.
