Can you feel the dread

Well armed and well appointed, Björn gazes steadily at his opponent. A lithe man, though he stood at a similar height. One tenuous swing, and then another, as he drew ever closer. Pure menace in his steely gaze, gait careful over the dirt and the ground. High headed, squinting. Gods, what was that smell?

Unfortunately, he's the oblivious sort. Jaw set around the whip handle, Björn's patience grows thin. "There is no option, only blood." The rot prince lunges, a sweep of the whip as he closes the gap. Squeezing his eyes closed shut for a moment, scrunching his face through the bridge of his nose. Allowing the pressure to build, and then the blood to flow down his face as he makes his charge. A gruesome sight, unless you're into that sort of thing.

"Björn"