Kaitar was waiting, as he always waited, silent and slightly apart from the others who were waiting their turn to fight, to lose...some to die on the blood soaked sands that had seen countless battles. Those sands in the arena were thirsty; they never seemed to be too saturated with blood to soak up more. Some of the blood on those millions of shimmering grains were from Kaitar himself - oh, he had lost fights over the years, not nearly as many as he had won, but there had been a few times when he had lain on the sand, tasting the blood and salt on his lips, smirking hatefully as his body threatened to give way to death.
Threatened...but never did. That was where his real fame had come from. He was fast, and he was strong - certainly he was exotic and dangerous, but he was not the biggest nor the strongest nor even the most exotic fighter to enter those doors. He was, however, arguably the most tenacious and stubborn. It made him a crowd favorite - for the crowd loved to hate him, and...like so many staged villains, he became more popular than the arena heroes. Bets were made and lost on whether the Djinni owned by the esteemed Madev Al'Daree (seated with his concubines in some of the best, sun-sheltered and cushioned benches the arena had to offer) would finally, actually -die- in this fight.
Kaitar had, so far, disappointed those who bet against him, much to his master's amusement. Little did Madev Al'Daree know that his best fighting slave stayed alive in the simple, and purely hateful, hope of killing -him- one day before succumbing to death. The overly fat, sweating man in the rich purple silks, called the Suet Prince behind his back (and never to his face - Madev was not a forgiving man and his humor was notably absent when it came to jokes against himself) may not have felt such triumph every time his special pet returned from the fighting rings to live another day, had he known the true source of Kaitar's tenacity.
So when the arena staff personal approached, Kaitar merely looked at him from behind the heavy veil that hid his sharp, hawkish features - his red and gold eyes unblinking. And then he looked away again, waiting. He could hear, from behind the heavy doors, the booming voice of someone or -some-thing. Who knew what might wait out there for him? He had faced animals, humans, monsters, creatures that he had never found the names for and likely never would... all manner of professional fighters came to this arena, after all. Some were slaves, like himself - some great warriors, some soldiers.
He slid his hands down the sheathed curves of his yatagan - the only thing substantial and worthy of trust in the entire world, so far as Kaitar was concerned. Some of the other fighters were looking at him curiously; several had heard of him, but no one approached to ask or make further comment. The black shrouded figure idly caressing the curved knives didn't seem very approachable, even to fighting men and women not easily intimidated. Kaitar paid them no mind as he continued to wait and listen, his pointed ears perking from under the heavy drapery of veil, trying to catch and identify the sound of whatever might be out there, waiting to try to make -him- a smear of blood on the sand.
