Garran's Tournament

Kalidorn stood in the center of the arena. He looked at the stands and the preparation area beyond and sneered. "Where is my opponent? Is there no one with the courage to face me?"

The spectators exchanged nervous glances. Kalidorn's Storm Hawk let out a sharp screech. Kalidorn looked at them. "Cowards."

He began to pace in the arena. "Is this the grand tournament I was promised? A contest of champions?" 

He gestured toward the empty preparation gates with a sweeping motion. "And yet, here I stand, unchallenged. Are all of you so weak, so pitiful, that none dare step into the ring with me?"

The crowd remained silent. They avoided Kalidorn's eyes as they shrank back into their seats. Kalidorn stopped and slammed his fist against his chestplate. "You fear me and it's good. Fear is the mark of the weak." 

He turned to the pale announcer, who stood frozen at the edge of the arena. "Announce my victory. If no one will face me, then I've already won."