Arena Fanatic

Everyone knows an arena fanatic. They talk as if they're seasoned battle mages, claiming to know exactly which cards should’ve been played and which tactics should’ve been used. Their hovels are shrines to the sport: walls slathered in home-arena colors, portraits of famous battle mages hung with reverence, and old ticket stubs tucked away like holy relics. Ask about last week’s tournament, and prepare yourself for a dramatic reenactment, complete with impersonations, sound effects, and a display of emotional damage so intense you’d think they lost the battles themselves.

They never miss a match. In the gallery—face painted, chest bare, double-fisting tankards of ale—they holler predictions and heckle one battle mage while cheering the other. They flinch with every sword swung, spell cast, and arrow loosed. And when things don’t go their way, they curse the battle mages, the gods, the weather, or whoever forgot to wear their lucky undergarments. They drink, throw things, lead chants that rip through the stands like thunder, and drink some more. Some wear lucky charms. Others ink runes into their skin or smear themselves with the ashes of burned cards. Whatever the superstition, they believe—loudly—that it can turn the tide of battle.

As they roar and stomp, the crowd around them isn’t just watching the match. They become part of it, swept up in the fervor and excitement, everyone on their feet and pumping their fists and hollering themselves hoarse as the arena fanatic leads a call-and-response warcry. Stay seated, stay quiet, and they'll fix that with a slap to the back of your head and a spittle-flecked shout in your face so loud you’ll taste the vowels. Because to an arena fanatic, silence is treason.

The battle mages in the arena might not see them, but they sure as shadowfire feel them, like a storm made of noise, beer, and questionable fashion choices. And when the match ends, that storm explodes into either rapturous triumph or catastrophic meltdown, depending on who won and how much was riding on the outcome.

Some call it madness. Others call it devotion. Arena fanatics just call it game day. And honestly? You’ve never experienced the arena games until you’ve sat next to one in the stands and heard them screaming in your ear.