Svend sat at one of the upper rows of the bleachers, denied front row seating on account of his common birth.  His first appearance in the palace was met with a series of cheers and battle cries for Vicelin, intent on showing his support for his brother before the match had even started. As the match begin, he observed silently. Reclined in the booth with his large leg resting atop the other, the cinder of his gaze latched onto the spectacle of combat. As the swift and fluid movements directed into barbarity he remained stoic and impassive. Just staring at the carnage of battle until it ended.

Even as the match ended his predator like attention remained on the Iron Duke as he thrashed into the Tyrian clad Viridians. It held until Ryker regained his composure, it was then that he turned back to his little brother. His little brother, uppity with a sense of holier than though was broken and bleeding to death on a stretcher. His expression contorted slightly. Pity? No, Svend pities few and a warrior never deserves such.

"Good job, Vicky."