didn't print enough pamphlets

“I dunno, man.” He lifts one rocky hand to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t have any ideas. Other than, like, not dying.”

The kronan shrugged. “Okay then, you’re the boss, Boss. But if we perish I’m blaming it all on you.”

“Yeah... Nah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah... Nah, I like trying things, but not like, those things.” No thank you, he would rather not. “I just do the smaller fights, get the crowd warmed-up and whatnot.”

Gladiator-esque? No, really, he dresses using whatever is available to him. Functional, but not necessarily practical. His clothes are similar to that of Hulk’s gladiator outfit. Belts across his chest, a single pauldron (left), grieves,  and armored belt around the waist with armor covering the stomach and thighs.

He’s a really big guy so it takes a lot of alcohol to truly affect him. Mostly he just drinks socially. What’s his favorite? Pretty much whatever he can get his hands on. On Sakaar, that probably meant some backwater swill or moonshine. 

“Nah, I know what other things have been down there. Like, bodily fluid things. Disgusting.”

“Oh no. No thank you!” He put his hands up in front of his face, refusing the obnoxiously large boogie. “I’m good, man. Like, good with losing if that’s what it takes to win.”