The Pitt was a cesspool of foul tempers, it came with the territory of being a hostile clan, or so many would think. Most of the people within the Pitt were calm, coordinated, and the people here that could be described as bloodthirsty were more... methodical about it. It made for an interesting dynamic, an interesting clan: yes to the world as a whole the Pitt was a place that sought out hunger and wanted nothing but blood to spill, but the day-in-day-out of Jack's patrol didn't hold much violence.

The clan is still brutal: the traditions set near the end of Kydobi's reign and further extended with Silent's current rule proved it to be so. One must be able to survive the desert that surrounds them before they are considered a part of the group. It bred a dog-eat-dog mentality, a survival of the fittest: with the bones along his neck and the armor that hung around his side waiting to be frozen as glacial plating along his spine and shoulders.

Tryvge was a new face, unproven unbloodied by the Pitt’s current traditions. Setting up a routine before he would set out, jack assumed. Ice blue eyes watched the other for a moment: the snarl along his features before he approached, icy gaze locked on the other’s form as he spoke “[glow=#add8e6,2,300]can’t say I’m the kind that fights fair if you’re looking for a good match: best look elsewhere.[/glow]” it was as much of an apology as Jack would give, but the offer to fighting him was left open- bare. A warning if he chose to battle the marauder maybe.

Jack's fights with the same thinking that used to get him in trouble. Mind games, and his own powers of ice and winds. He knew as far as sparring went it wasn't something that was considered polite, to openly mock and bruise the ego of his clanmate: no jack didn't think that were the kind of battle Trygve wanted.