The day had just begun, and the female was definetly not one of the only people at the arena. Her hair was flowing gently behind her, the black locks swaying gently with each step. A slight smile was on her face, her flesh pale and soft, her beautiful green eyes staring coldly at the men and women who stepped in her way. The did not see her of course, for she remained close to the walls, and hide in the shadows that were created by the rising sun. Her steps were quick, her cloak hiding her frame –and her sword- from any onlookers.
She had not decided to leave her hood down, for she wanted people to know her profile before she struck. Her main target was here, but before killing the foreign princess, she had every intention of first fighting in the arena. She did not worship the goddess of blades, nor did she worship the Goddess of Magic –yet- but she was going to fight here as long as she needed to. Magic surged through her fingers –and her scimitar enchanted with flame buckled to her left hip, her right hand carefully strumming the hilt gently.
She quietly moved to the oak table by the entrance to the fight arena. An old man –obviously one who did not make enough money to buy himself a prostitute, or any proper cleaning supplies to take care of himself- gave her a grin of many, many yellow teeth. He extended a single grubby and dirty hand, offering it for the female to shake, and she did not extend her hand in return. He retracted his hand, still seeming delighted to find a female fighting today.
So, miss….Whats your name?
She grimaced at his horrible accent of the common language. She was a master of several different languages, and she spoke them fluently, so she calmly responded in his own tongue, her words cold and precise, much better then the way the man spoke his native tongue.
My name is Lánilmathién…
She did not say anything else, but dropped two coins on the table, paying for her admission and for his disappearance. No one was around, and no one would have noticed as her scimitar was drawn and in a single swift motion, cut straight through his neck and was sheathed again. His body hit the ground under the dark table, and she continued moving. As she stepped into the slender rock-type hallway, she removed her cloak swiftly, by shrugging off the cloak.
The black leather cloak hit the ground behind her feet. Her appearance was beautiful to those who looked upon her. Her long, waist-length black hair complimented her pale flesh, and her eyes flickered around. Her clothing was black leather –not armor leather, but generally clothing leather. The chest fit her tightly, cutting just above her breast, and two straps thickly running around her shoulders. The leather clothing extended down to her waist, and blended in with the black leather pants that fit her tightly, and the grey, tightly laced boots fight her closely and clicked on the ground. She moved quickly, stepping into the sunlight to see the opponent she was set to face.
It was early in the morning, when Beowulf rose from his bed. He had stayed at Song of Elves Tavern & Inn for the past several nights, resting from his encounter with a vampire at the Bloodseal Tavern. His wounds had healed for the most part. Where the bite marks and cuts once were, only dried blood remained. Beowulf glanced at his forearm, running his finger along where the woman had sunk her teeth into his skin. The paladin grimaced at the thought that a vampire had bitten him. He would enact his revenge, but until then, he would have to regain the strength he had lost resting from the fight.
Beowulf stood in his room, looking outside his window. The sun had started to rise, just barely peaking over the horizon. Where shall I go? My choices for training in this city are limited... The paladin thought. The Taras Arena cought his attention as he studied the city, looking out on it from his window. Perfect! Beowulf said, excited that he would finally fight in the famed colosseum. It was an edifice constructed so that the warriors and mages of the land may test their mettle in combat. Not only that, but one could make a name for theirself there. Beowulf smiled grabbing his scimitar. It had been collecting dust on top of a dresser in his room. It was a shame too, he could not remember the last time he had gone so long without drawing his blade against someone or something.
The paladin exited his room, turning and walking down a long hall. At the end of the hall he traveled down a staircase that led into the common room, where bards and singers played. Beowulf made his way outside into the empty streets. There was a small amount of people in the streets. A few merchants, and a few drunks that had managed to stay conscious for the entire night. The paladin picked up his speed, running down the street towards the Taras Arena.
Beowulf finally made it to the arena's gates. Both spectators and participants gathered at the entrance, but the two groups were split up as they ventured into the building. Beowulf, having no knowledge of this place, or how to sign up, followed a small group of what he assumed were fighters. They unknowingly led him into a room near the entrance of where the combat area is. The paladin looked around for a place to sign up or to pay admission, but in the room where he stood, all he saw was a few warriors mingling with each other, and an empty oak table. Beowulf walked over to the table, hoping that there would atleast be a paper to sign-up, but other than a few coins, there was nothing. The paladin did smell blood, but Beowulf only assumed that the smell accompanied the arena. His eyes shifted around, making sure no one was paying attention to him. Slyfully, his left hand skimmed over the surface of the table, grasping the coins in a swift movement, and returning to his pocket. After collecting the coins, he walked outside to where the fights took place, to meet his opponent.
The appearance of a new opponent created a smile on the face of the female and she swiftly drew upon her magic as she draped the cloak to her side. The sword belted at her waist began to hum with anticipation, as though she was going to be the one to teach it the things it wished for so badly. She would be the one to teach it everything, and in that, she would be the one the one to create a massacre in Imythess. She loved bloodshed and death, which was the main reason she found herself here. Killing was extremely easy here, and she knew that more then anything else she currently knew. She was skilled in the dark art of Necromancy, but she knew other magicks, and she swiftly drew upon those.
Her magic stretched from her form, cascading from her fingers and flesh to surround the new man in an invisible cloak, searching for any signs of magic. What she found was far from what she wanted –he had holy magic. A look of detest crossed her face as she looked upon the man. She hated the men and woman who believed they were serving some higher order as a paladin or holy man or woman, or whatever they were. She hated everything holy, and her fondest memory was when she slaughtered a whole band of drow monks who had lived in a secluded mountain area. She wanted a scroll, and they told her since she was half moon elf, she was impure. She killed them all for that comment, and still took the scroll she wanted.
A single smile stretched upon her face slyly as she watched the man move forward into the sun. She would kill him –most definetly- now that she knew he possessed holy magic. She drew back the seeking magic she had carefully thrown out into the open, and smiled as she brought her hand back to brush away several strands of stray black hair. This would be extremely fun, and be like no other fight she had ever had. She had killed the holy monks in cold blood, and they held no magic, so they fought back little. She had never truly fought a paladin or someone with holy magic –she just watched and observed them, studying all of their truths and deceptions.
This will be interesting… She muttered softly.