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.

Ahren walked silently through the arch that led into Taras Arena, relaxed and yet tense at the same time. To the world, he could have been walking in his own home, but his muscles were tense as he was prepared to move in an instant. There was a reason for his caution: his last visit to Taras had left him on Veronna's bad side. He decided that if he even thought he saw her, he was going to get out of there as fast as possible. It was one thing to deal with someone who was after you, quite another to try and defeat the Goddess of Blades in a fight. A longsword hung easily from his waist, and a bow and quiver of arrows were across his back. Buckled to his left arm was an elven shield painted a dark green.

Upon nearing the arena, he had sent out winds that scoured the entire building, letting him know exactly how many people were there at that time. It was because of this, that he had discovered the body underneath the registration table. That was a second reason why he was tense. Why would someone kill as worthless a person as the person who was normally collecting the payments? He had practically nothing, and it was unlikely that he had harmed anyone. So, that meant that one of the fighters in the arena would kill in cold blood for little reason.

After waiting for a few moments in the tunnel that led to the center of the arena, he was given the signal to go ahead. It was time for the next fight to begin, and he was up. The briefest thought was given to who his opponent would be, but that didn't concern him very much. Without a word, he entered the field, blinking slightly as he walked into the sunlight. That could be a problem later on, something to watch out for. Adjusting the strap that held his shield to his arm, he walked forward, examing his opponent. It was a woman wearing dark leathers, carrying herself with a haughty look. Well, this should be interesting. It was amusing for Ahren to compare their clothing. Here was his opponent, wearing dark leather, and he was a wearing a sky blue tunic with holes in the back for his wings. So far nothing bad had happened, now he only had to hope that Veronna didn't come down to the arena.

Lánilmathién was far from a goddess -she was an assassin. She killed without cause, without worry, and without care about the political issues that surrounded the world. She got paid for completing her job -a job she enjoyed doing to all of its extent- so why should she not wish to kill when the chance arose? She had killed in cold blood several times -The most recent being when she destroyed thirty-eight monks in cold blood because they were holy-men. She had not been paid a dime, she was not offered gold for that, but she cared little. She had a strong dislike for the stupid alignment, the excuse as she commonly referred to it, as good. She was purely neutral, of course, but she did not believe that alignments such as good and evil existed. She believed their was Chaos and Wimps. Neither was a path she directly headed on, but instead traveled a less traveled path in between, following a chaotic neutral path anyway.

She was ready for an opponent; ready for a killing those as this man entered she second guessed her ability to kill. He was not one she would commonly fight against, for he was a lot taller then her -and had wings, she had an intense fear of killing an angel, though this man seemed to have the pointed ears of an elf; She did not think she would need to kill him if she learned he was an angel, but she would defiantly kill him if he was a half breed. He was a fool, a complete and utter fool, going against her, and she could only laugh aloud coldly, her voice echoing harshly through the arena as thousands hushed and quietly watched with intense, and quick moving eyes.

Lánilmathién was a strange person, and she swiftly ran over the check list of weapons on her person. The enchanted bow of frost was gently strung over her shoulder, the scimitar of frost at her left hip, and its twin, the scimitar of flame, at her right. Two curved, elven made sickles were fit carefully on the back of her thighs, both running smoothly in a semi-curve, but the black and silver hilts pressed against her leather clothing -few people knew these weapons were so close to her body, and were easily drawn and used for climbing devices and fighting devices -much like meat hooks. She smiled maliciously as she looked at her opponent, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes observed his form coldly.

An Angel in a battle arena -something new every day!

Ahren's eyes flicked over his opponent, looking to see what weapons she had on her that she could use in the fight. It was interesting that she too carried a bow, not many people that entered the arena were archers. Although he doubted that many of them knew anything about the abilities of a Windbow. A smile came to him at that thought, it was time to educate these people. For the moment however, he took off his bow and quiver, setting them to the side so that they wouldn't get damaged. Turning back to face his opponent, he stretched his wings out behind him. He had a feeling that he would need to be as quick as possible to beat the woman, and his wings would greatly help him move around. Her laugh grated against his ears, and a hint of a frown came to his face. So, this woman thought that he would be an easy opponent, she was going to be in for a rude awakening then.

Gripping the hilt of his longsword with his right hand, he smoothly drew it from it's scabbard. Laying it down in front of him, he unbuckled his scabbard and placed it next to his bow and quiver of arrows. Once that was done, he picked it up and held it easily in his right hand. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the crowd, the field, and the woman all at once. Finally, he began walking forward, staying in perfect balance along the way. From what he had seen of this woman, he didn't trust her to start the fight without warning. He also doubted that she would have any concerns about things like low blows. Just from what he had seen of her, it seemed highly likely that, given the chance, she would hit him wherever she could. A smile fixed itself upon his face as he walked forward, slowly spinning the blade in his right hand.

The man removed his own bow, and in the same stance and position, Lánilmathién removed her own, gently resting it and the arrows to the side with a hesitant smile. the two scimitars, which resonated with magic and enchantments were drawn from their scabbards, and as she flipped them in the air, allowing them to land gracefully as they spiked into the sand, she unbuckled the scabbards hanging at her hips. The sickles, for now, would remain close to her person, but she had a possibility of using them here. She knew little about the Windbow, though she itnended to train in the future as one, as soon as she stopped being lazy enough to do so, and find a teacher, but for now, she cared little about them as well. She had faced an Arcane Archer, once, and she had been a suitable opponent as well, so Lánilmathién considered taking that line fo Bow Work as well, though she truthfully knew little about it at all. She smiled softly as she began to swiftly spin the blades in her hands, never once taking her eyes off of her opponent.

These enchanted scimitars were the only decendants of her past, of her lineage, fo her present and future, and in all truths, of herself. She was nothign withotu these blades, though by using magic and skill combiend, she could easily take down an opponent. She had used other weapons before, but few actually felt like they fit -These scimitars of the elements fit just right. She had used them for years now, travelign aruond without opposition, and muttering curses to those she killed, but also praying softly for their dieing souls. She was a bit soft for those who were nto but orphans, and extremely soft for those who would bring upon orphanage to children in the wake. She refused to admit it -to anyone, ever- but she was actually a pretty kind person to some. Of course, to most she would never be kind, for she murdered and slaughtered their families without opposition, but for now, she was fine with just killing those who she was paid to kill.

A thin smile appeared on her face as her straight, jet black tendrils of hair -which cascaded down her back so evenly- began to flutter with the breeze created with the moving scimitars. Heat in one hand, Cold in the other. She needed not the bow or the sickles for now. For now she was content with the enchanted scimitars she considered her most prized possessions -after all, could a long sword fight someone with magicked weapons? She doubted it, but this man was much more clever then she expected, that much she anticipated, and he would never let his guard down.

He might end up a worthy opponent.

Ahren watched with a small smile on his face as his opponent also took off a bow and any other objects that would be cumbersome in a fight. In truth, they probably wouldn't have been able to do this in a real fight, but this was both for entertainment and training, so they took off anything that might get in their way. He flapped his wings a few time, stretching them out in preparation of any fast movement he would have to make. Reaching over with his right hand, he tightened the strap that held his elven shield onto his arm. It would a distraction if it loosened and his shield started flopping around, not to mention that he wouldn't be able to use it to block any attacks. Watching as his opponent stood with both scimitars held easily in her hands, he guessed that she knew what she was about. This was not going to be a short fight that ended simply because the person he was facing was a horrible fighting that only won fights because he was strong. If strength was all that was needed to win fights, then Ahren would not have been as good as he was.

Ready to begin, Ahren came forward carefully, halfway crouched to present less of a target for the woman. His left hand was kept up, covering part of his chest and face, while his right hand stayed out with the blade pointed inward. If the woman thought that his weapon was a simple longsword, then she would be in for a surprise. It allowed him access to two suprisingly useful spells that unless you knew how to use them would not provide you with a great advantage in a fight. Still, he wasn't going to use magic if he didn't need to. In this place, one fought with steel, not magic. He would only use if magic if he needed to save his life or the life of another.

Finally, Ahren summoned up a small breeze, not enough to affect the fight, but it would help cool down the arena as the sun rose higher in the sky. He doubted that either of them would want to be fighting while they were dripping with sweat and covered in dust from the arena floor. With that done, Ahren turned all of his attention to his opponent. He wasn't about to let her win just because he hadn't been paying attention to what was going on at that instant. The smile left Ahren's face as he walked forward, now it was time to be completely serious. This fight was going to be a test of his skills, and he didn't want to be dissappointed with where he was at.

The man seemed to take his time removing the things that may be cumbersome, and within that time, Lánilmathién stretched softly. Dropping the blades in a fluid like, casual motion, they seemed to tumble into the sheath carefully, magic enveloping them as the enchantments shimmered for a moment before deactivating in an attempt to save energy. Lánilmathién held no spells in her blades, though, a single smile flickered across her face as she thought of the fact. She had enchantments on them, though -strong enchantments that smoldered the flesh when wounding, or froze the bloodstram when gaining acess. These enchantments were gifted to these blades since she had first recieved them as part of her heritage. They were the protection of her people -representing both Sun Elf and Moon Elf in their magnificent prowess sort of power. The enchantments that rested on these blades had been in place for thousands of years, since their creation. She was not one to much care about the heritage of a person, or in fact, their past in general, but their present when she slaughtered them, though she never did so without reason, such as gold or moral standard. Of course, as an assassin, she generally did her acts for some deeper purpose that does not shed openly on her flesh -something she would never admit.

The smile wavered for several seconds, and then evaporated upon her pale lips as she stood erect again, cracking her knuckles within the palm of her opposite hand. Swiftly, the female moaned a curse as she rolled her neck in a circular motion, her blue eyes, flecked with gold, seemed to follow the figure of the man. The wind flooded over the petite form of the female, and she shook off her stretches with a simple smirk. Cocky, confident, and reassuring. She knew what she did, for this was her art. She had battled since she had been old enough to learn how to do so, and at this moment, she cared little about whether or not this male was ready for battle, though in the sake of battle, she would calmly watch and observe his movements. Another smile played across her lips as she thought about the battle ahead. She knew, as soon as he had stepped from the shadows and into the light of the arena, that this would be a major enjoyment. A pastime of sorts, if that was what you wished to call it. Of course, she would not call it an enjoyment, but more of a hobby. Enjoyment meant that this being liked what they were doing, though she was not one to particularly enjoy her job as she should -she would rather be working on her mage-craft.

Calmly, she wrapped her palm, slender fingers around the leather of Keeshe, removing it in a single, gentle tug as she twisted it in her blade in a calm motion. Swiftly, the female pressed her hand down on the blade's crosshilt, a cold sensation flooding her body as she did so. She closed her eyes in a gasp of emotion, smiling at the tempation this blade brought to her. The twin, composed of a gold like substance and enchanted by the sun Elves, was drawn in a similar fashion, and warmth filled her bloodstream as the cold had. Swiftly, she stood in a battle position, her eyes cold and cruel as they focused on this man. Determined. Confident. Concentrated.