Slowly the iron gates of one of the entrances open, A man waiting on the other side. He then steps out into the light, raising an arm to block the sun from shining in his eyes. Held firmly in his right hand is a katana, it's blade gleaming in the sunlight. The blue eyes of this viking shift around at the crowd and after a few moment he warms up to the cheering. He raises his katana up to the sky as he lets out a battle cry, not paying much attention to his opponent approaching from the other side.
The grace of the female was smooth, her eyes focused on the man who seemed to make a spectacule of himself across the arena from her. Smiling softly, mischief running behind her glacier blue eyes, flecked with gold. She stopped in a single poise, her gently, pale, slender fingers tapping the hilt with a single rap upon the smooth golden surface. The aura of the blade surged with power as the female seemed to analyze her opponent. He seemed like he was strong, but a tough one she assumed not. She made a habit of coming here very often, to train herself and keep fit. Of course, Lani did not enjoy fighting weaklings as this man seemed to be, but then again, she considered everyone a weakling. She was strong -she was powerful. She was the only one who was not a weakling in all of Imythess, and that was something she told herself in an arrogant and cold manner as she coldly stared down her opponent. The blade at her hip flared with annoyance at her rasping, and swiftly she scolded it with only a thought. This was her blade of flame, one of her favorite weapons, and of course, she enjoyed it with such a great pleasure that it was rare to find it without the blade. A chakram was straped upon her back, another inches away from her shoulderblade. Both were easy to draw for the young female Elf, and she did so quite often. Smiling, she stretched her arms out seductively. The free flowing sleeves of her crimson blouse seemed to blow gently with the breeze, the leather of her bodice -worn above the blouse at her waist and stopping below her bosom- cracking as she stretched. The black riding boots left soft creases in the ground where she stood, the sand cluttering and clampering along the boots tips, and the breeze gently blowing her black hair to the side. Swiftly, she brushed her hand against the soft leather riding pants that tucked into her boots, and she breathed deeply, concentrating on her task -killing this man.
A malicious smile played upon her lips and she twitched a smile of some sort, moving forward in a poise of beauty, a poise of wonder and amazement as she did so. Her movements were not swift -as of yet- but they were fluid-like, and in the same time of motion, she drew the blade of flame hanging from her waist, unbuckling the scabard in the same motion and allowing it to drop to the floor. Smiling cruely, she continued her trek through the Taras arena to meet her opponent, caring little about his little cry. She would kill him -whether he screamed a cry of agony or a cry of faith, she cared little.
Either way, she would walk away alive and she would not.