(Closed to whichever alt Philomel picks)

Glacies looked at the tall building before him. The towering structure cast a long shadow down the rolling hills and forests surrounding it. The only time the surrounding area would be completely well lit would be around noon, when the sun was at its peak. The ice mage tapped the pommel of his shortsword with a single finger.

“So this is the Citadel,” he muttered under his breath as he took in the sight before him. “Though it'd be...” he let the thought hang as he began climbing the hill to the front door. He walked in and was immediately greeted by what appeared to be a large waiting area, tended by a number of monks scattered across the white marble floor.

A monk wandered from close to the door to check on him and said, in a rather amused voice, “First time here?” When Glacies indicated the affirmative, the monk chuckled and asked, “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

“It's... cleaner than I had expected,” he admitted quietly as the monk led him across the room to a small desk, presumably set aside for newcomers.

“We get that surprisingly often. We're the premier safe combat arena in the world. No one ever dies here due to the special magic we employ here,” the man said as he flipped through a ledger. As he arrived at a blank page, he pulled out a quill and asked, “Name?”

“Glacies Frost,” the young man replied. The monk looked up and raised an eyebrow. The name sounded so obviously fake that it instantly raised many eyebrows. Glacies sighed and waved a hand in front of his face like swatting a rather annoying fly for the millionth time. “I came up with it myself. I was never given a proper name.” The monk shrugged and entered it into the ledger.

“Sorry about that. We do get your type here a lot, it's just a rather strange name for a person to pick for himself, you know? Alright, I've got you registered. You'll be able to review your win loss record by asking to see the ledger.”

“Ah, I see. Some people care about that?”

“Indeed, some more than others. Whatever keeps them motivated, I suppose,” the monk said as he waved Glacies down a hall behind him. “Just find an open room and we'll get you set up.”

“To be honest, I'm only here to learn how to handle my weapons better. I know how to use them alright, but I really need to get better so I can lead my projects myself instead of-”

“Yes, yes, that's all very nice. We don't offer training. Just practice against whoever you end up against. Get creative, I guess. Sorry, kid, but I have dozens of other fighters to take care of today on top of you. I'll be around if you need anything specific, but I don't know anyone looking to train a newcomer right now.” With that, the monk was gone, almost as if he'd never been there.

“What a jerk,” Glacies thought as he turned and wandered down the hallway. The monk had a point, though. They couldn't keep on top of trainers on top of the monks. This place was probably expensive enough to run without keeping combat trainers on hand at all times. Sad, but true. He'd just have to hope the person he went up against wasn't so skilled that they beat him within the first few seconds of the fight.

He pushed the door open and walked through. After a moment of disorientation, he saw that he was standing on a clear patch of dirt in the middle of...

He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

“I'm not dreaming, am I?” he asked the air around him. Of course he wasn't dreaming. He was standing at the intersection of four very distinct natural environs. To his right was a bleak, dark swamp full of blackened muck and detritus from rotting trees. Directly ahead of him was a desert. Giant dunes of sand and clouds of dust stretched out for miles in font of him. To his left was a great stretch of emerald grass on the edge of a large lake, on the other side of which stood a number of trees. Behind him...

He turned to see the door he had entered through had disappeared. He frowned as he looked out at the expanse of ice behind him. It looked like a Berevarian tundra he'd seen in a painting back in Scara Brae.

“So we have our choice of arena... A skilled mage would pick the elemental arena they were best at, but...” he turned back to face the desert. “Perhaps staying here between these four would be a better idea... I don't want my opponent figuring me out immediately.”

He sucked on his teeth and drew his shortsword. Whoever came through, he wanted to be ready.