"What an honor it is! It is rare that I meet your kind here anymore."

Josette Hawkes regarded the monk with an expression bereft of emotion. The tendrils of awe and wonder that licked at her upon entering the famed structure died away, as did any bubbling nerves. The disgusted voice that berated her for showing up at all quieted. Even the confusion that the comment sparked was shoved deep within her; she had always been skilled at hiding such things. Her kind? Did the stranger mean female? Young? Human?

"What do you mean, my kind?" Delivered in her low, rich voice, the demand rumbled like thunder. It was not a mere question, but a challenge, hinging entirely upon what the man would say next.

The monk, it seemed, recognized the sharp chill in the woman's tone, and in her icy blue eyes. He loosed a simple shrug, the motion nearly lost beneath the heavy robes that draped his thin frame. He answered easily, "a newcomer. I do not recognize your face."

Below her iron breastplate, something in Josette's chest loosened just a fraction. There would be no judgment, then, were she to believe the man's words. Had she had time for such trivial emotions, the knight might have been embarrassed by her demand, and the conclusions she drew.

With a slight incline of her head, Josette confirmed, "Yes, this is my first appearance at the Citadel."

She offered nothing else in the way of explanation or motivation. Not one to mince words, the monk mused, hiding his amusement just as thoroughly as the mask of apathy the knight wore. It was his experience that first-time competitors made quite a bit of noise, either blabbering nervous nonsense, or spouting their intentions to be the most powerful in all of Althanas. The latter, of course, was nonsense as well. The fact that this woman remained stoic interested him, but he could only guess at the significance of it all.

"What is your name, then?" he asked of her.

"Josette Hawkes."

The corners of the monk's lips turned downward. "Hawkes? Do you have a father who-"

She cut him off with a sharp, "No," a slamming door that blocked any route for further discussion.

Again, the bald man shrugged. "Fair enough," he said plainly, though he filed his observation away for later contemplation. Now tasked with finding her a partner, he gave her a more thorough look-over. Iron armor indicated lack of outward wealth, and perhaps experience, as a more seasoned fighter would have upgraded. Still, the armor was well-worn, despite obvious attempts to care for it. And the stunning golden blade that hung at her hip further complicated his assessment. The monk sucked on a tooth as he considered her for another moment. Then, "I have a challenger for you. He's given you the chance to craft the arena. What is your preference?"

"I have no preference," she told him, "so choose what is typical here."

Her answer was a shake of his head. "There is no 'typical,' here," he explained. "Every single battle can be different. Many choose open fields, forests, caves, halls, castles..."

His voice trailed as he saw the first flare of emotion light her face. A devilish smile curled her thin lips, a startling change to her previously stony demeanor. "I really do not care for castles."

It was a castle that she entered a short time later, but that smile only grew as she surveyed her surroundings. The woman found herself in a dining hall, the sweet smell of spiced ham still wafting on the breeze. The breeze, she noted, which spilled in through the large portion of the wall that was no longer standing. The grays of dusk poured in through the opening, a waning moon hanging among the emerging stars. Shattered stone littered the floor, crumbling in great heaps just inside the hole surely made by some sort of projectile. A projectile, she further deduced as she watched the fires lick the tapestries, which had been set aflame before launch.

The wooden chairs were shoved back from the table, which had been overturned amidst the chaos. Glass goblets lay in shards that glimmered beneath the wild flames, still red with the forgotten wine. As Josette moved toward the hall's entrance, the toe of her boot sent a discarded apple skittering across the stone floor. A castle under attack, she thought with satisfaction as she watched the fruit careen into the opposite wall. How fitting.