The Arena

[Philomel]

With the groan of cold ages, the chains rattled uneasily. Clunking through their massive mechanisms they strained as their load was slowly lowered. Thud, shudder, thud, they went as they moved at straight and direct angles, the places where they were fixated into the wood doing all they could to not break. To never break.

Bang.

The end of the drawbridge impacted with earth, and the chains could finally breathe. Relaxing, they took this rare moment to become slack and welcome the rest that was granted. Instead it was the massive wooden base that was undergoing stress as two hooves and four paws trudged across it, the sounds of 'clop' and 'patter' their melody.

Slowly Philomel van der Aart lifted her head out of the glaring sun and stared across at her rival. She sighed raised her eyebrows as she was faced with that steady but formidable foe, whom she knew well out of rumours and interactions - John, the half-giant.

Darting her eyes left and right she saw what she had sensed in her surroundings earlier - a bottomless void, cascading to endlessness. This drawbridge would lead to the small and unbordered island that was set as a monument to the floating beauties of far off fantasy worlds. Looking back to the giant of a man, the faun felt like smirking a little, in form of a greeting but the daunting prospect of being trapped between him and an emptiness was the hellhole of her stomach.

Gently, she stepped off the drawbridge and ignored the screaming chains as they retook up their burden. Also she deliberately disregared the thousands of people in the stands around them. They were not why she and Veridian were here. They were not her enemy today. No, instead they were just a distraction - an annoying one at that, whom she hated in a battle such as this. Apparently people became exceptionally bored in Radasanth and simply had to satiate their bloodlust with a view of champions battling one another.

Rolling back her shoulders Philomel greeted the half-giant with an upraised hand containing a white mythril blade. One that partly matched the near identical one in the other hand. As she did she merged her mind with Veridian's, the two of them becoming a close identity. They did not need to speak: both of them knew why the other was here. So as per normal, Philomel spoke, giving the greeting of both of them (at least, the two of them for now).

"Greetings, John, yes? We have met before."

She moved her hooves into a balanced fighting stance.

"I am Philomel, this is Veridian. I presume you are here to begin the Iron League also?"