The arena was where life and death was decided. Skill, luck and sheer determination was the razors edge one walked when trying to survive this harsh crucible. Selandra had spent centuries in the blood filled womb of the pit, reborn anew as an agent of battle. Now would be the moment that she danced the deadly dance with another victim of this carnage.

Standing in the forty foot wide arena, the clouds were dark and her mood even darker. Rain would be upon them at any moment, which always made these battles more bothersome. The cheers of the crowd rang clear, their desire for blood as thick as the clouds above. Only one thing would satisfy these cretins, for one warrior to fall dead upon the ground.

Twenty feet away from her, her opponent stood. Both of them were veterans of combat, but Selandra was determined to walk out of this place alive and breathing. With her trident in her left hand and her net in her right, she felt ready for battle. The horn sounded, and she knew the fight had begun, but she would not charge in, not yet.

@Doc Doctor

@Tristwich

"Ha-hey! You're kinda hot! In a freaky way, that is. After this clobberknocker, let's you and me go hammer out our differences on some fat, fucking anvil of donkey-snogging love. The feeling must be mutual! After all, with a net that big you must think me quite a CATCH! HAW HAW HAW! What!? You look like a baboon with dysentary shat down your back! Lighten the holy fuck up!"

Kull stood neutral, gripping his axe in both hands, right over left, holding the head near his right shoulder and the shaft diagonal across his body. He seemed to be poised for a right to left swing. He was both shorter and lighter than the elf, but damned if he didn't look stacked. The noisy bastard could've passed for a chimney on legs. His sharp face was beat red with mirth at his own crappy jokes.

There were those that spoke as a means of boasting, but Selandra stayed silent. To speak was to give up your defenses, even for a moment. In that moment, your life could slip from your fingers at the flick of a wrist, and then a blade is in your gut. Besides, this little man would only break himself against her own lusts and desires.

The rain would start now, small droplets that fell upon them in patters and drips. Small sounds of metal being struck by the water filled her ears, but she had learned decades ago how to tune it out. All senses were on this human, and how best she may strike him down.

Advancing forward with sure steps, the elf would not allow herself to lose her footing in the wet sand. She had a greater reach against him, and her agility was surely greater than that of the grizzled fighter. When the blows started, she was confident she would emerge victorious. All she needed was to whittle him down, blow by blow, and he would take his last breath.

Her movements were a quick walk, which meant she would not cover the distance just yet, but she would meet him soon.

@Tristwich

Kull stepped back onto his left foot as Selandra moved forwards, knees bending. His reach was indeed far shorter. He had little choice but to try and play on the fringes of her reach as best he could with a mere ten feet of leeway, hoping she'd slip up.

*A grim show of teeth, wicked eyebrows arching sardonically, as if in audience of a black comedy*

Except he didn't screw around or retreat. He didn't take another step backwards. The axe swayed perilously and Kull abruptly moved towards Selandra almost as quickly as she was moving towards him, legs scissoring as he closed the distance on her. He was estimating the reach she currently had with her net and trident as she did so, and would take note of how far her hand was from the head of her weapon as well as what kind of grip she had on the net. The captain was strong, but he moved also with a fluid conservation. He wasn't a chunky bodybuilder or a useless weightlifter. He was a lifetime warrior, quick and decisive as well as powerful. Selandra wanted to whittle him down, but judging by the prowling purpose of his approach, by the latent burning electricity crackling and sizzling just below the surface, there'd not be time for playing it safe. It seemed like he barely even acknowledged her net as a threat, and that looming axe might as well have had her name emblazoned on the flat of the blade. Yet... He had so many openings, didn't he?

"WOMAN! HAVE YOU EVER WORN HIGH HEELS!? HOW TALL WOULD YOU BE THEN, YOU DAMNED VIXEN, YOU!? THINK OF THE POSSIBILITIES! FUCK!"

The dance of battle was soon to be underway, Selandra could feel the tension in her bones. Every move that she made felt like a predator advancing towards its prey, but this prey knew how to fight back. Staying out of her range was the intelligent thing to do, but he would have to come close at some point to fight her. When he did, he would feel her metal tear into his flesh like teeth against hide.

For a moment the elf considered charging forward, becoming the aggressor and making the first move. Such a foolhardy action however would prove her undoing, for this was no pup she was up against. Selandra may have had a wealth more experience than he in fighting in the pit, he had not loved this long himself without understanding the complexities of combat. This she understood, as well as the importance of maintaining control in the rhythm of this dance.

As he charged forward, the elf could see the bait from a mile away. How simple did he believe her to be, to waste her net in such an obvious trap? Once she had thrown it, she knew, it would likely be batted away or otherwise made useless, and she would only have her trident. No, she needed her alternate weapon too much to use against such a ridiculous feint, and would not take the bait. Keeping herself facing the opponent, she would allow him to make the first move. With her left hand holding her trident halfway along the handle, her right holding the bottom of her net, so as to allow the weights to dangle to the ground.

Should he choose to attack her, as his stance indicated a slash to her right, she would dash to that right, knowing that at that range she could still keep some distance from him. Once she was cleared of the ax, a thrust to his left knee, where the armor was weakest, just as he would begin his recovery. Such a wound was bound to make his mobility suffer, and such a handicap was fatal in the arena. If successful or not, she would step backwards, keeping her net ready to throw if he should be so bold as to get closer. Selandra had the range, she had the reflexes, it was only a matter of time before he would fall to her attacks.

With her enemy in her sights, she held no intention of allowing the warrior inside her reach. She had fought many of these foes before, and knew that if he got too close, it would be difficult to remove him. Selandra however knew how to play it carefully when it came to dangerous prey. She would stay just out reach of that ax, her eyes squinting at him through the rain.

"No more jokes?" She said as their feet kept on the move. Without her wider gait, she was doubtful she would have been able to keep herself from staying the distance she wanted. In accordance with keeping herself from getting backed into a wall, she would rotate around Kull, her reflexes sharp for what may come.

"I thought you were going to prove your manhood. Perhaps if you defeat me I'll deign you worthy enough to share my bed." Talking too much was a surefire way to open your guard up to an attack. Her words were quick and fluid, just like her feet. "Or perhaps you crouch because you fear the thought of being bested by a woman. Tell me, is my trident bigger than your sword? Or is it more of a sewing needle?"

Honor meant little in the arena, for it was a matter of life and death. Selandra was no knight, so she cared little for the decorum of warrior etiquette. If her japes and prodding insults were enough to get him to make a mistake, then she would gladly waste wind to speak such dribble.

@Tristwich

Kull tucked his chin in, snarl curling up into a grin as his opponent ceased her approach and began keeping a distance instead. His fighting style was meticulous, despite his appearance as a brutish manslayer. He made no apparent mistakes, his shifting balance was always steady and firm, his sardonic eyes never wavered from her core. A single error was going to be the last where this one was concerned. He'd stride in the direction she attempted to circle to, making sure not to cross his feet, seeking to press her towards the wall and box her in in a matter of seconds, encroaching with the inevitability of a steamroller. It looked like she'd realized it. She was faster on the uptake than most. That hemisphere of death encircling Kull, the point of no return. An invisible, inky shroud that ate up anything that stepped inside of it. Most would have foolishly stepped inside it by now, entered into Kull's effective killing range and immediately paid for it.
Selandra could only be evasive for so long. This was such a small arena...

Kull knew the exact purpose behind her words. He himself relished the art of trash talking mid-fight. Rather than provoke him, it sparked up a jolly cackle.

"HAW! What's the matter!? Too tall for your shitkicking bed? Seems like you've gotten the cold feet, woman! Don't worry that pointy, pale egghead of yours. I only want to make sure your death painless! I can't end you seamlessly if I have to stretch for it, you dysentery-afflicted milk toothed bungwhopper!! I might get a cramp or pull a muscle!"

It seemed like Kull knew something she didn't. The Galervs and the Manica. A special piece of armor that warriors who used nets typically wore on their left arm. Though her elven armor was certainly tough, her left flank was still more or less wide open. The Galervs and Manica served as a shield substitute so that the gladiator wouldn't be left defenseless when they threw their net.



It was comparable to wielding a blade made of glass. Sure it could cut, but it wasn't likely to do much more than get one killed the moment they swung. What's more, there were only so many ways a net could be thrown effectively with one hand. To cast it overhead and envelope a significant enough area to entrap an opponent properly would require both hands. Many gladiators of course were trained to be able to hold both the net and trident in their main hand, but that was because they could use the Galervs and Manica as a defence whilst the trident was unable to be used effectively during the throw. And even then, she had only once shot with the net, and Kull wasn't about to let her draw another weapon.

It wasn't due to any fault on her part. It was the culture. In traditional gladiator fights, the gladiators often lived, actually. Stables were expensive, their training wasn't cheap. Because they lived to fight another day, they learned. Here, death was the norm. Few, if any, had lived long enough to fully evaluate all the strengths and weaknesses of the net. Kull was one of the few who knew. Hence he continued stalking towards Selandra without hesitation, radiating purpose.

He came forward so filled with confidence, so sure of his prowess as a warrior. Selandra would strip that confidence from him with every strike of her weapon. Arrogance was the cancer that lead to the death of a gladiator, and Kull seemed to suffer greatly from the disease.

As the rain started to come down upon them, Selandra decided it was time to go on the offensive. To wait any longer would cause herself to slip, and that one mistake would be the end of her. Charging forward to meet him, the fight would finally begin, with her hopefully gaining an advantage by her sudden advancement.

Coming up hard on him, she knew her next move would be pivotal in this battle. Swinging her right hand forward she would unleash her net, hoping to use it as a sufficient distraction. With her right hand free she thrusts her trident towards Kull's left knee, the intention of crippling him in her mind.

This was the moment of truth, where the hunter struck true and the prey would surely buckle at her might. Selandra was a slayer of men, a gladiator, a warrior that had no equal. Her legend was built on the bones of her opponents, her throne fixed right here in this arena. She was the queen, and Kull a lowly peasant to be brought to his rightful place in the grave. She held the larger gait, able to cover more ground quickly and to move her lithe body like an artist at her brush. His destruction was at hand through her speed and agility.

@Doc Doctor
Gladiators by nature were warriors of adaptation, it was simply their only means of survival. For Selandra to survive as much as long as she had, she would have had to be able to adapt to any situation. Sometimes that required different tactics, like changing from whittling down the opponent, to going in for the kill immediately.

Her net, she knew, would not give her this victory, but it allowed for her to keep him at a distance. Time was something one always needed in order to devise a careful plan, and Selandra found it difficult to think in the heat of battle. When the fighting started, instinct took over and all those well made plans went out the window. This was true for Selandra now as her plan to cripple Kull was foiled, but the amount of time she had to think thongs through had allowed her to have an alternative handy.

For so long Kull had believed that Selandra would attempt to bring him down through careful stabs and scurrying away. This was why she needed her other hand to grip her spear, as the light grip she had on the weapon would have fallen without extra support. Kull would find his leg would not only deflect the trident, but send it off around two feet away from them, where it would not keep her from her true tactic.

Running forward like a charging bull, she would wrap her arms around his waist, loft him upwards, then slam his body onto the wet sand. This move was helped due to the warrior needing to pivot his hip in order to bring his leg around to block her attack. Such an opening would provide the gladiator the surprise element to slam all that meat and bronze into the sand, hard packed from the rain, more than likely causing him to lose the air out of his lungs.

Without missing a beat she would draw her armored hands to punch with all she had onto his unprotected face. Once it connected, the blade hidden in each gauntlet would shoot forward, stabbing into his face without delay. Now the blood would run rampant as she would not cease her strikes until he was slain.

[Match goes to Doc Doctor]