Elijin Holtzmann (Holtzmann) VS Lamina Marina (Sara Whitley)

[Holtzmann]

Elijin Holtzmann, Ranger

Dressed in a heavy garb of leather clothing with a cotton tunic of brown underneath the coat made of a thick hide. He wears leather arm guards on either side accompanied by his simple trousers and boots. On top of the tunic and coat he wears a light brown hooded cape with the hood up and a cloth mask that encircles the lower part of his face. In the brown ranger style loop belt sits both a tomahawk in the front made of a 6150 steel , and a dagger sharpened and serrated on one side with the other bearing notches that act as a sword breaker. Inside the plainsmen possible bag two vials of poison from the golden poison frog. With a few other tricks up his sleeves. One hand accompanies a leather wrap akin to that of Lara Croft. The other hand feature a black tanned deer hide glove with a cuff that is tucked into one of the leather arm guards. On his back he carries a sword called The Nomad.

The Nomad:
A weapon well-suited to a transient lifestyle, the Nomad is a hand and a half battle ready sword with superb balance – the POB at 1.3″ makes it feel alive in the hands, appropriate for a warrior who prefers striking fast from the shadows and then fading into them once more. The guard has a stylized leaf emblem at the base of the blade, perhaps a sign of elvish work or inspiration. https://darksword-armory.com/product/th ... word-1321/

Arena:
A coliseum of antiquated origin, but the spectators are the remains of the former society and the air reeks of decay with a grey sky.

[Sara Whitley]

Little more than a brunette girl of fourteen awaited the ranger, youthful features almost slack with faux repose, soft lips bent with a halcyon smile held firm and unwavering as yet another ill-fated soul came before her. They sought the same test of instinct, wit, and meddle she'd administered to hundreds before him--and few locations could serve this purpose better than her arena.
Hers... and not much of a possession, really; bench seats rotted to little more than moldering scraps of sponge wood, dilapidated stone walls crumbling in numerous places, red dirt floor trampled hard by the warriors of an age long past... Lamina herself sat proudly on an old throne of broken granite, her emerald gaze sizing him up as an opponent as soon as he set foot in her ring.

A thin black battledress of ichcahuipilli armor of quilted cotton adorned her petite form to the knees, from which black leggings provided a modest cover down to her brown boots guarded externally at the toes by shiny steel plates. Wrapped around her left elbow was a long red ribbon, matching the feather protruding from the knot of a sidelong ponytail listing leftward off her head. Metal bangles were worn around her wrists, three upon each and all different colors. Her arms were otherwise bare, a single permanent mistake manifesting in a cut-shaped scar on her dainty left shoulder.
From atop her high and mighty throne, her gaze might be level with the grown man's, though for all intends and purposes she was gazing down at him, tilting her head slightly aside in a mock curiosity before her act culminated with a rhetorical greeting. Truly, all she really owned was her hard-earned, even virtuosic skill at arms, and the equipment she wore to this meeting...but a girl can pretend, right?
"Ah," she said in as stately a manner as she could impersonate, as if a lordly noble beckoning one into their mansion. "Welcome. And what brings you here before me, this fine afternoon?"

[Holtzmann]

"I believe we both know why I have come here. This is an arena of death, we lay our abilities out to be tested and the reaper will choose which one of us he finds unworthy." Elijin drew in the sand with the tip of his sword.

He had checked his scabbard along with his other various range weapons before entering the fighting grounds. He knelt at the drawing scooping some sand up a plentiful slipped unnoticed into a small chamber of his sleeve which shut and sealed as he stood. His piercing eyes studied the women as he awaited her response even possibly her first move.

His sword lay limply in a one handed Fool's guard the other hand resting on the head of the axe that was slipped thought his leather belt.

[Sara Whitley]

Lamina hopped from her spot into the sands, also kneeling but not for sand; rather, she took grasp of a tarnished but serviceable rapier in her right hand, and then stopping a few more steps forward, a small hooksword for her left. Both weapons had been snatched whimsically from the sands at her feet, her bangles tinkling together as she took casual steps towards him, an air of stoicism accompanying her trek to meet him in the middle of the ring.
"I saw that. You'd better not throw that sand at me," she asserted from the resting distance of ten feet, her left foot sliding forwards in the sand to lead her stance, in which either sword, expertly carbonized but aged steel, rose horizontally before her--the rapier before her chest and the hooksword before her naval.
"Are you ready then?"