[b]Viewing Cage[/b]

Staring across the arena, Cold Hands felt only a sense of continued peace as the gates opened. She had tried to explain to the guards that she had no intention of running. Certainly, she had no desire to fight them. They were weak and unworthy. Killing them would not have brought her closer to her goal. Besides, she could see the challenge laid out in front of her, the winding path, the red wound carved into the blood red sands of the arena by the Unfortunate Son. She accepted it. And she welcomed it.

The metal adorned man in the room with her seemed shaped for battle. There was little kindness in the work that had reforged his flesh. The guards had said little beyond threads of violence. They had said nothing of the other fated combatants. They had said nothing of her opponent.

Standing next to the other prisoner, Cold Hands kept her eyes on the arena. She wished to miss not a moment, and spoke words untouched by the growing energy of the roaring crowd, "Tell me stranger, who fights the first bout?"