[center][b]Vesta V. Oubera[/b]
[i]Round One[/i][/center]

It was strange how long the day seemed to drag on. Vesta had spent the better part of the morning examining her gear, double and triple checking her sword for any dull edges. When was the last time she had used it as anything but a cane for her crippled knee or to emphasize a threat? Weeks? Months? Years? History all blurred together. She flashed the sword out of its sheath, effortlessly slaying invisible foes within the blink of an eye. At least her hands had not lost their speed; hopefully it would make up for the stiffness in her leg. The rest of the morning was balanced between practicing motions and rubbing the knot out of her knee. By the time Cyril had come around she had worked up a slight sweat, but her hands had yet to begun to shake. [i]Good,[/i] she thought. [i]I'm no longer what I was; I need to be at my best if I'm going to be anything but dead weight.[/i]

Vesta felt an excitement that she hadn't felt in years swell up inside of her as she entered the arena with Cyril and his six other sacrifices. A smile twisted across her face as she looked around the ring, her eyes falling on the dried stains as she reminisced about past matches (as if the stains could have been from that long ago). That was the spot where she had liberated the people's champions head from his shoulders within the first second of the fight; over there was the spot she had hurled before taking out a trio of neophytes while violently hungover. She looked over the crowd. Vesta was never one to play to the audience, however, and always went for the quickest finish over the most theatrical. The woman spotted their traveling companions; a certain ambassador was noticeably missing. She had no time to pay any mind to it, however, as their opponents entered the field. 

"Well, I'll be damned."

She looked at the man across from her. Vesta did not recognize his face—she had been blind drunk when she had first seen the man—but she knew his weapon. She grabbed her sword with both hands to keep herself from doubling over in pain as her knee flared up, cursing in pain underneath her breath. His hammer had been the one that had shattered her knee, her career, and her future. If not for that damn hammer the last few years of her life would have been vastly better. Vesta could taste copper as her teeth bit into her lip. Her heart was racing; she was seeing red. Every single muscle in her body was ready to lunge on the man and rip his throat out. The only thing holding her back was knowing how severe the Guratans punished gladiators who broke the rules—and the knowing how terribly anger made someone fight. She took several deep breaths, straightened her posture out, and nodded to the man. Her eyes cut sharply through him. There was something different about her this time from their first fight that he had crippled her in, and it wasn't the years or the new wounds.

This time she was stone cold sober.

"You don't know how good it feels to finally see you," said Vesta.

Silence fell over the Arena. Vesta did not looks up to the Chiefs, although she did draw her weapon as she silently continued to bore a hole into her opponent with her eyes. The weapon was worn but the blade was well-crafted and carefully maintained. As the fight begun and Cyril announced his charge, the woman lifted the scabbard she had been leaning on off of the ground and began walking towards the man slowly. There was no signs of her limp, and the she kept the sheer pain running through her knee to herself as she leisurely closed the distance between herself and her foe with her sword leveled in front of her. She stopped just out of striking range of the large man and sheathed her weapon, resting once again on the scabbard. A look of boredom settled on her face, her eyes losing their edge.

"If you ask, I will give you the mercy of a quick defeat," she said. "I won't even make you beg." 

The man was patient as she approached, not feeling to threatened by her glare. He just slowly brought the warhammer around, holding it with both hands in front of him in a ready stance as he waited for her to get close, even as all around them people moved much more quickly. It was when her expression became bored that his eyebrow raised slightly, faint and almost amused surprise coming over his gruff features.

"Still harboring a grudge, huh? Should have blamed the alcohol, not me."

He made no effort to conceal his movements, bringing the warhammer to the side as he prepared his swing. He stepped forwards with his left foot as he swung from the right, aiming for her midsection but not expecting a hit at all, even with her crippled condition. The way she had stopped just outside of his range told him that she had at least some experience, and wasn't drunk as well.

"You remember my name, or am I going to have to introduce myself again?"

"I heard they named you after a match you won by dumb luck," she said, stepping back to avoid the blow from the warhammer. She didn't hesitate a second, stepping low with her left foot and slicing her sheathed weapon at his outstretched hands as if to rap the man on his knuckles like he was a misbehaving child and she a strict schoolmarm. She intended to land a blow that was hard enough to let the man know that he would have lost some fingers if she had drawn her weapon, both in an effort to equally taunt and warn him that he was not dealing with the same fighter from so long ago. 

The man's hand snapped out however, twisting around to actually grab the sheathed blade and bring it to a stop. Though the blow landed in his palm heavily, he didn't flinch, nerves dulled to such pain. His other arm kept a hold of the warhammer as it finished its swing at his side, and for a brief moment both were still as he elected to continue speaking instead. "Wasn't dumb luck, I simply took advantage of some mistakes that both the employer and employee made. Keep up at this rate and history is just going to repeat itself." With that, the man named Oubera gave a harsh push against the sheathed blade in order to force the both of them back, him taking a step back as he reset his stance with the warhammer and once again held the weapon with both hands.

He was faster than she had anticipated; she should have known he was going to be a good fighter if he was still hanging around in the Arena after so many years. Her knee howled in pain as she was forced back by Oubera's raw power, but Vesta's face was still a blank canvas. She stayed low and put her weight on her good leg as she shifted her scabbard back into her right hand, her left hand flitting across the hilt of her blade.

"Yes, I am sure they will sing great songs about you when you fade from the limelight for your abilities to best blind drunks and crippled women," she said calmly. "Since you haven't asked, I suppose you want to take the slow and painful route then? Okay." She slowly drew her blade and held it defensively out in front of her, her grip on her scabbard tightening ever so slightly to keep her balance and to prevent any further strain to her knee. "The offer still stands. You can ask for mercy whenever you want." 

"Are you still talking?" Even as he asked he was moving forwards, bringing the hammer up and then down in a massive blow. If it hit her, it would crush her into the ground, and if it hit the ground it would leave a shattered crater behind, undoubtedly flinging sharp bits of stone in all directions. Whether or not it hit her didn't really matter to her opponent, it being just another display of raw power that would eventually be set to overwhelm her.

"Hate it when people hold grudges. It's petty."

She was already moving as the man began to raise his hammer, pushing herself to the man's right with her scabbard to avoid the blow. Rocks smacked against her back as she bounded past Oubera, swinging her blade in a shallow cut towards the man's side. It would be just enough to draw first blood if it hit, but it wouldn't do much more than that. As she twisted past the man she felt a sharp shooting pain in her knee and cursed quietly, trying to maintain her footing as she spun around to face Oubera. 

Oubera didn't waste any time dodging the slash from Vesta, and the relatively light strike landed true. However, once again (and perhaps more surprisingly this time around) the large man didn't flinch or even blink at the new wound added to his body. Instead, he just used the time she had made her attack against her to prepare his own, bringing up his warhammer with a slight grunt to send another heavy swing towards her side, entire body turning with the blow.

She didn't have the time to dodge away from his attack without risking stepping directly into the arc of the hammer's head, so she began to move forward. Vesta pulled her scabbard up and blocked the shaft of the hammer just in time. However, she wasn't strong enough to completely stop the man's blow, and the scabbard was smacked free from her grip as the shaft hit her in the side. Pain shot through her ribs. Still, it had done enough to slow the blow down from knocking her off of her feet, although she was pushed with the turn of the hammer. However, now that she was close she could attack freely. Twisting her sword in her left hand, she shoved the blade upwards at the man's armpit. 

Once more, the man reacted by letting go of the warhammer with one hand as the swing came to the stop. His right hand snapped forwards, grabbing her blade at the base and clenching, the edges of her blade grinding into his bone as with his massive strength he brought her swing to a stop.

He wasn't done with just that, however, as he stepped forwards towards her. There was a strange look in his eyes, like a fog, as he closed the distance with her before he suddenly drew his own head back and then brought it down and forwards. His head came crashing into hers as he grit his teeth, both of them being rattled to the bone as the hit came with enough force to bring her down to her knees. There was no follow up as he instead stepped back and away a little, bringing up his deeply cut hand to his head briefly before he once again gripped the warhammer with both hands. The fog was gone from his eyes.

"Sorry about that. Been in battle so much that my body just reacts."

Vesta felt the strength in her wounded knee go out as his head smashed down upon hers, forcing her to drop to the ground. She could feel blood flow freely from her nose. She couldn't will herself up as the man backed away, her blade lashing out at the space he had once stood. [i]Damn this knee,[/i] she cursed, grabbing her scabbard and driving it into the ground as she slowly tried to draw herself up to her feet as her knee howled in protest. So much for deftly dodging his heavy blows. Her eyes watered with pain as she drew herself to her full height, pointing her sword out towards the man like a fencer. Vesta stared at the man as blood dripped down from her chin and splashed against the stone floor. She bared her teeth like an animal that felt threatened as she locked eyes with her old adversary; however, her look quickly softened into an almost pleasant smile if not for the blood. She sheathed her weapon, rolled the stiffness out of her neck, and pushed her hair out of her face. 

"Are you still talking?" she said, her left hand teasing the hilt of her weapon.

"Still conscious," he replied.