Karaulish slowly made his first step into the field of battle. Not exactly. He had not crossed the bridge, but leaving the shadow of the grand coliseum's innards was somewhat of an entrance into a whole different realm. His snowy hair was ruffled by the soft winds as they seemed to greet his careful approach. The waters around him, as still as a picture, remained littered with old leaves, new leaves, and maybe many bones. With heavy steps he walked onto the bridge, and stopped at its center. At this very moment he was as far away as he was as near to the arena, at one foot and a half. His spear was strapped to his back, his swords - to his belt, and he felt ready to face the opponent who would come out of the door opposite of his. He had come in through the northern entrance, so his adversary would enter through the southern one. To his right was situated the mighty oaken tree, which had carved a path through the stone. To his left was situated a field, prime for battle. He made one more step and stood in wait.