[center][color=a187be][h1]Yayama Yama[/h1][/color]
Location: Esaka
LV: 5, EXP: 0/50
Word Count: 427[/center]

Yayama was enjoying the sunny weather in Esaka. The drier heat was nice after Meridi-at-Han's humidity; it reminded her a bit of home. A home she didn't stop to reminisce about for the moment, as she had more important concerns than tourism in the town at the moment. It was bustling with would-be fighters here for the tournament series, ostensibly why Yayama was here herself. She'd originally come just for a chance to stretch out a bit, so to speak, testing her abilities against what would hopefully be foes that put up a real fight. A shade of a comparison to someone she knew rose in the back of her mind, only to be quashed immediately with little more than a frown to show for its fleeting presence. 

The Warrior of Light was, in fact, here for the tournament, but the reasoning went deeper than that. It hadn't taken her long after arriving to hear that the Mortal Kombat dojo lived up to its name, with a reputation for losers being killed in brutal fashion. She suspected she was unlikely to uproot such an institution just by going up to it and shouting at them to quit, and her reputation as the Warrior of Light probably wouldn't hold sway. . . but she'd never been one to sit on the benefits of status, whether she had it or not. Which was why she was signed up to fight underneath that dojo's name. If she could fight under such expectations, then actively defy them, winning all the while, then she could probably get people to emulate her, and thus be slightly less likely to rip out the spines of those unfortunate enough to have participated in some recreational combat with them.

How the hells had that started in the first place, anyway?

The Lalafell shook her head, banishing that question for later. Not that she had much to do at the moment, but important things tended to rear their ugly heads sooner or later. Hefting her greatsword over one shoulder, she picked a direction at random and started walking. Surely, there would be something that needed fetching, some bandit or bauble in need of tracking down, or at the very least someone [i]interesting[/i] to pass the time with, until such time as the tournaments were actually starting. She probably looked like a tourist, a notion that didn't particularly bother her, as it would usually lead to either kind people pointing her at something useful, or less kind people making it immediately obvious they were in need of a trouncing.