[i]From a bird’s eye view above, a small clearing opens. Dense, white forests ringed by mountains surround the frosted plain. Two figures step into the open, sizing each other up. One is weaponless, her arms crossed. Black, coarse robes fit for a desert adorn her, but she is not cold. The snow melts and steams before it can land on her. The other draws his blade, taking a very familiar stance. Patience and practice are evident in his composure, unmoving and still, but poised and ready to spring like a coil. The snow gently lands on his blade, piling on his arms. The woman shifts her weight slightly, irritated he has not attacked yet. He notices, blade shifting ever so slightly in response. She can tell he has found something, but it only makes her angrier. With a scoff, she summons a Zweihänder covered in flames, and charges her motionless opponent. Her speed is fast, weapon ready to deliver a killing blow. But he is faster. A bolt of blue, and he has closed the distance. The warrior swings his katana from a low position in order to get under her guard. She reacts too late, and leaps over the blade, but exposes herself. With a simple pivot, a bolt of blue slices through her torso. She fell like a spark from a dying fire. [/i]