Despite herself, Herian smiles a little. It's not a big or bright smile, and it might seem a little reticent. The observant individual might even think it's tired, though given the way she handles herself, the fatigue is not physical.

Like the others, she is without shoes, wearing simple shorts that end close to the knee. Though she does have her chest strapped, it is more for purposes of avoiding injury than specific concern about modesty, and the garments she wears are limited by the desire to provide as little for adversaries to grip as possible. Beneath the mud, in patches where it is thinner, tattoos can be seen that run down either side of her spine and the backs of her arms, and her lower legs are heavily, horrifically scarred. There are other scars, burns over her shoulder and battle scars over other parts of her body, but many things are covered by mud.

"I appear whole enough for now, though I'll wager my muscles will be less forgiving on the morrow."

An enthusiastic roar from the stands suggests that the next bout is being announced, and she checks to make sure her hair is safely pulled back, before gesturing to the... well, it's not so much an arena as a mud pit, with benches and crowds around it.

"They must be almost ready for us. Shall we?"