The calm before the Storm of Blades

Alari cast an appraising eye over herself in the mirror. This was her moment, the pinnacle of her burgeoning career as a gladiatrix in the arenas of Commorragh in the final of the Storm of Blades tournament. She was to face an unnamed xenos opponent and it would not be acceptable for her to appear anything but perfect when treading the bloodied sands of the arena floor.

Alari’s body was perfect, the slender limbs belying the swiftness within, her smooth torso broken only be the gentle curve of her breasts. Tearing herself away from the image in the mirror, she padded over to the arming rack in the corner of the room and slipped on the chest plate, sighing sensuously as the hooks within pierced her skin to hold it in place. Her armour was like a second skin, but it never failed to excite her as she dressed herself for combat, the cut away sections revealing just enough of her flesh beneath to hint at her perfect form.
Covering her left leg was a thigh length boot with stitched armour panels, while her right leg was clad only in synthetic skin, gleaming golden buckles pulling it tight around the open sections through which the audience would glimpse the serpent tattoo winding around her calf and thigh.

Finally, she slipped on a pair of elbow-length fingerless gloves, seemingly crafted from some form of leather. Again, as she pulled them on, she could feel the tiny hooks contained within piercing her skin, sending a shudder of pleasure through her body as they began to extract some of her life essence. Slowly, the glands within the glove swelled, hardening as they came into contact with the air and glistening wetly as they became blades as sharp as any crafted by a weaponsmith.

She was ready, and walking out onto the balcony she heard the cacophony of the crowd as they saw their champion emerge. Opposite her on the arena floor stalked a Carnifex, bellowing its defiance all who listened.
She vaulted lightly to the arena floor, and the Storm of Blades began.