Termáre Dagor, the Battelstand, a place where some of the greatest fights in the world took place. A place where blood was freely shed, and people paid fees that were more money than a merchant family made in a year. Some men fought here in order to establish their skill. Some fought for the thrill of combat, the near death experiences filled them with a joy that they could never express. There were even some who fought for freedom. Prisoners given a chance to win their freedom. Those fights always drew large crowds, as the prisoners were always fighting against overwhelming odds. The Battlestand had been closed for the longest time because there had been protests over some of the fights. A few things had gotten out of hand and some of the spectators had been injured. Memories fade, and it was open once again. Although today, it was quiet and deserted. There were no fights today, so no one bothered to visit.

Deep in the shadows created by the wall that surrounded the fighting arena, Death stood, deep in thought. It had been some time since he had entered Lomedor, and that had been another time when he had come to the Battlestand. On that day, Famine and Death had taken part in a contest with two other beings. The two riders had battled an archangel and the Guardian of Earth. It had been an event that Death had loved. Moving out of the shadows, Death pulled his thoughts back to where he was. For Death, fighting and killing were a part of who he was. The thought of not taking another life filled him with something akin to physical pain. The desire was etched into his very being, it was a part of him just as his scythe was. That was why Death was in Lomedor. He was hoping that someone would arrive at the Battlestand so that he could have some sport.

Walking forward, Death moved until he was standing in the middle of the arena. With meticulous care, Death began checking his weapons. His Dark Blade hung off of his left waist. The blade was extremely powerful and was one of the first weapons he used in a confrontation. Checking to make sure that it would slide easily from the sheath if he needed it, Death glanced at the ring that gleamed brightly on his left hand. The ring would allow him to leap large distances easily. Shrugging his shoulders, Death felt the jagged knife that hung at the back of his neck. That was his hidden weapon that he could use to surprise an opponent. Death had two more knives, a long, curved one that hung opposite the Dark Blade on his right hip, and an even larger knife that was held just below his left arm. Finally, Death felt at the connection between him and his scythe. The powerful weapon was ready to be summoned instantly should he need it. If Death needed to use his scythe in battle, then the person he was fighting would be among the most powerful beings on Arda. Satisfied with all of his weapons, Death stood there, prepared to wait as long as necessary for someone to arrive.