The objects in the arena have been charmed to almost defy gravity, floating around, boulders, rocks, etc.
At the base level of this arena is just normal ground with vegetation/shrubs/grass and trees, as well as varying size terrain, ranging from a few feet tall, to much taller
Floating high above in the air is small islands, some with greenery and vines hanging down towards the ground, ranging in size and height from the ground, so that even if a person didn't have the power of flight, if they are an adept climber, everything is spaced out enough they could climb as high as possible, as well as utilise some of the smaller floating debris to aid in their climb. Some of the floating islands even have small waterfalls
Between the floating islands and the tall peeks and trees, there are plenty of shadows and places to hide
On two sides of the arena there are 2 automaton birds stationed, currently in "off" mode, they are roughly 6 feet tall.
The arena is open to the sky and elements
On each end of the arena, on top of some large pillars, are pyres, full of fire and wood. The fire that burns within the pyres can not be extinguished, but if the fire is removed from the pyres, it can then be put out.
He stands on the cool ground of the Air Arena looking around for his opponent but can't spot them so he decides to take up time by fidgeting with his weapons, his sword, which hangs cautiously beside his left arm due to Skylar's left handedness. His scythe, strapped to his back, and knives attached to his thigh. He takes another careful look around the arena for his opponent, his blue eyes peering through the shining light above, which of course symbolizes day time, not night.
Nyxil-Child of Nyx -Black-Blood Nightingale Age:21Height: 6'1"Weight: 125 lbs. Main Weapon: Chakrams, Daggers, Electrified Sword, Steel Crossbow, Poisons – Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mangled spirit.
Well,this is new, Nyxil notes with a frown. From where he is at the east end of the arena, in the shadow of the bird automaton whose foot he is kneeling on, it's rather clear that the arena is, firstly, physically impossible, and secondly, most definitely not night. He pulls the tattered cloak laced with thin wires of celestial bronze that serves as his armor from its mist form - a pocket watch - over his hoodie and around himself uncomfortably in anticipation, like a little kid knowing he was probably about to go screw up an oral report. His poisoned crossbow and electrified English longsword lean against the dormant metal beast, and the ever-present CD case containing his chakrams is clipped to his belt. The sets of parrying kinves and daggers he usually brings to fights are now absent, as they did nothing but waste time in his last fight. He looks out over the field below him for his opponent.