[centre][img]http://orig01.deviantart.net/e4a6/f/2016/083/1/2/ardos_by_fenixking13-d9w8yq4.png[/img][/centre]
[centre][color=6ecff6][b]Artos Bane[/b][/color][/centre]



Two figures circled each other in an alleyway in Glasgow, Scotland, one wore a blue and white flowing robe over top of functional steel armor. Artos' longswords were sheathed on each hip within ready reach but his hands didn't hover over them. The man circling was a wanted criminal, a thief and a murderer who had slain a man a week prior out of petty jealousy and robbed the corpse all in broad daylight. The widow had asked for assistance, begging any she could for finality when the police would not help her. Artos had discovered her by chance and took up the request in return for a place to stay the night. When the man circling infront of him with the big knife was put down he would claim that reward. 

"Look here, pissant, I ain't afraid a the likes o you."

The burly individual wore a dirty T-shirt stained with food and stunk of alcohol, his pants were military and had the signs of proper use and care tucked neatly into a heavy set of steel toed combat boots. Thin black hair, brown eyes, missing two teeth on the left side of his upper mouth, both arms showed the tell tale bulge of muscle from heavy labor, the scars attested to combat experience. Possibly in his late thirties the brute carried himself with about as much finesse as one would expect from a grunt. Artos analyzed him top to bottom and found him lacking on all cases. The only thing worth noting of this man as impressive or above average was his use of the large hunting machete he wielded. Firm grip, eyes focused, muscles twitched in anticipation. 

[color=6ecff6]"Then why do you stink of fear?"[/color] 

Artos' ghostly pale face was the only visible part of flesh to be seen in the dim light of the alleyways flickering lamp. With a howl the lumbering man charged forward like a feral bear and swiped a meaty paw and followed it with a slash of his machete. Both missed their marks by mere inches with a whistle of wind and an unimpressed sigh as the nimbler fighter further assessed his opponents capabilities.
Sensing that he was being so clearly looked down the ruffian went on a full assault, slashing and stabbing in a well executed series of attack routines and yet still the smaller man seemed unimpressed by the basic blade handling being displayed. Familiarity with a weapon did not mean mastery over the art.
The big man took his weapon in both hands and swung with all his might, screaming like a devil as he attempted to cleave the arrogant young man in two.

Artos' left wrist connected solidly with the blade, taking the full force of the attack. Stunned into silence the machete wielding fighter tried to force his way through the flimsy looking defense but heard the blade clatter to the ground. 

"W-What the hell!" 

To his horror both offending hands were numb to the bone, a thin film of frost creeping up his arms to deliver the same excruciating cold further and further up until it finally stopped at his shoulders. Artos' right hand struck like a cannonball to the stomach to double the man over and into the rising knee that cracked his nose in a splatter of blood, dropping him to the ground in a heap. The chill in the air was growing worse as the sweat coating his skin heightened the effects. Artos stared down at the fallen form like a man watched a bug scuttle across the floor. 

[color=6ecff6]"I won't kill you. Blood of your worth would stain even my blades. Instead, you will be found here. Your punishment is for others to decide."[/color] 

A swift kick to the chin knocked the man out completely. 

From the alleys he walked, unconcerned with any stares of his appearance, proceeding through the city without a care. Though his face showed a polite and almost warm smile, his mind was a cold storm of anger. Another fight and another overwhelming disappointment! Were there no fighters worthy to test his skills left in this miserable city. How could so many dwell in this place and so few of them, even their criminals, be so pitiful in their fighting prowess. It was sickening. 
Overlooking a flowing river he lamented his fate and stared into the pristine surface with a mixture of appreciation and rage. 

[color=6ecff6]"When will a true challenge ever present itself.."[/color]