[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]


Artos took the manadial watch and quietly examined it, aware that though it was not quite bulky it was still not familiar enough to take a place anywhere he could think of on his wrists comfortably. Still, a gift was a gift. Removing one of his gauntlets revealed the scarred pale blue flesh beneath, proof of years beset with hardship. The communicator was placed upon his wrist and the glove slipped on over top of it more comfortably than he would have imagined. It would still likely take some getting used to though he mused to himself.

The mention of him being in the rear guard brought him to full attention, keenly aware that his job was not one of scholarly intent. This group served a function and Artos' place was where the fight got thickest to give the, he wouldn't say weaker per say, less combat inclined party members a chance to find where they fit if and when combat was met. Problem with that was Artos himself had no idea how best to make use of their talents should it come to blows against an unknown force. Time would reveal that answer but it was again an uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation. 

[color=6ecff6]"When do we depart." [/color]

An eager gleam came to his eyes. The first step to overcoming his weakness was approaching and every step after would get him closer and closer to his goal. Artos had promised himself that he would survive the ordeals, absorb any and all information he could on improving himself not just with the blades but with his own magic, and overtake his mentor in combat when the time came. In the traditional way of the north.