Sword resting calmly over one shoulder Zarkith stood proudly at the far end of the long hall. Standing seven feet from the wall to his back, this position Zarkith had chosen so he could not be easily flanked, but far enough away as to avoid being cornered. The dim light of the window some six feet above his head cast a long shadow across the floor before him. He watched thoughtfully but silently as other entered the room, the seasoned mercenary taking their measure and the room itself with a warriors eye. Zarkith noted he was easily one of the larger specimens in the room; broad wide set shoulders and puffed out chest that hinted at stamina and power.
 
He wore a simple dark grey leather vest over a cotton spun tunic of light beige, a leather belt around his waist. The neckline, sleeves and bottom of the garment were trimmed with contrasting black. His arms and shoulder completely concealed in heavy mail, made up of a vambrace and pauldrons. The right shoulder of which sported the crest of his House, A horned ended blade with a snake coiled around it. Zarkith had wondered a long time- how long he could not tell- wondering these halls, at last he had found his assigned targets. The set up was simple really- No one was to escape. It had not been a job he could have turned down either, as they had given him no choice in the matter. So here he was with the first of his opponents arriving. Of them the one wearing a suit caught his attention the most, mostly because he happened to be nearest. Not to mention the only one seemingly unarmed. 

But Zarkith knew all too well how appearances could be deceiving. The man was rather tall, as tall as Zarkith in fact, and his instincts told him he was no less formidable then the others in this room. Still he was currently unarmed and staring intently at the stock still statue of a man in the center of the room. Well he said man, but Zarkith had the distinct feeling that one was also far more then he seemed, he carried the stink of magic about him that one. His in activity brought to mind the flesh golems Zarkith had often fought on battlefield occasionally. Or even the formidable warforge construct soldiers. 

Perhaps the one in the suit thought that one the most threatening of those assembled thus far. Perhaps he was right. Zarkith parted his feet and lead with his right foot as he brought his sword down into a guard position. His right hand just under the swords guard, his left foot behind his right foot and standing on the ball of his left foot, knees bent, with hands near the chest with the elbows closed creating a basic guard with his sword point leading perpendicular point slightly toward the ceiling. He might move now if not for the other opponents about, and Zarkith was rue to make the first move and leave himself open. For now he trained his senses on his surroundings and waited.