In a brisk walking pace, Vos swept down the city's streets, his sneakers lightly tapping the moist asphalt. It were autumn, nights frosty and trees tinted muddy brown underneath the orange nightlights. While he liked cold better than baking in the sunlight, he made sure to wear some warm clothes: a leather longcoat, worn over a thick hoodie - its hood covering his head - and black trousers tucked into the boots. Vos would usualy make an effort to hide his prescence, but all combatants were waiting for him this time, aware that he would come. Vos, tucking his hand into the coat's pockets, nervously fiddled around his stilleto's grip: he were against facing a foe in open off the bat, but this was a test, issued by his mentors. Either he would fight according to the rules, or he would fail it and deal with the conseqences. No, he were no coward - Vos simply took on a more professional approach, eluding any risks when possible.

The sound of rubber rustlling and then screeching against the road reached his ears. Turning around the courner, he a biker of some sorts, his veichle standing nearby a crossroad, very similar to what the mage was looking for. Stopping to observe his surrondings, Vos sighed, his breath becoming a small cloud of vapor in the air. Yes, this was the place; although, if he were told right, they were still waiting for one more person to arrive. Pulling down his hood and unsheathing Danwarge, Vos slowly crept towards the crossroad, finding no reason to hurry. Now, his face were visible: sharp, with wide cheekbones and deep set eyes, a goatee showing around his sulking, pale lips. The only thing that didn't suit the mage's evil demanor was his straight, black hair trimmed into a pagebody haircut.