[i] Among the loud clamor and voices of the patrons, a new figure enters the bar of the Bloodwrath. He is about 6'2", clad in slim, form fitting black armor. A yin-yang symbol over crossed swords sits on the breastplate, partially obscured by a long black cloak that falls over his shoulders. At his hip, are three katanas in clear view. The first is a vibrant white and gold, a stark contrast to the black of his outfit. The second is a non-descript, dull olive green, with an oriental dragon head for the hilt. The third blade, matches his armor more fittingly than the first. Handle, wrappings, sheath, all in a complete and utter black. No, not black..something darker. Squid ink at midnight couldn't be more black. There were two defining things about the man: the first, was where his face should be, is a black demon mask, twisted snarl and fangs. The second, was his mere presence. Anyone with power knew the feeling. It was the vibe that made innocent onlookers turn their gaze back to their drinks and conversations. The man walked with lithe grace and power, like the living embodiment of death. Almost as if his figure was a simple vessel for unrestricted power. The man walked to the corner of the bar's room and has a seat at an empty table. It seemed like a normal action, but anyone with common sense knew that it was because he wanted to see the whole room, patrons, entrances, and exits. The [b]Bloodwrath[/b] was in for a treat. The [b]Ronin[/b] had arrived.[/i]