The casual woodland sounds of an average Toronto forest were overpowered by the chorus of a hand-held tool. Metal-headed hammer of an oak wood shaft held in hand, a finger and thumb pressed along the thin strand of metal in an ordinary nail. Lifting his arm, the old man struck down on it, driving the point through the large block of wood in front of him. Once he struck, then moving his fingers, he’d smack the hammer against the nail twice before shifting his scarred bottom lip and sieving through the various pins, screws, and nails that were tucked between his teeth, searching for another appropriate nail.

His young reporter, Allison, had decided to stop by, presently inside the old log cabin sweeping the downstairs. She offered to take care of the upstairs, but he refused, not wanting her to have to take care of the blood still in the young Frostwaif’s former room. He could do that himself.

He had been set on repairing the door that was at his fault for breaking today, hoping to finish before the sun set. The cabin was presently considered uninhabitable: Windows broken, door splintered, and the foundation starting to come apart. Not to mention the lack of heating during the cold bitter nights around this time of year. However, it didn't take the old man long to realize that his work was being observed by another. He had heard a particularly strange amount of rustling from a nearby tree, but the muttering was when he finally broke his at-work composure to smile to himself. He’d huff then puff the air he took in, plucking the various knobs and metal items that were in his mouth and returning to his hammering as his voice boomed over his impacts with the wood.

THUNK. “I’m much-THUNK-more interesting up close.”

There was silence, followed by more prominent rustling from the treetops in which his form introduced itself to the old man’s azure eyes. A younger man dawning usual clothes for this form of weather as well as a rather peculiar Christmas colored hat covered what hair the man most likely had. He did have the gear for observation, binocular lenses gleamed against streams of light from the setting sun as it hung down the man’s neck by a strap.

“Now.” The old man would have started, scars and wrinkles pulling up across his cheeks as he gave a friendly smile. His voice shook against his throat as he continued, eyes shifting a bit up and down the younger fellow. “What kind of interesting things were you expecting to find coming out into the woods and camping up in a tree on an old homeless man?"

He could see the younger man’s eyes light up in surprise and perhaps curiosity, both bushed brows raised up at Rykosar, giving a small smile perhaps not in relief but in a lesser form of security. "I have heard a few rumors myself, that there was an unknown element out in the old demon gal’s house." he would have spoken, shifting his weight along his boots, "I was curious about if you had any connections, or perhaps I was hoping to learn what I could."

The old man circled the younger once, his brow twitched sporadically as he attempted to raise it appraisingly before making his way back to his unfinished door, beginning to hammer on it some more with a half sunken nail still dug in the timber. He spoke in a half sigh, but he made sure not to sound too disappointed. "I'm afraid to inform you I know nothing about the girl in that house. Only that she took her own life and that is where she is buried." He'd let out a small croaking groan as he straightened his back and twirled his hammer, using the head to point towards a raised portion of dirt just a small walk from the half-rotten wood porch. There was a stone sticking out with a small engraving, but it was difficult to read from this distance. Rykosar would have known what it said however, he was the one who carved it after all...


‘Her death came with a dark air.
But this seed of bliss was planted,
And it soon blossomed there.’


Once recalled in his mind, he smiled then continued in voice, arm still extended towards the grave. "You don't have to know someone to at least want them to be buried with some care and dignity."

The young man’s hands folded behind his back, beginning to remove his gloves, "I can understand that, a complete indignity to, even who is considered a monster, for them to not have some respect given to them in death." His head tilted slightly up to look into the old man’s eyes, keeping from wandering to his various other scars, "I do apologize then, it is usually my duty to watch without being seen, in the case that the target is hostile."

"Oh ho." The old man would have abruptly cut the young man’s last word off in a half chuckled fashion. "I never said I wasn't hostile. You just haven't given me a reason to be."

The young man smirked, "I don't think I would need to worry then, I do not have any violent intentions, only perhaps to speak at this point. I am preferably not a combatant unless needed to be anyway." Despite this supposed lack of worry, the old man felt an internal grin grow inside him as he caught the younger shuffling his feet nervously.

"Well, by the sounds of it, someone else believes I have violent intentions of my own." Rykosar would half croak, attempting to clear his throat of some built-up phlegm with success. However, as his mouth parted open to speak, it was left exposed with no sound to accompany when hearing another voice pipe up from inside the house.

"Hey! You stopped hammering, everything alright?" A young brunette poked her head out from the side of the opening in the wooden house where a door should have gone, green eyes blinked towards the younger man. He would have tensed in response, weight shifted to step back as the old man would have observed. Despite this, Rykosar couldn’t help but muse at the young man’s politeness that followed. “U’m…afternoon ma’am.”

The old man rolled his eyes, the scars around his lips twitched in a very horrifying fashion as he grinned with that big set of metal and yellow-rotted teeth of his towards the visitor. "She doesn't bite. Though, I'd hope you be more worried about the near 600 pounds of metal standing right in front of you."

"Weight isn't everything, but I shouldn't worry that much myself, I assume you aren't going to do anything unless I tried anything, right?" The young man followed this sentence with a smirk, having to tilt his chin up to look at the old man given how close they were standing. Rykosar stood a good four inches taller than him. "Well of course!” The old man chimed. “I'm not some maniac that attacks without reason, or consent for that matter." He'd chortle deeply, turning to his young reporter. "Feel free to go back inside, Allison. He's just a visitor."

With a shrug, Allison would do as he instructed and slipped back into the house. “Maybe I’ll get to report on an actual wRHG battle after all.”

Meanwhile, back outside, the young man nodded towards Rykosar once the reporter disappeared, "Right, though I suppose I should introduce myself, it's only polite.” With a small step back, the young man removed his cap and aimed a more casual smile towards Rykosar, his cropped red hair now sticking out like a tiny red forest, gleaming brightly amongst the man’s milky skin and light green eyes, still illuminated by the later sunlight. "I'm Torvin, a pleasure to meet you." With this, the young Torvin extended his arm, hand outcast towards the old man.

"Rykosar."

The old man immediately shot out a hand in response; however, there was a half-second pause before his approach came slower. An embrace of metal would have smothered the poor boy’s hand, various clicks and snaps as Torvin was able to observe his right hand was completely robotic, the fingernails now dull claws slightly extended further to prevent them from digging into his skin. The grip was strong, but it would have been obvious there was much more strength in this hand then the old man would reveal, probably for the sake of not breaking the younger one’s hand. To the old man’s dismay, since his hand was metal, he was unable to feel how strong the younger one’s grip was. But, he could now muse on the surprise it would be should they fall into a state of combat, which is what he would have expected at this point, given the circumstances this young man was put under.

Tovrin would nod once the exchange of hands was finished, "But yes, I have heard you were a member of the wRHG, which is what had sent me to this location, the organization I am affiliated with has a bit of a...well, they worry about the potential dangers of the fights. I am typically sent in to at least speak with them, spy, fight, depending on the mission."

Rykosar felt his face contort even more at this, his scars made the expression unidentifiable. "Ah, so you're another one of those gladiators, no?" He turned a bit so he was fully facing Torvin. From a small hook in his coat, he pulled out a sleek golden cane, leaning his weight on it with both hands, pressing it into the snow, where it threatened to dig straight through the dirt and all. "I presume you won't be doing it today then?" To which Torvin shook his head immediately, his nervous reply fueled Rykosar’s internal grin.

“No, no, no-no-no-no-no-no." He responded with haste, "I am on strict observation and at most conversation, I don't pick my fights anyway."

At last his internal grin became external; a chuckle erupted from deep in the old man's chest. With a mess of teeth now gleaming in Torvin’s face, his cane was twirled twice in his hand before the end of it, still coated in a layer of snow, 'booped' the young man’s nose. "You're too jumpy. You'll find I'm a very polite fighter.” He'd finally lower his cane from the nose. "So, when do you plan to figh-? Actually, don't tell me. I always like surprises."

Torvin sighed again, expressing a wave of relief. "Sometimes being a bit jumpy keeps you from getting killed. Especially when you get into some interesting fights. I've had to fight bloody vampires...VAMPIRES, C'mon!"

"Seems like you have a fair share of stories to tell, eh?" The old man mused, tucking away his cane as he turned towards the treetops. He frowned when noticing the daylight he was losing in this conversation. Regardless, he'd offer Torvin another smile as he rounded his wooden structure, beginning to hammer at the soon-to-be door once again. "I'm more than willing to answer any questions your...corporation, let’s say, requires."

The younger man tilted his head up and down in a nodding fashion, body leaning towards the door Rykosar was working on. Perhaps curiously, perhaps musingly, the old man was too busy fumbling for the nails he had put in his pocket to notice, but he’d lift his head from his work when hearing Torvin offer, "I could assist you a bit on your building if you wish, it's the least I can do for the preoccupying of your time and all." Rykosar looked up towards Torvin for a moment, a smile curled from his ancient face as he straightened again. "I'd appreciate the help, thank you." He'd croak before offering the hammer Torvin's way. Once he accepted it, Rykosar would go to inquire. "But what questions did your corporation have? I'd like to answer them now before I depart for the homeless shelter tonight."

"Well, we wanted to know, why you were here, what your intentions were, did you have any plans or the like I suppose."

A small expression of guffaw came over him, perhaps in a joking fashion as he held down the door to let the young man hammer down the nails. “Well, I'm here because I stumbled upon this place." He'd motion to the presently dilapidated cottage. "I intended to make this my home and participate in your wRHG what’s-it to quell an old man's fighting spirit as well as make my living from it." He'd eventually run a hand through his dark silver hair, tilting his head up towards the forest canopy, watching as a wave of vermillion washed over the Toronto woodlands with the sun ducking towards the horizon.

"The only plans I have are to build this house, fight, and eventually die."

Torvin spoke again in response, "I was put into the list of combatants as well, though as said, it's less of a fun thing, more of a, I am required to do it for the duty of my country and the like.

"Partake in fighting for sport and money for your country?" The old man struggled to raise his brow without causing it to twitch again, he knew that Allison tended to stare at it when he did that.

"Less fun than that, I don't take pleasure in combat, but I was well trained in it, it's more of, they wish to keep the weirdoes from wiping out an area per say. There are some combatants with supernatural abilities that governments have no control over, thus they want to have somebody to keep them in check."

The old man huffed curtly, "Ah, well. I would assume they wouldn't focus their efforts on a simple metal man then. Given some of the other...participants in this gladiator corporation." He mused, making a turning hand gesture as his mechanical hand clicked in response to each delicate motion.

Torvin smirked, "Probably not, but they can't help but be too careful on that end." He would tap at the door with the hammer for a moment, beginning to drive a nail in with small precise hammer swings, a light ding-ding-ding-THUNK was heard before the nail dug into the timber. It was a solid shot and the door was now one step closer to being repaired.

"I won't scold caution." The old man cogitated, sitting along a stone bench that was a few feet from the old wooden porch of the house, watching Torvin work. "What's this corporation you work for?"

Torvin rolls his shoulder before continuing on another nail, "I can't be too specific, but typically a small subsection of the Irish Military, basically their ‘paranormal branch’. I was a bit of a research officer before then. Got caught out in active service a year or two back, ended up fighting one of their anomalies, it caught up with me, I was told either I am kept silent, or I keep doing this work."

The old man's face contorted into a facial expression that was hard to identify. He'd stand slowly from the bench as he noticed the sun dipping along the horizon. The sound of strained machinery coming from his right leg would have caught Torvin’s attention. It was also the leg he seemed to have a very prominent limp with as he walked to the young man. "Well, your help was appreciated, but daylight is fleeting and a chill is said to come in tonight. You best get back to wherever you came from." He'd make a small fleeting motion with his hand before turning and calling out in a rather powerful voice. "Allison!"

The brunette poked her head out from the door-less frame once again, hair slightly disheveled from her cleaning work. "Yeah?"

The voice would then grow rapidly soft again, his face coated with a warm smile. "I'm departing, thank you for the help. You can go home now."

Stepping down the wooden stairs leading up to the porch and crunching the snow around her with brown fur trimmed boots, she'd shove her hands in the pockets of a dark blue wind-breaker and shoot the old man a grin, a puff of vapor escaping her mouth from the cold. "No problem."

Rykosar would have caught the young man nodding towards him out of the corner of his eye, anxiety now covered his face as he walk off, he would have given a glance toward the woman as she stood by the old man’s side, "...Well, a pleasure meeting you." he said hesitantly, pulling the red and green cap over his head again. "Hopefully we will meet again, maybe talk again." He would say towards the older man. To which he chortled lightly at Torvin. "Perhaps after our confrontation, yes." Rykosar would reply, metal leg treaded louder on the ground then his other as he limped off. Allison would have followed in tow, shooting Torvin a small grin of her own as they disappeared behind the line of foliage.

_______________________________________________________________________


“So, when’s the figh