[i]The dojo gates swung open. It was a man who had opened the gates, one who stood at a height of 5'11". His hair was shaggy, and jet black; the pouring rain plastered it to his head, soaked his face and skin. His eyes were a dark green; hid away in those pupils was a hurricane of emotions. Anger, sorrow, sadness, insanity. For his apparel, the man wore a black trench coat, which ended just below his knees. His black combat pants and boots were covered in mud, not as much as the woman was, however. His shirt was a plain, military green t-shirt, completely drenched in rainwater to give it a dark color. He wore a black, skintight glove on each hand, their purpose clearly not for warmth. On the man's back was a long greatsword; about four and a half feet in length, the material used to make it was undeterminable. The blade was silver in appearance, with a streak of gold running down its center. It had a sleek, futuristic look to it, but was just a sword. An admittedly large sword. Holstered at his left side was a handgun. The holster was dark brown, and soaked with rainwater as well; the only part of the handgun that was visible was its handle, which had a white and gunmetal gray color scheme. Hung beside the holster were two foldable knives, folded inwards; they appeared silver, but once again, their true material was undeterminable. At his right side was a rifle, about 18" in length. Its color scheme was gunmetal gray and a lighter gray, arranged around the rifle in a rather futuristic yet bland pattern. The man looked at the fainted woman and the dog, before slowly approaching the canine. There was no hostility in his stance as he pulled a glove off his right hand; he extended the hand towards the dog, allowing the dog to give him a sniff. Meanwhile, he looked at the woman, looking over any wounds she had; he was no medic, but he'd suffered plenty of wounds himself, and had a vague idea as to how to take care of them.[/i]