Stian had been asleep a long time. A severe wound had but him in a state of comatose for several years. Blood and bile surrounded him. Some was as old as his injury while the rest could have been as young as a month. His eyes snapped open, a deep hazel with streaks of gold showed age not consistent with his looks. Before the battle those eyes were filled with passion and anger. Dangerous power accompanied by a wellspring of knowledge, with just enough foolishness to make him human. He groaned. Stiff muscles and tired joints greeted him. His magic had done its work, but his reserves were depleted and his body was too weak to generate a necessary amount. The last thing he could recall was a ceremony to find his friends. A dangerous ritual that combined several types of ancient magics and self sacrifice. Highly forbidden by mages across the galaxy. There had been a mage who discovered him. An extremely powerful one. The ensuing battle nearly killed both of them. And that brought him to now. He rose from his circle, the runes now dim and caked with his own blood. He saw his gear had mended much more effectively than he had. He stared at his sword, the object responsible. It’s supply of magic was leagues deeper than his own, and its runes still glowed with a blue light. Normal steel would have rusted years ago, yet it was flawless, shining as if just sharpened. His sidearm lay near it, its magic tied to the sword. It too glowed dully and shined from the sun leaking through Stian’s curtains. It was approximately 10 am. Stian forced himself up and headed to a restroom to clean himself. He trimmed his wild hair and unkempt beard into a short, neat goatee and mustache. He was going with a new look. By the time he was done, it was nearly noon. As he exited his room he realized that, while magic had sustained his body for his years regenerating, he would soon starve if he didn’t replenish his magic or eat. He pulled on his armor and robes, primarily dark blue with pale white armor plates shining underneath. A plain leather scabbard held the sword at his left side. A hidden holster secured his M1911. He threw up his collar and set out. He breathed in the fresh air of the Dojo and checked the seal on the door to his room. Old, but still brimming with energy. He noticed quarantine tape around his door and chuckled. He guessed the maids must have open the door and saw the blood before the seal would’ve activated and thrown them out. He stepped out to the courtyard and noticed a girl with strawberry hair and robes colored similar to his own. She was a new face... Actually there were dozens of new faces... [i]You’ve been asleep half a decade. Things may change old man[/i] He chuckled as he called himself old man. He wasn’t lying either. [i]Wouldn’t hurt to learn some of these new faces. Keep me from going mad[/i] He approached and called a greeting. “Good afternoon! You new around here?” At least that’s what he tried. He got halfway through ‘afternoon’ before his voice dried and he coughed several times. [i]I’m still pretty weak from lack of magic and not moving for a few years[/i]