A sword twirls against the moonlight, stars dimmed out as the shadow of the blade spins in perfect arch. A lone man stood against the blinding light and the sword slid into the ground with perfect ease by his hand, he smiled as he proclaimed his name and not a whisper more, he laughed as he challenged the shadows and called out to anyone that would listen. A threat, a promise of fulfillment, a chance of death, the thrill of the fight, the scent of blood, the ritual scream of defeat, and the sweet confusion of fear and anxiety, this is what he had to offer those that wished to cause a promising notion of demise, he had other talents for those that wished other means but he didn't wish to portray those tonight. Mindlessly he twirled his finger against the blade's hilt, wrapping his fingers against the cold ill-sharpened steel. He voiced his challenge again, and waited for a replay.