OOC: Hehe, happy to have you join. I hope I can get some help, though-- things look grim for poor Mathias against a character like Ren. xD

IC:

Across the wind-strewn sands stood a man-- no, a boy-- who looked too young to be here. Mathias had seen, and killed, younger though, and knew better than to presume. 'If he is here,' he told himself, 'then he is a threat.'

Mathias sized him up as well as he could from the distance. A blade, and a sidearm, were visible. The boy's muscles were defined, yet contained; Mathias accepted the possibility of superhuman strength. He took note of his pointed ears, and reminded himself of the grace with which the elves fought. Agility could be an issue against him. As Mathias scanned the boy, he decided his chances in close-range combat allowed for too many variables. 'I best even the odds a bit.'

Mathias leant his mace against his shoulder and pulled a small wooden bottle from the pouch behind his shield. He popped the cap off and drank the fluid in two swallows. Tucking the bottle into the pouch at his hip, he narrowed his eyes a bit. As his fingers grasped another small bottle, this one made of glass, his vision sparkled before his eyes, and things began to illuminate. The settings around him turned to shades of blue and green, and the boy before him became outlined in a bright purple.

Soon, the gate collapsed before him with a loud clatter. Mathias took a step onto the sands, and instantly hurled the small glass vial at the ground, upon which it shattered. A massive flash billowed the arena, and the crowd gasped in response to the blinding light. Mathias had previously closed his eyelids in a blink as the flash resonated. When the light cleared, a thick layer of dark grey smoke plumed through the arena; two reactions of one fluid touching the air.

Mathias' "nighteye" vision penetrated the vaporous smoke, and he dove into the fray. Once in range, he shoved his shield forward to open up his enemy with the spike of his targ, and hurled his mace horizontally toward the legs. He hoped the spike could make quick work, and that the blinding effects of the potion in combination with the smoke would help to keep his enemy distracted while he took his shot at the lower quarters. He made every attempt to continue advancing in hopes of knocking his foe down; as he shoved forth with his shield, his steps were close and aggressive, hoping to land his foot on the boy's toes to trip him to the sands. If, by chance, this had worked, the elevated stance of his mace would allow him to bring it full-force down on the boy's vital areas, utilizing a pommel-swing that allowed for the maximum leverage on the weight of the mace.

The crowd may have roared in response to such sudden aggression, but sadly, they could not see.