The fall was just approaching, Bishop traveled dressed warm. For as he voyaged higher and higher through the pine forest and into the mountain ranges, the climate dropped, and snow even accented the rocks that stretched to the heavens above. His fur lined hat with the red star on the front of it was the most reflective of his heritage. A white top hugged his torso beneath and thick and durable jet black leather duster. A red bandanna tied about is neck in a scarf like fashion. Black denim jeans,fresh boxer's tape adorning his fists save for the fingers, and his custom steel cleat boots. As for his gear, he carried his new usual. As far as his informant spoke about this place and whom he would find here, he had left out one valid piece of information...The runes that served as magic chaffing event. His breath attacks would not exist here. Not that he relied on them, but they always came in handy at some point.
As he continued to journey the worn trail escorting him to Rock Fist, Bishop's mind wandered an a few thoughts. One of them being his light grudge with Samuel for his embarrassing defeat at The Yard. Though he owed the black Hulk an a** whipping, now was not the time for vengeance. No. He was here for guidance. He was here for balance. He needed to get a more firm grasp of control over himself as a whole. He had come a long way since arriving on Gaia Prime, but he had so much more to achieve. The era of his time of as a reckless fool on the battle field was coming to an end. Bishop began by learning a bit of Krav Maga, though he needed to train more to master the technique. He had also had his brother show him a bit of Aikido, and the not so well known but worthy style known as Jailhouse Rock. With these three new styles of learning to use, he still had to eventually seek specifically, a teacher that may teach him to defend himself best against grapples, though the Krav Maga did that kind of well considering it taught one to use their natural reflexes as their means of fighting.
It didn't take too incredibly long for him to reach his destination. As he climbed upon a steep cliff, the face hosted a 20 foot wide set of doors. A little more than two stories high. With a reassuring smirk and a light chuckle, he pulled his flask from his duster and screwed the cap off. After a hearty swig or two, he would return the top to the flask and pocket it within the duster once more. The alcohol almost immediately adding a few logs into the fire place. His slightly pale skin with his dead cold flesh from the frigid temperatures combined with his immense strength that would reluctantly remain unhindered might drive on to believe this man was in fact a Vampire. The silhouette of fangs his chrome teeth created from a distance didn't help either. But for those that knew Bishop, they knew him by term of Metahuman. Though he liked to still say he was human...Deep down, That's exactly what he was.
Using both hands, he shoved the door open in a slow manner. Not that it was too heavy, but he didn't want to over do it and hit someone on the other side of it should someone be there. After entering the premises, he made sure to shut the cold outside, finally escaping it as his body instantly began to tinge pinkish-red, soaking up the local warmth the place gave off immediately. In about 15 minutes or so, maybe he would be able to remove his duster and relax after his journey. But first thing was first...He needed to secure a temporary living space.
"Yo!"
He exclaimed. Hoping a familiar face would greet him, even if he wasn't formally acquainted with it, at least one he had seen before. 9/10, new acquaintances mistook Bishop as rude, but that was just who he was. His gangsta gangsta mentality.
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