Durem, the city that never sleeps... probably because a major part of the population were nocturnal.
The interior of the Durem Clocktower was not necessarily a publicly accessible area, though the alarming frequency that events were held behind the face of that clock would lead some to believe otherwise. Just the previous night there had been a gala fundraiser held there for the benefit of building a new blood bank for needy inner-city vampires, the kind of thing that B-list celebrities show up to so they can be mentioned in the newspaper and that A-list celebrities send a check to but never attend. Although the makeshift dance floor that the clock face had been had been cleaned up already there were still a few remnants to be seen strewn about the interior of the tower; the odd mix of construction materials, floodlights, advertisement posters, and fold-up tables pushed into corners next to racks of chairs made the former municipal building seem more like a warehouse rave.
Despite it being just past midday, the few windows in the tower only allowed the natural light to come through in narrow beams; even the gaping hole at the front of the tower where the face had been removed had been mostly covered by scaffolding, plywood and plastic sheeting to prevent the elements from destroying the interior of the building while repairs were underway. The result was that although the floodlights pointed at the clock face itself brightened the otherwise dim interior, deep and heavy shadows were cast by every support, beam, and rail that gave the area the odd ambiance of a spotlit stage amid a dark theater.
The first of the two participants to arrive at the scene stepped out from that cloak of umbra at the edges into the dim light, standing above the outside of the area on a steel walkway that overlooked the clock face. At first placing one hand upon the railing, the figure stepped up onto it with one foot and then the other; a quick and fluidly executed leap from the overlooking railing onto the outstretched minute hand of the clock which dipped measurably under the sudden weight before, like a springboard, it snapped back and the man's second step was like rebounding off of a trampoline - a dozen or so feet forward down the length of the clock hand before he alighted again upon it with significantly less flex in the steel to greet him.
The man was dressed like an eccentric... at least, as much as one would expect of any of the career fighters that were drawn to events such as these. From bottom to top the man sported worn brown leather boots that disappeared under the frayed him of a pair of tattered and ripped blue jeans; though from the shape beneath the fabric and where the holes and wear marks were below the knee it seemed that the boots rose at least to mid-shin height. A tight-fitted white shirt was tucked into those jeans beneath a weathered slate grey canvas jacket. All in all, the outfight might have looked something like a mix between a hipster and a cowboy if not for the rest... he also wore a mask. Covering his hair and the top of his head the man had a black bandanna tied tightly, and over that a white wooden mask, almost semicircular in shape, was worn over his face with a strap holding it in place. Were it decorated as such, it might have looked like a skull mask merely from the shape of it and that it covered from the forehead to above the lip, but instead it was decorated with black and red patterns around the eyes that extended out toward the edges of the mask. His pale skin beneath the white wood was almost the same color, and the self-satisfied grin that the man wore as he landed from his second bounding step into a casual stride did nothing to remove the impression that he thought nothing at all of the gaudiness of his appearance.
He wore gauntlets upon both of his hands, though they disappeared under the sleeves of that jacket after the wrist. In his left hand he carried a sword in scabbard, held at the neck of the blade with one finger hooked over the cross-guard as he strode out into the center of the area and stood atop the steel pillar in the middle of the clock face. A good look at him from the other angle showed that he had the handle of some other long object strapped onto his belt but the back of his jacket made it hard to make out.
"Now this is a stage I would have liked to see more of..." the young man spoke boldly and confidently as he came to a stop, hanging his left arm beside him with the hilt of the sword in his grip pointed down and the length of the blade pointed upward behind his forearm. "I've heard a great many things about the reckless, dangerous, over the top, and completely insane battles that have taken place in this tower."
And with a long pause, he took one deep breath of the dusty air and held it... held it for seconds as his chest swelled with breath and pride in equal measure... before he exhaled and broke the death-like silence in that cavernous room.
"Exhilarating, isn't it? The atmosphere is practically electric."
He turned toward where he expected the other participant to stride out from and held up his open hand in front of him; small arcs of blue electricity jumping between the metallic fingers of that gauntlet.
Spirit Energy: 50%
- Soul of the Storm (Bonded)
