Spring 20th, 506 A.V.
When Loken had first set foot past the gaping maw, the Ano Cultist had become awestruck in the most terrifying of ways. Alvadas was a city that lacked all inherent logic or structure. The locations of its buildings would suddenly change on a whim each and every day. It initially made his life miserable since he was a man of punctuality.
Loken would leave his room at the inn three bells early, but still show up four bells late to any destination he wished to attend. On he best of days, his reasons for being late were like children's fantasy stories. 'I'm late because the flowers hugged my shoes.' or 'The cats wanted me to paint their spoons.'
It was maddening.
However, Loken knew that he needed to find some stability. He did his best to control his emotions, but needed a proper outlet for them. Loken's mentor, Pon Haylen of the Ano Cult, had always tried to teach him the value of investment - investment in development, investment in establishment, in land, in entertainment... in short, investments in items or institutions of worth to the greater whole. and yet, 'worth' always held a startlingly different meaning to different people.
Case in point was how Loken now found himself standing on the blood stained sands of an arena. The sounds of countless thunderous voices peeled out of the Akeldama Colosseum as Loken awaited his moment of combat. His fingers gingerly clasped around the hilt of his unique blade known as a tiger hook sword. Having devoted himself to finding balance in life through martial prowess, he knew he could find stability through use of combat. And since Alvadas loved its entertainments, then the Cultist would invest his time and efforts into The Akeldama Colosseum; because such a location would always exist in Alvadas...
Loken's normally formal appearance had molded into a sort of business casual. His black hair was still finely combed back, but he allowed his normal clean shaven face to grow out into a nice goatee since he didn't wish to waste time shaving. He watched as people hurried through the stands, a vast majority of them each holding a variety of oddly colored and patterned parasols. He ignored the populations current eccentricities as another person joined him on the blooded sands.
Almost on cue, everyone suddenly went quiet as they started to spin their umbrellas like a rainbow of pinwheels. That was when the voice of Shale Tarren rang out from where ever Colosseum runner made his announcements.
""Today, ladies an gents, we are gather here to witness two new combatants fight until their opponents is unable to continue... or death. You're first combatant is the man in black, carrying such a brutal looking hook. His name, Lock!"
Once his name was called the spectators all began to cheer, heckle, or talk among themselves. To Loken, it sounded like a hive of bees had been kicked. Loken did not wish for his real name to be spread out around the city, so went with the stage name of 'Lock', while not to far from his real name, it would allow him to separate his business from his personal life.
“And his opponent, from the deepest regions of Kalea! A most fearsome of zith who's name is, Shred!”
Loken had already been staring down the dark figure as the Zith began to unfurl its wings from how it wore them like a cloak, showing off the entire wingspan of them. As Shred raised his hands into the air, Loken took note of the sharpened piece of ivory on the tip of the spear in its right hand. It looked like a dagger of some type, but more specifically a sharpened piece of a humanoid rib bone.
If that was all it had, Loken instantly assumed that the beast had to be adept at close ranged fighting. "A puncture weapon, about a six feet in length. That gives me the advantage." He thought to himself considering he had a sword with a curved hook that could trap the spear. In response to the zith raising it hands, Loken raised his sword into the air to appease the crowd. His eyes followed along the edges of the arena where spectators along the front row all looked down while placing shouting at the fighters bellow.
Shale Tarren took that as a sign that each combatant was ready then shouted out.
""Let the contest begin!"
