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It was pretty, really. One might consider it a temple, if it weren't for the lack of tribute statues to some god or goddess, for the woods, or the wild. There were, simply, four walls, big as an Olympic sized swimming pool. There were trees, from the simple cobble-stone floor, almost mosaic as it made circles, vague pictures.... And too and fro, animals paced. Not just your typical one clique type animals. No, there were birds, there were wolves, there were lions, there were lizards. And, sketchily, there too were the elements. The ceiling was far, far away, perhaps didn't even exist. But there was sunlight, and there was cloud-movement, casting shadows, and from time to time, rain as well, pattered off of the stones.


And the middle of it all stood a man, looking like some.... dare one say it... Spartan. No suit of armor, except gauntlets, baring fingertips, and a skirt of mail, all the way down to his ankles, tickling boots that rose to his knees. Beneath the skirt, woolen, rough-knit pants gaped with holes, obviously made by some blind maiden. On top, a similiar object, crafted with a hood of holes, that did little to hide his face or turn away the elements. His hair was messy, medium length, and a dark mixture of red and black, an almost blood-brown. And hanging from that skirt, via a belt woven through elongations of the links was two swords, as well as two lengths of chain. Held by a a strip of leather.

He looked fairly content to be lost, hands on pommels, eyes skyward, enjoying wind and rain alike, for his hair was soaked with the elements, clumping slightly. Even through the sunlight, his visage burned a neon green with luciferase, when they weren't closed against ethereal raindrops.



He waited, it seemed, on a man to join him, so that they might make music.

The other man would turn to meet this noise, or drop his head and open those eerie eyes. They had no pupil. No white. No black. One a soft green, the other a lucid silver. Behind human flesh. It wasn't some magic enchantment, but rather a blatant disfigurement. He'd take a slight bow. Left arm went acrossed his front, right acrossed his back, and he would dip his torso forward, but keep his eyes upon his opponent.


"We shall."

The man smiled, and relaxed as well, not having some particular form to press his body into, to enable him to greater heights of combat... He just relaxed, and moved a little bit, fidgeting.


"Thanks." He says, and though his voice, as low as it was, shouldn't have carried, the room they were in seemed to carry it. Placing one foot in front of the other, fast as they could, for the man was built of muscle, built for the arena, he'd pedal forward, before bringing his left hand up from his side and acrossed, aiming to smash Maxi in the jaw with what could be called a combination of Upper-cut and Hook.

The man knew and figured his hand would be deflected. But as the opposite came in, so did he imitate his opponent's previous, With a twist. With both of their arms out of the picture, they had two obvious choices to start swinging. But the man wasn't a common-place creature of sword and chivalry.


As both their arms were wide, and they were stepping towards each other, the action to take was obvious to him. Planting one foot behind quickly, and pushing off hard, he'd smash his forehead into Maxi's face.

As his head was pummeled by his own doing, ringing ears didn't pause a burning sense of OH s**t. As the evade was made, the man realized he had a choice. Take a sturdy, powerful leg to his chest, and possibly break a rib, or go to the point of no return and start using his powers... For some reason, he had the suspicion that this man would only go as far as he himself would go, and the minute he used powers, he was in a whole new game... And a broken rib? In a physical match as this had proven so far off the bat, that would suck hard, fast, and bring him down quick.

And so, in the space of time as he saw the man pull back, his decision had been made. Gripping his shirt, His skin would take a tone of pale with a lingering. As the kick collided, it was like kicking a punching bag. It gave, but it did not break. He'd also fly quite a bit further, actually sailing quite a distance, to land on a foot and a knee, raising dust and sparks as the skirt went.

One might wonder... What exactly had he done? His ability was innate, something he pulled on and did not push out, but tucked about himself like armor. He had taken the element of wool, sturdy, strong material that it was, and tied it in with the adaptability and perseverence of his humanity, producing a think that could take hits, but not cuts. He'd gasp, and cough for a moment, pausing to test how... kind his opponent was.

Resi smoothly went to his feet, groaning.

"Oh damn, boy-o. I was feelin' music, but not so much percussion..." He'd cough, a little wheezy due to his.... make-up.


"I'm Resi, by the way. Resident." His eyes drifted, observing the man with another cough...

"Wow..." Giving a slight shake out and then bringing his gauntleted hands up in a boxer-esque pose, he'd grin. "C'mon then, eh? I've learned my lesson, and your ploy. Your move now."

The man had already been wary of the arm, once his head had hit it. He knew, on some no s**t level, that the thing spelled trouble. And so he preformed twofold. Boxer like pose is inverted in a scissor downward, vambraces knocking the fist off course, and if fast enough(Which is quite possible, given that he's now made of lighter, more limber stuff, he'd intercept the Umbra Pugnus In the gauntlets, again getting pushed back a significant distance. However, being flat-footed that he is, he's not graced with a beautiful landing as before. No, instead, he'd thrown backwards in a tilt-a-whirl tumble, some few feet away again.


Hooray for Enviroment fun! As distance yet again pushes Resi away from Maxi, it pushes him closer to something... hostile. However, the wolf is testing at first, snapping forward enough for Resi to grab the beast by the scruff and give it a whipsnap, snuffing it's life even as he pulls it's attributes into himself again. Before had been simple. Now was... complicated. To call him a wolf was to call an Ogre a human. Human construction remained, but sprouted jet-black fur, allthrough out. Gauntleted hands, with exposed fingertips, sprout black claws, and eyes shift and dilate. Nose becomes.... crunched, the man's face turning something commonly seen in the Clan of Gangrel, among Vampires. Ears elognated and the man rose from the dirt, gently casting aside the dead wolf with a frown.

"You, are frustrating." Finger pointed, lifting that gauntlet with ease now, as muscle and weight returned, actions more concise, now that he had a solid, muscular substance to him. Moments hesitation bring out the clink of a final straw... Melee? So much more. The weapon was haphazard, in unskilled hands, and was commonly taken up by Urban Barbarians... Chains. Only one for now, however, it wasn't simply links. Every other link sprouted metal barbs and caltrops, a weapon intended for disarming, rather than striking. But it'd do just as well, for now. The length is roughly eight feet entire, but the man holds it by both ends, reducing it to four. It would drag, as he circles his opponent, releasing an unintended, feral snarl of annoyance and frustration.