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The Durem clock tower is a tower built with one easily-seen clock face. The clock tower itself is pretty much free-standing.

The mechanism inside the tower is known as a turret clock. It often marks the hour (and sometimes segments of an hour) by sounding large bells or chimes, sometimes playing simple musical phrases or tunes.

Although clock towers are today mostly admired for their aesthetics, they once served an important purpose. Before the middle of the twentieth century, most people did not have watches; clock towers were therefore placed near the centers of towns and were often the tallest structures there. Durem's clocktower is particulary famous for the assination of Johnny K. Gambino.

Flare approached the clocktower from the northeast, pushing through the panicked people who were running away from the church. She smelled of smoke, and her pale hands were covered in ash. As was her way, she began to search the outside of the clock tower first, rising up into the sky and circling around the building.

And just as the man opened the door, the demoness Flare landed in front of him.

"Excuse me," she said, and moved to walk past him, into the clock tower. Her left hand was resting on the hilt of a simple rapier at her side, but beyond that she seemed to have no intention of harming him.

((Ruuvan, I'm just going to assume you let me by you...))

Flare walked down the stairs, into the tower, and eventually wandered out the front door. Her throat was parched after being among the ashes for so long...she needed a drink. And so the demoness headed towards the Bar District.

So, they didn't have employers. And, from the 'saving the world comment', they seemed like fairly good guys. So really, Allen felt fairly safe with what he said next. Especially if they were good.

"Ok then, how much would it cost to hire you?"

Masuyu furrowed a brow at the surfers, cursing about Nascen's one-eyed driving under his breath. He climbed out and ran around to the seat, "Sorry... Nas, but you're going to get us killed with those brakes." Dragging Nascen out of the seat, he loaded him up in the rear and took the wheel.

"Hold onto your boxers ladies.... " Masuyu threw over his belt and shifted into drive, squalling the tires as they sped away from the surfers, heading towards the church again.

((Okay, if I'm nto mistaken, there's the whole invicibible and untouchable thing that's supposed to apply to absent player's characters, but it's something Psycofish would've done before he left if the guild wasn't down at the time.))

The heavy mechanisms of the clock tower ticked, tocked, and ground against each other as the gears rotated. The mechanical sounds resounded throughout the interior of the tower in exact precision, again and again, repeating with the same mechanically precise pause between heavy clacks as the gears turned... time moving on at it's slow, steady gate.

On that famous spot in the belfry, where the shadowy figure had once stood upon the eve of Gambino's assasination, another shadowy figure sat today; completely unawares of the significance of the place upon which he had chosen to rest himself, having chosen that spot for two reasons: the height of the tower, and the tick tock of the tower clock.

Jin Harm sat against the outside wall, looking out over the city as the sun rose high into the sky. He had been there since the break of dawn, playing melodies upon a mythril flute to the everlasting backbeat of the clock's tireless tick and innevitable tock.

'Something is happening.'

He had been hearing... things... throughout the town in the recent days since his arrival from Barthavos. Things about a hunt for a prize, things about a marvelous game, things about... chaos.

'A new game. It could be fun.'

The young man pushed himself up along the wall, his music dying as he walked to the edge and looked down at the city below. He brought the flute from his lips and put it away beneath his tunic, though the melodies he played seemed to tenaciously hang in the air even still.

"Such a shame..." Jin mumbled to himself as his left hand grasped a protruding handle attached to a bundle of dried ironwood and mythril hinges; lugging it up over his shoulder as his toes slid off the edge, and his body soon followed, falling down and downwards, towards the city.

"I liked that seat."