It's not fun to leave people out of the game. Making these decisions was tough, so the draft elimination took much longer than I first anticipated. I did my best to choose cards and characters which felt creative, unique, well-designed, and fine additions for the story of this tournament. Those whose names or heroes were not mentioned above can no longer participate in this tournament. I'm sorry if you really wanted to get into this competition. I wish you the best of luck, and maybe we'll see you again in the next Tournament of Champions once this is over!
Contestants!
You know now who are within the tournament, and those of you who are in the city of Seastnan may interact with each other if you wish to. Later today or tomorrow, you will meet the tournament staff, then travel from the city to the Werther Fortress. On arrival, you'll get to explore the fortress, the match positions will be determined, and the tournament bracket will be made for everyone to see.
Soft beams of afternoon light danced their way through the curtains and onto the floor as the equally soft notes of Anleiner's 7th Sonata hung lazily in the air, like soft cirrus clouds on a summer's day. Imilia sat gracefully on a satin piano bench, quietly singing along to the music, the silken tones of her voice adding to the music what warm honey does to tea. But Imilia's hands weren't touching the polished ivory keys. Instead, they worked Sim, pulling and twisting him, bestowing him with the grace and rhythm of a trained ballet dancer. Two skeletal feet played the piano instead, their long toes making quick work of note after note, gliding silently across the keys, and the soft click of joints was the only sound aside from the music.
A sudden knock at the door startled her from her trance-like state, causing her to twist one of Sim's limbs awkwardly, and she missed a note. She cursed under her breath and set down Sim, rendering the feet no more than macabre ornaments. She stood up from the piano bench, brushing off her skirt, and strode to the door.
"Miss Haas, are you there? I have an important message from Judge Gaspar!" The man's voice on the other side of the door sounded somewhat out of breath. A simple messenger then. Who might this Gaspar be, Imilia thought. I can't remember anyone with that name. A court judge, perhaps? Could any lawperson be so indignant as to send a messenger who would be quite so obviously out of breath? Perhaps messengers don't serve as much importance here...
"Miss Haas? Hello? I'm going to-" The man abruptly stopped talking as Imilia flung the door open, catching it with her hand at the last second and gently slowing it to a stop. She smiled. "You say you have a letter for me?" She asked, forcing herself to blush slightly.
"Yes, yes, right here, from the Judge..." His voice trailed off as he searched for something in his satchel. He found what he was looking for, and held it out to her: a letter with a golden wax seal. "You know," he said, "You've got quite a pretty singing voice, my wife used to-" Imilia cut him off as she plucked the letter from his hand, smiling again. "Thank you," She said, before swiftly closing the door. One look at the seal was all she needed. She remembered exactly which judge it was, and she failed to stifle a giggle. Not even bothering to open the letter, she tossed it aside, crossing the room with a spring in her step, and picked up Sim again. She began to articulate the marionette once more, with more furor than she had previously. The feet resumed their lively tap dance, and the crooning notes of Anleiner's 7th's second half picked up, filling the air once again. With several artful flourishes, other bones drifted into the room, coalescing into a full skeleton, floating several inches off the ground. Each of the bones was as smooth and polished as the marble floor of a palace, reflecting light throughout the room. The skeleton reached out a hand, and Imilia took it in hers, letting it lead her into a waltz. Imilia laughed maniacally, unable to contain herself as the pair danced gracefully around the room, the click of her shoes keeping in time with the piano. She held Sim in one hand as they danced, and as the skeleton held the marionette's other position, they moved in perfect tandem. Eventually, the song ended, and the skeleton released Sim, taking Imilia into a twirl with her free hand before pulling her close, snaking one hand around her waist and gingerly cupping her cheek with the other. She gently nestled her cheek in the skeletal hand, feeling polished bone warm against her skin, heated by the rays of the sun. She stayed there for a moment, a small smile playing across her lips. She gently brushed her hand against the skeleton's jaw, before standing on her tiptoes to kiss it delicately on the forehead. "I'm going to win, I'm sure of it" I love you...
Everyone's character was unique and awesome and everyone brought their own value. Im sure it was a hard decision for @TenebrisNemo. That being said, I am glad to be choosen by Nemo.
Best of luck to all others. I hope at the very least that you observe the touranment as spectators and offer some commentary in the general chat.
Chapter One (Tournament) - A Little Birdie Told Me
Blue skies mire the heavens and a gentle expanse of green encroaches the surrounding grounds. The blades of grass sing rhythmically against the caressing wind uninterrupted with but a gentle hum emanating from a nearby tree. Above the tree sits a masked figure flaying a polished dagger up and down and catching it without fail as their rhythm syrenegises with the surrounding tweets and twaddles of the birds that fly up and about the tree, focused in that spot as if beckoned by an irrefutable beacon of immeasurable entrancement.
*fump* *fump* *fump* *fump* an ugly and a not so rythmic noise stomps along the grounds interupting the unison. The birds scatter with great haste flying up and about the area as a figure dawning a messengers bag approaches.
Arn: "By the devils of theros, who mires me with such a voice of beauty not. It sounds of goblins engulfed in passion with their witch like voice or..." It smiles an inhuman grin under its grayish pale bone mask "That of a human"
The messenger perspires heavily. He perspires less so from the running and more so from the malice he sensed from that voice. He gazes up and sees two red lights of what he could presume to be eyes gaze at him from the shadows above the tries.
Messenger: "I uh...uhm" *gulp* "Judge Gaspar..." *he says forcing his voice out as he takes out the sealed letter* "Judge Gaspar would like to invite you to the great Tournament of champions" the messenger says with great haste, a voice of power and a stance of forced courage.
The eyes seemed to dim after and the messenger can feel a shift of atmosphere to a more tranquil and serene one as he lets out a gentle and a very discreet sigh.
Arn; "Well why didn't you say that much sooner!" Arn says with great excitement. Arn could only dream of the chaos, fear and laughs they would insight in the tournament.
It then grabs the letter, not even bothering to open it and pockets it and shortly after it shoots a beam of energy at the messenger turning him into a pretty little bird who then promptly flies off with great haste.
Arn: "Don't worry it'll wear off in a couple of minutes and you and your items will be back to normal. As close to normal as you can get that is. Now, do please spare me of the putrid noise of your mortal feet and do be quick, my songs can be quite entrancing."
After the messenger leaves, the humming resumes and the birds return. This is going to be a wild ride.
The smacking of shoes against stone wasn't an uncommon sound in the city mornings as the messengers and deliveryfolk who worked in the postage business began to make their rounds. To work in this time of year was stressful for most messengers, as having the honor to deliver the champion invitations often brought about the ordeal of having to find said champion. Such was the case for one messenger, who was rushing on her way to deliver an important letter. But there was one issue. It had no written address. How was she supposed to deliver it? Her concern over the matter would've continued to ramble and bounce around in the corners of her mind, but it was interrupted by crashing into a wall of meat.
"Hmm?" Damien looked down at the relatively small person sprawled on the ground next to him. The contents of their postage bag was spilled all over the ground and they were scrambling to clean it up. "My apologies. Let me help." The gentle giant drops to one knee and assists in cleaning the mess, scooping up letters by the handful. There were quite a few, more than any mail carrier would've had back in his hometown. He wasn't sure even the entire town had as much mail as this one bag. A bright glint from one of the envelopes caught his eye, and he reached out to pick it up. The light had come from the golden wax seal keeping it shut; whoever this was from must've been a very important person. Damien's curiosity got the better of him, and he flipped it over to see the front. It was an odd letter, different from the rest. No address, return or otherwise, and only had a name across the front in exquisite calligraphy: Damien Albrecht.
And here I doubted your silly idea, Damien. But it looks like we may be getting into that tournament after all. What a surprise. For once, you're proving to be useful-
"I'm sorry, but that letter in particular is quite important." The messenger's gentle voice cut through Rugal's mockery. "I'm going to need it back." "How do you plan to deliver it?" Damien replied, genuinely curious. "It bears no address, and the name is not an uncommon one."
"W-Well, letters from Judge Gaspar always reach their recipient." The messenger's answer was shaky, and Damien might've guessed she was flustered, if it wasn't next to impossible to read her face with that mask she wore.
"Well, you're in luck." The man smiles. "I am Damien Albrecht, and had entered into the tournament."
"Ack! Is that so? My apologies." The messenger quickly stands up, slinging the leather postage bag over her shoulder, and gives him a small bow, barely matching his knelling height. "May the dawn light your way."
"I am not familiar with that expression. Is it a local saying?" Damien asked. "Not quite. My mother would say it every morning before she departed. I suppose I picked it up from her." "Well then, may the dawn light your way as well." With a kind smile, Damien stands and turns to walk away.
"With all due respect, sir, you don't seem like much of a fighter to me." Damien couldn't help but give a dry chuckle in response. "Me neither." The man resumes walking. As he strides upon the sidewalk, he breaks the letter's seal and reads it, verifying the acceptance. Rugal seemed to have nothing to say on the matter. Perhaps there was a library nearby to spend some time while waiting.
Although a cool breeze rustled the leaves outside, inside the workshop was swelteringly hot. Sturgar lay on his back on a stone table, and Nartheus was calmly reading a book on a chair besides the table, brow furrowed and legs crossed.
"Almost done!" Shouted a large, red dragonborn over the endless clanging of the anvil.
Zordroth had built Sturgar's body, and was making improvements to it prior to the tournament's start. His broad torso was covered in heavy leather apron, but his face and hands were bare. He hammered a metal plate intently, heating it with fiery gouts of his own breath, courtesy of a draconic lineage. Sturgar too had once been able to breathe flame like the mighty dragons of old, although irreparable damage to his throat had lost him that ability.
Zordroth hummed happily between blasts of fire, hammering, shaping, heating, tempering. He was in his element, his muscular arms relentlessly beating raw steel into works of art, and his throat glowing red as his draconic breath melted the ore.
Sturgar, on the other hand, was not in his element. His weapons had been taken to be sharpened and reinforced, and several of his armored plates were detached, lying on the ground.
"You'll be good as new, you will" Zordroth turned around, brandishing a newly forged pauldron. "Better than new, in fact. This here's a brand new steel-tungsten alloy. Very durable and heat resistant. I could barely heat it enough, and I'm using dragon's breath! Ooh, I'd like ta see you go up against one of them pyromancers. They'd feel so useless!"
He rattled on and on about this piece of armor and that kind of metal as he deftly screwed, welded and latched on Sturgar's new exoskeleton bit by bit.
As Sturgar stood and admired Zordroth's work, there was a knock at the door. Sturgar immediately grabbed his weapons, eyes locked on the door. He prowled closer, moving strangely silently, then, in a flash, wrenched the door open, blades at the ready.
"Umm.. l-letter for you?" A young man stood at the door, holding an envelope at arm's length and sweating profusely. He handed Sturgar the letter, pulling his hand away as rapidly as possible, and running down the street. Sturgar quickly scanned the street, checked each window and alleyway, then slammed the door shut.
"So?" Nartheus looked up from his book. "Who was it?"
Sturgar stared at the golden seal on the envelope for a long while, then handed it to the duke.
"Ah, good" Nartheus nodded approvingly. "This will be fun."
Lyuben woke up early in the morning. The rising sun shone like a bright gemstone, painting the dawn sky with its fiery light. Lyuben walked over to the window of his room, staring longingly into the horizon. Lyuben could almost picture his dead boyfriend next to him. Lyuben could see those beautiful hazel eyes and that smile that brought Lyuben light even in the darkest times.
I miss you. So much. I wish you could be here with me…
In an instant, a low, dark cloud passed over the sun, shrouding its dazzling light. Lyuben’s once bright room was now covered in dark shadows. He felt his boyfriend disappear again. Lyuben was alone.
Lyuben felt a searing pain in his heart. “Get out of my head!”
Ä̶͇́s̸̬̊ ̴̹̔ỹ̶͚ò̴̜ų̷̈́ ̴̧͝w̴̟̓ĩ̸͖s̵̫̏h̵͚̓.̵͉̀
As the voice disappeared the clouds vanished with it. Lyuben changed into his cheap black robes and exited his room.
Lyuben stepped out onto the beautiful streets. The cobblestone pathways slithered between the numerous buildings in the area, all of them leading to a brilliant plaza at the heart of the city. The sun cast its majestic golden rays onto the city, adding to its cheerful ambience. The place was crowded with people from energetic kids to wise elders and everything in between. Still, something was off. Despite the people’s innocent smiles, Lyuben couldn’t help but feel scared.
Any one of those people could hurt me like my parents did. My parents used to smile at me too…
A hand tapped him on his shoulder. Lyuben gasped and spun around casting a dark spell towards his assailant...or maybe not his assailant.
Lyuben’s pale cheeks turned bright red as the people around him stopped to watch the scene.
“A-are you okay?”
A man coughed as he sat on the floor, clutching his chest. His fancy clothes were charred due to Lyuben’s spell. Lyuben put out his hand to help the guy up.
“Well, I’m fine now,” he laughed.
That smile...it’s the same smile he had…
Lyuben’s hand moved to the rose that was still in his pocket.
“I’m s- so sorry about that,” Lyuben said, ashamed.
“I came here to give you this.” The man took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Lyuben. “It’s from Judge Gaspar, one of the most powerful people in the city, so I think it’s pretty important.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Lyuben trailed off.
“Well, I got to go now. I can’t really be seen in these charred clothes.”
As he turned around to leave, Lyuben quickly shouted, “Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Could I get your name by any chance?”
“Sure. I’m Ayden.”
After Ayden left, Lyuben looked at the envelope. It was golden and had a perfect red seal.
“Could it be..?”
He tore open the envelope to see a letter written in nice handwriting. It read:
Congratulations! You are one of the 16 fighters who have been chosen to compete in the 17th Tournament of Champions! On the morning of the 23rd day of this month, you will travel with tournament guards and hosts from the city of Seastnan to the Werther Fortress, where you will fight until 8 contestants are left. More information will be given at arrival!
Lyuben was elated! He ran back through the winding pathways to his room happily.
“I- I did it! I actually made it in! Mom! Da-” Lyuben stopped. All of his excitement vanished in an instant. There was no one to celebrate his achievement. Lyuben reached into his pocket and took out his boyfriend’s rose again.
All this...All of this is for you...I will fight for you. For if I lose, I will be forced to return home to my parents, and all my work to keep your memory alive will be lost.
It was fairly early in the morning, and Cypherous was in his lab. Or was it his home? Cypherous decided it was both. It had been about a day since he had entered the tournament, and he was impatiently awaiting some form of acceptance from the people of Avelaide. Or denial, but Cypherous hoped for the former.
He stood up, and walked to his metal desk, sitting down on the stool in front of it. He pulled off his gauntlet. One of his first creations, and one of his favorites. It was an amazingly helpful tool for focusing his power.
Cypherous pulled out a few of his tools, and just started... fiddling with the gauntlet. Removing a few of the parts, switching them around. Et cetra.
Suddenly, Cypherous heard a knock at his door. Well, not exactly a door. To get in and out of his home, there was a circular piece of metal on the metal wall, that slid open and close on command.
He hastily put his gauntlet back on and pressed the button, and the door slid open. In front of Cypherous was a human male with brown hair. In his hand he carried a sort of white envelope.
The man was... different. Very different, from the other people on Kaladesh, in terms of his clothing, and his just look in general. His clothes were a simple, plain brown. At his waist was what looked like a large brown bag.
When the man spoke, he sounded quite out of breath.
"Sir... are you-" The man said in between gasps. "You... Doctor Cypherous, it says?" Cypherous nodded.
"Judge Gaspar... he," The man stopped and handed Cypherous the letter. Then he ran off, and in an instant he was gone.
Cypherous opened the letter. It was clean and crisp, with a red seal. Inside was a piece of paper that read; Congratulations! You are one of the 16 fighters who have been chosen to compete in the 17th Tournament of Champions! On the morning of the 23rd day of this month, you will travel with tournament guards and hosts from the city of Seastnan to the Werther Fortress, where you will fight until 8 contestants are left. More information will be given at arrival!
If his face made of aether could smile, it would have been covered with a huge grin.
Cypherous let go of the letter and it dropped to the ground. He walked back to his desk, feeling elated.
@Everyone - I got some unexpected tasks today, so I won't be able to post the chapter where we travel to the fortress just yet. I hope you don't mind that I post it tomorrow.
The crowds
gathered around the announcement podium situated in the city’s center were
growing restless, the hum and roar of their impatience rising through the
streets. A blot of crimson hair bobbed through the hustle of the residents and
visitors assembled for the announcement. As the bearded dwarf made his way up
to the pedestal, Nilfi neared the front of the crowd to listen closer. “Took me long enough to get here, I ought to
at least hear things first hand.” Nilfi thought as the stout figure loudly
cleared his throat.
“Hear ye, hear ye! The time
has arrived! The Tournament judge has decided who will fight in the seventeenth
Tournament of Champions!” The dwarf proclaimed in a booming voice that
instantly silenced the murmur of the gathered crowd. “Many have come from far
away, yet only sixteen chosen contestants will have the honor to compete in
this legendary game! Citizens and visitors of Seastnan, here are the names of
those who will fight for the title of Champion!” The announcer declared, before
listing off a series of names from a wax sealed scroll. “Of no particular
order, those chosen are…” He began, listing of all manner of strange and
unusual names from across the multiverse; titles, monikers, any means of
addressing the entrants that they might recognize or be known.
Nilfi couldn’t help keeping
count as the man read out the list. “Twelve,
thirteen, fourteen, come on Nilly, were you not good enough for this? Fifteen and sixteen is…”
“…and finally, Nilfeira
Williamson! Contestants can expect a sealed parcel delivered by our expert
messengers with further instructions and information.”
“Yes!” Nilfi started to cheer,
cutting themselves off as to avoid making a scene. “Well, your name is about to be broadcast across the entire country, so
don’t be too coy Nilly boy. And did you really have to use your full name?”
The crowd was in a boom with chatter and gossip. From the sounds of things,
most names were simply a mystery to the common folk. People began to disperse
slowly, returning to their daily routines, although not without the
announcement being the talk of the whole city. With a sigh, Nilfi went and took
a seat over by the podium which now lay vacant, detaching the dragon
head-shaped ferrule from the top of his staff, giving it a quick cleaning with
his coat before bringing the whistle-like mouthpiece to his lips and playing a
few sweet notes from the recorder.
As the alchemist sat on the
stone streets attempting to mimic the local bird calls, a young woman with a
large messenger bag slung across her chest appeared practically out of the blue
rushing up to him. “Are you- Master- Nilfeira?” She asked breathlessly as she
rummaged through her satchel. Nilfi gave a brief nod as the messenger pulled
out a light gold envelope with a red wax seal and his name carefully inscribed upon
its face. Reaching out and taking hold of it, Nilfi paused for a moment.
“And what if I don’t accept
the letter?” He asked the woman whose hand still held onto the envelope.
“Oh, I’m afraid you’ll be
accepting it sooner or later. Everyone always does eventually.” She said with a
cheerful close-eyed grin, her smile glowing in the midday sunshine. She let go
of the letter, giving Nilfi a quick bow and throwing closed her bag.
“Huh, how oddly terrifying.
Thanks for the delivery.” He muttered, though she was gone as suddenly as she
arrived. With a delicate flick, Nilfi broke the seal on the envelope and
quickly skimmed the contents to confirm the information inside and where they
would be heading. “Strap in pal, we’re in for a wild ride.”
(And no worries Tenebris? Nemo? Temo? Haha, life happens and we all appreciate the amount of work that goes into writing and organizing this whole thing.)
Arha turned another page in her book. She couldn't focus. The announcement that Judge Gaspar had chosen the 16 contestants had been earlier that day. She didn't go; she didn't enjoy crowds, and nerves had kept her up late the night before.
The elf stood up, bookmarking her page and putting the book down on the desk. Walking over to her room's window, she looked out of it and down to the street. The hustle and bustle of everyday life in Seastnan calmed her. Even after the announcement of the contestants of the tournament, there was still peace enough for citizens to continue with their day.
"This is what I'm here for," Arha said to herself.
A knock on the door made Arha jump. Smoothing her dress, she walked to the door and opened it.
"Arha de Mira?" the courier said.
"Yes?"
The courier held out a metallic letter. "A letter from Judge Gaspar for you."
Trying to contain her nerves, Arha took the letter from the courier, who bowed and left. Closing the door, Arha went back to her desk. Breaking the red seal, she pulled out the letter and read it. Reading it again, she sighed and relaxed.
"This is going to be a tournament to remember, Arha," she said. "Try and keep a journal of it, for memory's sake."
No problem with the pause in the story. Unexpected things are bound to happen, and it's totally fine to work through them. Plus, it gives everyone a little extra time to write their first chapters.
An unusual raven with glowing blue eyes perched on a window of a somewhat 'abandoned' mansion somewhere deep in a forest. To normal people born without natural magic, the large building would appear so due to certain magical wards that had been placed on a large area around the building by a certain powerful wizard lady with a rather demonic visage. Held in the beak of the raven was a letter, stamped by a familiar insignia of the annual tournament. "Oh... it must be the letter that Lady Aiko spoke of." A female human servant in a dark maid uniform approached the bird, then took the latter with her. The raven emitted a loud caw, then just flew away. "Alice, be a good dear and go to Seastnan. Fetch me some local wine and get some information about the tournament, specifically about the contenders. The sooner the better. I'll be taking the letter, thank you." Commanded the demonic lady as she descended the main stairs in an elegant but simple white noblewoman dress along with a ruby necklace on her chest. Despite being an outlander herself, she spoke clearly without accents. A small boon of being knowledgeable in a certain 'Tongues' spell. "Y-yes milady." Alice bowed as the lady took the letter, then the maid's eyes aglow for a brief moment and simply vanished in a smoke of brimstone. The sun of that particular plane was beginning to descend into the horizon, painting the sky in an orange glow with dark grey tone. A fleeting beauty that Aiko couldn't enjoy as she was in deep thoughts, contemplating about a statement from her former elder dragon master, who abruptly gone during the great war event in Ravnica. Flashback
'Ah my dear Aiko, despite I am confident about my plans to simply amass more... sparks from those world-hopping fools, that meddling 'brother' of mine, Ugin, is still clever. I am aware that he already had plans to stop me. So you and another agent of mine, a lich planeswalker that you will soon recognize, will become my failsafe. If I die, then it will be easier for me to return back, otherwise find me in my Meditation Realm. For it is the only place that fool of a brother of mine could think of, if I somehow lose my spark.' The infamous elder's dragon voice reverberated inside of Aiko's mind. The rather unholy smells of murky swamp of Takenuma didn't help either. "... And what if I just go-" Aiko tried to make a retort, but her voice just died in her throat as her eyes completely darkened, all while she could only envision Nicol Bolas in his majesty on top of a golden throne in a desert plane.
'As I expected. Loyalty is such a rarity nowadays. Know your place that I hold your contract. And only I alone who can remove that, or greet oblivion after one year of your servitude.' "O-of course, my lord." Aiko buckled and vomited black blood, sweats poured from her forehead profusely. She really didn't like being a slave of someone in exchange for power, but she really had no choice in the matter. 'Mark my words, girl. For I do not speak nonsense, and my promise is absolute.' Flashback End 'Only six months left, before it's all gone forever.' The rather beautiful succubus frowned, for she was aware about the imprisonment of her former master.
And she really needed to find that particular lich planeswalker, for he held the key to her master's return, his planeswalker spark, and the key to her survival. And she was aware that the person she seek was on the plane where she was currently standing, for both her and the lich were in the same syndicate that Bolas himself made to satisfy his endless greed, the interplanar Immortal Syndicate. The one that was being lead by a powerful demon only known as the 'Syndicate Mastermind' in the absence of the said elder dragon.
Moments seconds became minutes and minutes became hours. Only recently had judge Gaspar announced the participants of the tournament and Arn was only too eager to learn of them.
Arn wasn't in this for any particular reason, but in order to hunt your prey, you must learn how it acts and staying here was only elevating his boredom so he decided to go to work within the city confines.
(Short passage of time)
Arn entered the city and not wanting to be recognized as an outsider, he used his wild magic to shift into a more appealing form. he had heard of a witch from a certain consul called Baltenainne and of her great talents and promise. If she was truly all she was built up to be, Arn figured she would make a great prey to hunt.
Arn sat on a nearby stall awaiting the arrival of this particular messenger and wait he did, but after twenty long grueling minutes the messenger arrived with great haste.
Arn: "Excuse me, do you have a moment to spare"
Messenger: "I don't mean to be rude sir but I am kind of in a rush" the messenger spoke while out of breath.
Arn: "I know that it has been a long day and you have to deliver letters to those pesky tournament champions but surely even Gaspar knows you deserve a break. Come have one drink before you go"
Messenger: "It is really important that I deliver this."
Arn: "I insist. Besides, who is a lonely man like me gonna have a drink with around here."
Messenger: "I guess a little drink never hurt anyone" the messenger said finally convinced as he walked into the tavern with this very generous stranger.
Arn walked into the tavern with the naïve messenger and ordered two pints of ale for himself and for the messenger before loudly proclaiming in his shifted voice.
Arn: "In honor of our messenger friend" he said patting the messenger's back "I will buy you all a drink!!!"
The Tavern erupted into a uproar of cheers and hazaars upon hearing this proclamation, as they drank to their hearts content. But as the minutes passed the taverns grew quieter and quieter. The messenger began to notice and went to say a word but then ultimately he too passed out.
Soon the tavern was a cacophony of snores, snorts and snorkels, as everyone in the tavern fell into a deep slumber.
Arn then reached in the messenger bag and pulled a scroll with a gold seal on it.
Arn: "You people are so naive, alas its time to for me to leave. If you don't mind dear messenger I will borrow one more thing, and upon your awakening I have insured you will forget this entire ordeal'
Using it's wild magic, Arn replicated the form of the passed out messenger, learning just enough to fool the recipient of the letter. This would buy him enough time to learn of this so called witch from Baltenainne.
Later that afternoon, Arn went to the residing quarters of Imilia to both deliver her letter and scout her abilities. He arrived quickly, feigning tiredness and exhaustion.
"Miss Haas, are you there? I have an important message from Judge Gaspar!" Arn made his voice sound somewhat out of breath.
"Miss Haas? Hello? I'm going to-" Arn abruptly stopped talking as Imilia flung the door open, catching it with her hand at the last second and gently slowing it to a stop. She smiled.
"You say you have a letter for me?" She asked, showing a vibrant blush that made Arn almost reconsider her as a worthy prey.
"Yes, yes, right here, from the Judge..." Arn's voice trailed off as it searched for something in it's satchel. Arn found what it was looking for, and held it out to her: a letter with a golden wax seal. "You know," Arn said feigning conversation whilst observing Imilia's marionette in an attempt to decipher its workings., "You've got quite a pretty singing voice, my wife used to-" Imilia cut him off as she plucked the letter from his hand, smiling again before slaming the door in a great haste.
Why would anyone go through the trouble to bring such a thing, Arn thought before concluding that it was best that he left before he was discovered by any interloper. He had to keep an eye from afar on Imilia until then.
(Later that night)
The messenger awakened disorientated in a room full of other unfortunate victims. A strong hangover came over him like an eagle on its meal and his head was pounding but it slowly began to subside. He reached beside his pockets without realizing what he was searching for until he hit his messenger bag on the side, and he was soon overcome with a feeling of sudden dread.
Messenger: "mrs. Imilia's letter! I have to deliver mrs. Imilia's letter! Wait where is her letter!!! *He said frantically searching around with no recollection of how he got here or where the letter went* "Gaspar is going to kill me" he said as he began to walk back to Gaspar's meeting area.
Kaigan opened his eyes. He didn't know what he expected to see. The cool gel on his skin turned to smoke and floated away in a swift, warm breeze. Everything had come through fine, the knapsack on his back, spear in his hands, and medallion around his neck. A sigh of relief passed his lips. He hadn't doubted Prossh's spell at all, but some things were so surreal about the experience he thought it might have been a dream.
He glanced around, looking for some clue of where he was. The woods he was in cleared out to some extent on one side and showed a road. While nature was nice, he had a mission. A road had to lead somewhere civilized, and from there he could head to the tournament. He heaved a sigh and prepared for a long walk.
As he came close to the road however, something disrupted him from his internal reverie. Voices! People! And oh dear lord, it's not happy people.
"Hey! Stop the coach!"
The familiar hiss of steal coming out of a leather sheath spurred Kaigan on further, dashing the rest of the way up the hill. Holding his spear at the ready, he couldn't get to the top before he heard a clang and a grunt. When he got to the top, the scene was already set, and for the worse. A group of four bandits had assaulted what appeared to be a stagecoach, and while one of them was cursing and leaning against a rock on the other side of the road, three were hard pressing someone who appeared to be the driver, who was clearly not a great swordfighter, but was trying anyway.
Not even hesitating, Kaigan lept down on top of the coach, then down again, stabbing one of the three upright bandits in the foot with the spearhead, then pulling out and swinging the butt around to crack the man in the side of the neck. The highwayman groweld and pulled back, going to bring his club down on the disruptive kobold, but the spear danced in the way, deflecting, blocking, and hindering each blow. One of the highwayman's friends paused assaulting the old coach handler, confident in his ally.
"Goddamnit Boris, stop playing around! If that lizard kid is gonna get in your way, smash him! He's less than half your {redacted} size!"
Boris merely grunted in response, already working up a sweat from how har his blows stared with. Tossing aside his massive club, he grabbed for the solid silver spear. What he planned to do after he had it was never made clear, for Kaigan's response was a simple thrust forward, stepping in and going over the attempted catch to nail home a devastating gutshot. Kaigan bowed low, the bandit's clenched fist wooshing over the back of his head as the man collapsed backwards.
It finally dawned on the leader that the small, scaled being was more dangerous than he first thought.
"Look, kid, you want a share of the haul, we can arrange for that. We've had solid dealings with the lizardfolk here in the pa-"
"I'm not here to rob people."
"Look, where are your parents? You're really too yo-"
"I've just outfought one of your men. Not a scratch on me, and he's at least seriously injured. Do I appear to need parents?"
Kaigan's voice wass brisk, firm, and brooked no questions. The leader seemed slightly confused, but recovers quickly.
"No..."
"So are you going to take your men and leave or are you gonna try to outdo Boris's performance?"
The bandit leader sighed and lowered his sword. The other man was clearly winning majorly, but followed his leaders cue, stepping away.
"Kid, why are you ev-"
This time, his sentence wasn't interrupted by Kaigan, but by himself, as his downed sword flashed up and lunged at Kaigan's chest. Not expecting that, Kaigan leaped back, nearly tripping and cracking his head against the coach door. Grinning, the leader stepped forward to finish him. Bright steel flashes in the sunlight, and a spray of blood gets on the side of the coach, including the window. An 11 year old girl peeks out, terrified but intensely curious. As she looked over the scene, she saw a cute, red kobold lying against the door, a beheaded bandit, and a panting coachman. The coachman reached down and pulled the kobold up, shaking him gently as the other bandits turned and fled as best they could. Her parents pulled her away from the window at that point.
"That was a solid fight there... you probably saved everyone in the coach. Next time though, don't talk to them. They would kill you and everyone in the coach for whatever riches we had. Mercy doesn't exist on the road. Now, how can I repay you?"
"I need to get to the tournament?"
"Ha! You're in luck; we're headed to the host city anyway. I can drop you in the hotel district without even going off course. Get up top with the luggage; can't have you bothering the lord or lady inside."
Kaigan eagerly obeyed; this was much better than walking. There was something unfair about him not being allowed inside he felt, but it didn't matter to him. The air was fresh, warm, and full of the scents of a beautiful spring. He and the driver talked for a good bit, and enjoyed each other's company in silence for a good bit more. The guards at the city gate gave him an odd look, but no trouble, and they entered the magnificent city.
Ah, the splendor of the city! Unwashed bodies, sewage in the streets, beggars and lepers on the corners contrast spectacularly with the pristine buildings, posh outfits of the rich, and firm, polished steel of the guards. The driver, Richard, dropped Kaigan off at a comfy rest stop, and continued with his nobles on to the palace. Word would spread of the brave little lizardkin, and pass along to the manager of the tournament.
Ytsix sat at a table in a local cafe, stirring around a crepe in his espresso. How? How did he end up in this situation again? It seems that no matter what he does, no matter where he goes, he always ends up in some… competition! He did one for funsies, and now, again and again he finds himself locked in increasingly dangerous contests that could very well end in his death. And today it’s happening once more… a letter, delivered to him directly, saying he was chosen for a tournament he didn’t even enter. How did this happen? He had heard news about a tournament of champions, how there were so many colorful heroes and wonderful visitors from distant planes. And yet they chose him… him! And he was going to be escorted by armed guards! Oh, this day couldn’t get any worse!... wait… maybe it’s just a lack of sleep kicking in… yeah… not sleeping for two nights might do that to you, yeah… OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY?!
~ Flashback - The Night Before Last… ~
“GET BACK! GET BACK! GEEET BAAACK!”
Ytsix was panting, slowing, tiring… how long had these shadowy figures been on his tail? Two hours? Four? Eight? He forgot to install a watch on his newest prosthetic, and right now he didn’t have time to calculate. The only thing keeping Ytsix alive was some well timed chronomancy, and the mana battery in Ytsix’s arm was running dry. He shot bolts of electricity, aether blasts, and even an actual gun at the pursuers, but they wouldn’t drop… and every second they were getting closer and closer to getting him.
“No… this can’t be how it ends,” he thought to himself. “All I’ve been through… so much I’ve done… just to get murdered?!” Something scathed his shoulder, causing him to stumble a bit and nearly lose his momentum. A flicker, and he just barely dodges a lethal blow. “I have so much to live for! I… I could still make the device! I could still gain control of my powers!-”
“GAH!”
Ytsix was struck in the knee, falling down. Is this it? His final moments, wasted as he died a victim? No… he couldn’t stand for it. But alas, as he tried to cast his signature spell, his arm shocked him… he was out of mana, and couldn’t draw enough from the surrounding area in time. As a last resort, he prayed… he’d do anything! Anything!
Suddenly, his prayer was seemingly answered; suddenly, he blinked, and appeared in the city of Seastnan… during the day.
~ Flashback - A Day In Seastnan
Ytsix was awestruck as he took in the sights. This city was beautiful! Everything was wonderful! But alas, a bad apple to ruin the batch. Being escorted out of a building was a stocky elf with a mohawk, who stood about eight feet tall and was dressed in a crimson suit.
"What do you mean no planeswalkers?! Afraid your champion might be powerful?! Unbelievable! I could lead this pathetic plane into a new era of growth and prosperity! Save your world and liberate the people! But alas, I suppose you aren't worth my time anyways…"
What… was going on here? What was that massive building for? Why were so many people gathered there… and why were some of them approaching him?! The first to speak is a child, another leonin with his feline parents.
“Mama! Papa! It’s him! It’s the cyborg dude, Eats It!”
“Um, um…” Ytsix didn’t know what to say… how did these people know him?! Could he trust them?! Were they going to kill him?! As though by instinct, he warped, appearing underneath a wagon selling fresh fruit.
“Hey! Get back here! I want your autograph!”
The father of the kid is next to speak. “You can come out, buddy. I won’t bite.”
“Why do you want my autograph?!” Ytsix cried out. “I’m just a researcher!”
“What kind of researcher travels to five different worlds and wins five different tournaments? You’re a legend back at home, kid. Your pops is proud of you.”
“I don’t want to win tournaments! I just want to go back home and make a planeswalking device, ‘at’s all!”
“Then why are you here, at… ahem… one of the biggest tournaments of history? The Tournament of Champions?”
“I literally just got here on accident! I don’t want to be in a tournament! AHHHHHHH- ahuh- uck! Hairball!”
“Hey, wait!”
Ytsix suddenly ran, faking a hairball, but he couldn’t escape… is that… his partner Kavro, from his stay on Kylem?!
The mouse speaks up. “Well well well! I knew after that show we put on you’d come here!”
“I’M NOT HERE FOR THE TOURNAMEEEENT!”
“You said that on Kylem… and yet you kicked butt! C’mon! Let me take you to the signups! I’m gonna be entering too!”
“I’M NOT ENTERING!”
“C’mon… we can be buddies! Remember when you summoned that pile of junk and I turned it into a giant hammer? It was amazing!”
“I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE!”
“Oh, silly… people don’t die at Valor’s Reach-”
“THAT GUY WAS LITERALLY SACRIFICING HIS OWN SOLDIERS FOR POWER!”
“Okay… not normally…”
“Just leave me alone please Kavro… I’ll cheer you on and all, but I’m not participating.”
“You haven’t lost a single bout before. You’d make a perfect champion!”
“I don’t want to be a champion. I just wanna see my dad again…”
“So do I, but I’ve got fights to win! Seeya later, furry friend!”
Kavro waved goodbye as he went to join the tournament, hopping and skipping, and Ytsix sighed as he went to find the nearest cafe...
~ Now…
“He signed me up, didn’t he?”
“Um, no sir. You signed up yourself,” the messenger replied.
“I didn’t sign up!”
“All of our sources say otherwise. You were seen at the arena, and everyone made a big fuss about how excellent of a champion you are around the multiverse. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent contender!”
“I guess... “
Ytsix gulped. His coffee was getting cold… as was his body as a chill ran down his spine. He wasn’t ready for this, but apparently, dozens of people came here just to see him. He just hopes that this doesn’t end poorly for him… he honestly doesn’t know what’s worse for him; the fame of victory, or the price of defeat. However, he stands nonetheless, paying for his tab, and heads off to the town square...
For two hours I had looked for any signs in the western forest of Seastnan without success. The morning sun had become shrouded by grey clouds, and the chill of the night still surrounded us. My steed agreed with me with a neigh when I let out a sigh of frustration thanks to the futile trip. The old farmer whom I met on the road might have been mistaken about a lurking vengeful he saw in the forest's shadows as he was on his way to the fields. Nevertheless, as any other hunter knight would, I heeded his request to check the woods for any wandering monsters. I was on my way to the city early, so I would have been well-prepared to greet the contestants before our journey to the fortress. Yet in the forest I was riding, where numerous branches scraped just-polished armor of mine, and leaves were hanging from between the steel plates. "Let's return, Rusty," I said to the horse, and with a slight pull from the reins, he turned and cantered to the city's direction.
After a while, we were on the road again, approaching the bridge that connected to the west gate of the city. I wiped off leaves and broken branches from myself before the tournament guards could see my arrival. Four soldiers were at the beginning of the bridge, each one waiting patiently while their horses pawed the ground in slight boredom. "Good morning, Sir," the eldest guard greeted with a slight metallic tone, which happens when you speak from inside a greathelm. "Judge Gaspar asked us to escort you to the plaza, where you'll meet the contestants. Shall we go there immediately?"
"Lead the way," and with that, our horses cantered into the city, their hooves clattered on the cobblestone street. Two guards were in front of me, other two right behind. Some citizens watched with surprised eyes as we passed them. Those areas were pretty quiet, so they didn't expect to see hunter knights there. Times are different now. It didn't take long until we arrived to the plaza. There were several other guards also waiting. They were standing in formations all around the plaza. There was also a fancy, wooden carriage at the edge of the plaza. The rider of the carriage was smoking pipe under his dark green hooded cloak, patiently sitting and waiting for his passenger. It wasn't hard to guess who was meant to ride in it. Judge Gaspar walked to the plaza from inside a nearby building, which looked like a city hall. He was accompanied by two guards and two envoys. I raised my right hand to greet the Judge, and once he saw me, he whispered something to the envoys, and they each hurried to two different directions, disappearing behind the buildings. Judge Gaspar walked onto a wooden podium, which two guards placed in the middle of the plaza. More waiting, and more citizens seemed to gather behind the guards, curious to see what's going on. I stroked Rusty's head, and the horse waved its pointy ears in response. Then suddenly, one of the envoys returned. Behind him followed a colorful group. Them. They're coming. I fixed my posture as they arrived to the plaza. They stepped into a line, and most of them were looking at me. Some of them must have felt a bit uncomfortable as everyone eyed them, including me. I couldn't help it. A majority of them looked like normal humans, but I knew I would be wrong to assume that. A demon lady, metallic dragon soldier, kobold, and cat artificer stood out clearly from the rest. Some of them whispered with each other and made other small noises, just like the people among the gathered crowd, but they quieted down once Judge Gaspar raised his right hand.
"Contestants, I hope you have prepared for today's journey," the Judge greeted loudly with his usual coarse voice as he put his hands behind his back. "Today we travel to the northern Werther Fortress, where the first matches of this tournament will be held. The journey will take the whole day. The inhabitants of the fort will be welcoming us before the sun goes down, but for that to happen, we have to depart soon. But first, meet the knight who will accompany you for the duration of the tournament. He will be your guardian, mentor, and merciless enemy, should you ever fight him. Behold..."
The Judge gestured to me with his hand, and I rode Rusty to the middle of the plaza, right in front of the contestants. "Greetings," I shouted. "I am Sir Killian of Crastine, hunter knight of goddess Friyena. I know all of you are capable of fighting for your lives. You wouldn't be in this tournament if this wasn't the case. As contestants, you should only be focused on the upcoming matches. Yet there are many fools out there who wish to fight to the death with all of you for various ungodly reasons! And if those poor souls ever cross paths with you, I will be there," I shouted as I rode my steed in a steady pace back and forth, looking into each contestant's eyes. "I will be there to cut them down and make them regret for ever thinking of doing battle with any of you! Each one of you is important to Lisakdonia and its good people for as long as this tournament persists! One of you will eventually become a champion, and until that day, I am yours."
When I said that, people in the crowd made way for the second envoy, who was returning with many more tournament guards and even more horses. Some of the horses were pulling four caged wagons. I rode next to each wagon and looked into them. The wooden floors were full of blankets, but the smell was a bit odious. Then I rode next to Judge Gaspar, who was about to step into the carriage. "Animal wagons? You're going to put the contestants into caged wagons, as if they're circus animals?"
"It is for their own good," the Judge answered casually, despite the infuriated tone in my voice. "Arranging carriages for the contestants would have been a waste of money. Also, this way it's easier to keep an eye on them."
"Unbelievable," I muttered as the Judge closed the carriage door. The guards were busy climbing on their horses and getting the contestants into the wagons. The looks on the fighters' faces were unforgettable. It didn't take long until everyone seemed to be ready. The guard who spoke to me earlier rode his horse right next to mine.
Chapter two (Tournament) - The Hour That Never Ends
Arn made himself comfortable in the animal wagon and prepared for the long journey ahead. Arn being a natural born hunter who spent a majority of his time resting on uncomfortable places and smelling the even more uncomfortable smells of nature found this rather tame. Relative to everything he had been through, this was what common folk often referred to as paradise.
Arn watched all the contestants from aboard his carriage whilst avoiding conversing with them as he passively scryed for any signs of weakness and hints of possessions of value. Prior to that he had also being observing sir Killian and decided that causing trouble with such a diverse caravan of affiliates would be ill advised. So Arn watched with no pranks, no killing and no hunting and frankly this was clawing on Arn's nerves but Arn stayed strong.
Arn dreamt of how he would flay the foolish guards, how he would turn the other contestants into various assortments of items, all the chaos he could cause, and all the fear he could insight as he squirmed discreetly in his undead spiritual husk monstrosity that was his body. Never had all his prey been so close, he could smell their fear just by sitting in the carriage yet he couldn't kill them right away. It was the ultimate cruel joke from the multiverse. Yet he couldn't wait to savor the beat of combat, the thrill of the chase, and the cruelty of the pranks, but until then he just sat there in the carriage as the caravans headed to the supposed tournament grounds each second feeling like an hour that never ends.
Conclusion.
(Arn's pronouns are: "He, Him, His, They, Them, and It", the first three are the main pronouns but as he can wild magic to various forms the last three also apply. Also it just makes typing Arn's stuff easier.)
@TenebrisNemo: If anything in my chapter conflicts with your story plans, just tell me and I will fix it.
Three riding tournament guards are leading the party. Behind them is Judge Gaspar's carriage. Then comes the four caged wagons, where your heroes are. There are four heroes in each wagon, and each of them is accompanied by two riders. Then there are six riders at the very end of the party. Sir Killian is riding right next to the carriages.
Ytsix shivered in his wagon... who were these people? The old man and the tournament guards seemed okay, but otherwise he couldn't trust any of these people! That knight might vow to protect his life, but what if he isn't there? How can he be vigilant enough to keep an eye on all sixteen contestants at once, plus the road ahead?! The poor cat is utterly terrified, but alas, he does what he must. First, he snaps his finger, and the carriage is suddenly clean, tidy, and smelling like strawberries... as he suddenly disappears. After a moment of absence, he reappears, and removes his prosthetic. His mechanical left arm is a marvel of steampunk engineering, simultaneously sleek and slightly bulky. He places it on his lap and begins to meditate, and an energy cell within begins to collect energy from the surrounding area. His meditation is interrupted with every bump in the road, remote noise in the wagon, or anything he deems remotely conspicuous, and he does his best to hide his tail under his jacket and his eyes behind his goggles...
As Nilfi settled in for the wagon ride to the tournament grounds, he knew now would be a good time to follow up on his snap judgments and observations he'd made when they had all gathered in the courtyard not long ago.
First, the attractive demoness with a powerful dark aura around her. "Careful Nilly, you've encountered enough women like her to kill a hundred men." Nilfi thought to themselves, promising themselves a glass of whiskey if they were wrong about the demonic lady.
Next was the darkly robed woman and what Nilfi could only assume was her loyal knight. He couldn't tell if the smell of rot came from the animal cage they were stuck in or if it was wafting over from within the armor.(Correction, forgot about the fact that Steaphan the knight doesn't rot or smell bad.) But the woman reminded him of an old travel companion, and not in a good way. "The dead are better left that way, you should know better than anyone."
Finally, there was the mysteriously masked figure with the strange technological gauntlet. This was a fair new sight for Nilfi. What interested the wizard most of all was the massive concentration of raw magical energy, and an apparent lack of any organic matter. When he stepped into this wagon, Nilfi planned to sit back and take mental notes of the appearance and behavior of the other contestants, but curiosity was getting the better of him.
"Excuse me, you with the magical machine glove. Hate being the one to interrupt this quiet ride in the woods sitting in sheep crap," Nilfi began, knowing he was already digging himself into a hole. "But I couldn't help but notice you don't seem very, oh how should I say, fleshy? Is your physiology comprised entirety of compressed magical essence?" He asked while leaning in a bit close for comfort, clearly excited at the prospect.
(Kinda short because it's getting late, but really wanted to get something out tonight.)
Imilia was having regrets. First she had to push her way through a crowd of dirty citizens, now she was sitting in a dirty cage. For our protection? Bullshit, they don't want any of us to leave. Such a way to treat a consul. Imilia wrinkled her nose in disdain, and she faintly picked up the smell of strawberries. She had to fight hard to keep the scowl from her face. She hated strawberries. But where was it coming from? She looked around her cart.
First, some sort of... cat? Imilia had never seen anything like him before. Inwardly laughing at his attempt to meditate, yet mildly intrigued at his prosthetic, she moved on. Next, a shadowy figure of sorts, seemingly completely separated from the world. Imilia considered trying to get his attention, but deemed it unnecessary. Third, an old man, who Imilia could only assume was a wizard, based on his robes. She made a mental note to be careful around him. With age often comes wisdom, and wisdom is the enemy of deceit. He'd make wonderful practice though, wouldn't he...
Bored with the members of her own cart, she turned towards the cart in front of hers. First, a horned woman, and an especially gorgeous one at that. Imilia felt jealousy rising within her, but managed to push it aside as best she could. Next, a knight sat next to a woman. Both looked... decrepit. Imilia didn't even begin to wonder what they might smell like. Imilia was about to move on when she picked up on a trace of magic, brief and ephemeral, like a flower petal on the breeze. She reached for Sim, and another flash of magic hit her. From the knight? No, that doesn't make any sense. Or does it? Imilia decided to conceal her true abilities from the knight until she figured out what exactly he was. Lasty, a well dressed red haired man talked at a mysterious hooded figure. What is that, under the robes? Imilia thought. Some form of artifice? Interesting.
Imilia turned her attention to the cart to her rear, momentarily shelving her thoughts of the previous cart for later, when she could reflect, and formulate. She recognized Conscience Reveera straight away, and her fist clenched. She had never met Conscience before, but she knew from her research that although powerful, she would be easy to influence. The entitled rich kids always are. Her mind fluttered briefly back to Baltenainne, before she shook herself out of it. She decided that the best way to interact with Conscience would be to take the lower position. Hmmm. I can't say I like it, but there's money to be had here. And not just money, but influence as well. She'd deal with Conscience later. Next, the blind man with the lute. Imilia was silently outraged how little she could grasp of him. Damn it all you blind enigma. I'll know you soon enough. Just wait, when I'm finished with you you'll be writing your own dirge. Mentally composing herself, she turned her attention to the next occupant. It appeared to be a boy about her age, wearing cheap robes. But what Imilia noticed most was the expression of pain on the boy's face. Imilia's eyes widened with glee, and she fought down a laugh. Preying on the mourning was a challenge all on its own, and one that so rarely presented itself. Sure is a shame he's just a peasant, not much other than enjoyment to earn from him. As she looked at him, Imilia paused, as she realized that this boy was no commoner. His robes may have been cheap, but his boots were fine craft leather, and his skin was pale and unmarred. Who are you, mystery boy? And what can I gain from you? Filling in her mental notebook further, Imilia turned to the last figure, and was startled to find the figure already looking at her. She managed to keep herself from flinching, but she was frustratingly unable to keep the confused expression off her face. Something about this figure felt scarily and unmistakably...familiar. To be continued...
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Contestants!
You know now who are within the tournament, and those of you who are in the city of Seastnan may interact with each other if you wish to. Later today or tomorrow, you will meet the tournament staff, then travel from the city to the Werther Fortress. On arrival, you'll get to explore the fortress, the match positions will be determined, and the tournament bracket will be made for everyone to see.
A sudden knock at the door startled her from her trance-like state, causing her to twist one of Sim's limbs awkwardly, and she missed a note. She cursed under her breath and set down Sim, rendering the feet no more than macabre ornaments. She stood up from the piano bench, brushing off her skirt, and strode to the door.
"Miss Haas, are you there? I have an important message from Judge Gaspar!" The man's voice on the other side of the door sounded somewhat out of breath. A simple messenger then. Who might this Gaspar be, Imilia thought. I can't remember anyone with that name. A court judge, perhaps? Could any lawperson be so indignant as to send a messenger who would be quite so obviously out of breath? Perhaps messengers don't serve as much importance here...
"Miss Haas? Hello? I'm going to-" The man abruptly stopped talking as Imilia flung the door open, catching it with her hand at the last second and gently slowing it to a stop. She smiled.
"You say you have a letter for me?" She asked, forcing herself to blush slightly.
"Yes, yes, right here, from the Judge..." His voice trailed off as he searched for something in his satchel. He found what he was looking for, and held it out to her: a letter with a golden wax seal. "You know," he said, "You've got quite a pretty singing voice, my wife used to-" Imilia cut him off as she plucked the letter from his hand, smiling again.
"Thank you," She said, before swiftly closing the door.
One look at the seal was all she needed. She remembered exactly which judge it was, and she failed to stifle a giggle. Not even bothering to open the letter, she tossed it aside, crossing the room with a spring in her step, and picked up Sim again. She began to articulate the marionette once more, with more furor than she had previously. The feet resumed their lively tap dance, and the crooning notes of Anleiner's 7th's second half picked up, filling the air once again.
With several artful flourishes, other bones drifted into the room, coalescing into a full skeleton, floating several inches off the ground. Each of the bones was as smooth and polished as the marble floor of a palace, reflecting light throughout the room. The skeleton reached out a hand, and Imilia took it in hers, letting it lead her into a waltz. Imilia laughed maniacally, unable to contain herself as the pair danced gracefully around the room, the click of her shoes keeping in time with the piano. She held Sim in one hand as they danced, and as the skeleton held the marionette's other position, they moved in perfect tandem.
Eventually, the song ended, and the skeleton released Sim, taking Imilia into a twirl with her free hand before pulling her close, snaking one hand around her waist and gingerly cupping her cheek with the other. She gently nestled her cheek in the skeletal hand, feeling polished bone warm against her skin, heated by the rays of the sun. She stayed there for a moment, a small smile playing across her lips. She gently brushed her hand against the skeleton's jaw, before standing on her tiptoes to kiss it delicately on the forehead.
"I'm going to win, I'm sure of it"
I love you...
I think we only make the second character card once the first fights are done
Best of luck to all others. I hope at the very least that you observe the touranment as spectators and offer some commentary in the general chat.
Chapter One (Tournament) - A Little Birdie Told Me
Blue skies mire the heavens and a gentle expanse of green encroaches the surrounding grounds. The blades of grass sing rhythmically against the caressing wind uninterrupted with but a gentle hum emanating from a nearby tree. Above the tree sits a masked figure flaying a polished dagger up and down and catching it without fail as their rhythm syrenegises with the surrounding tweets and twaddles of the birds that fly up and about the tree, focused in that spot as if beckoned by an irrefutable beacon of immeasurable entrancement.
*fump* *fump* *fump* *fump* an ugly and a not so rythmic noise stomps along the grounds interupting the unison. The birds scatter with great haste flying up and about the area as a figure dawning a messengers bag approaches.
Arn: "By the devils of theros, who mires me with such a voice of beauty not. It sounds of goblins engulfed in passion with their witch like voice or..." It smiles an inhuman grin under its grayish pale bone mask "That of a human"
The messenger perspires heavily. He perspires less so from the running and more so from the malice he sensed from that voice. He gazes up and sees two red lights of what he could presume to be eyes gaze at him from the shadows above the tries.
Messenger: "I uh...uhm" *gulp* "Judge Gaspar..." *he says forcing his voice out as he takes out the sealed letter* "Judge Gaspar would like to invite you to the great Tournament of champions" the messenger says with great haste, a voice of power and a stance of forced courage.
The eyes seemed to dim after and the messenger can feel a shift of atmosphere to a more tranquil and serene one as he lets out a gentle and a very discreet sigh.
Arn; "Well why didn't you say that much sooner!" Arn says with great excitement. Arn could only dream of the chaos, fear and laughs they would insight in the tournament.
It then grabs the letter, not even bothering to open it and pockets it and shortly after it shoots a beam of energy at the messenger turning him into a pretty little bird who then promptly flies off with great haste.
Arn: "Don't worry it'll wear off in a couple of minutes and you and your items will be back to normal. As close to normal as you can get that is. Now, do please spare me of the putrid noise of your mortal feet and do be quick, my songs can be quite entrancing."
After the messenger leaves, the humming resumes and the birds return. This is going to be a wild ride.
"How do you plan to deliver it?" Damien replied, genuinely curious. "It bears no address, and the name is not an uncommon one."
"Not quite. My mother would say it every morning before she departed. I suppose I picked it up from her."
"Well then, may the dawn light your way as well." With a kind smile, Damien stands and turns to walk away.
Damien couldn't help but give a dry chuckle in response. "Me neither." The man resumes walking. As he strides upon the sidewalk, he breaks the letter's seal and reads it, verifying the acceptance. Rugal seemed to have nothing to say on the matter. Perhaps there was a library nearby to spend some time while waiting.
Although a cool breeze rustled the leaves outside, inside the workshop was swelteringly hot. Sturgar lay on his back on a stone table, and Nartheus was calmly reading a book on a chair besides the table, brow furrowed and legs crossed.
"Almost done!" Shouted a large, red dragonborn over the endless clanging of the anvil.
Zordroth had built Sturgar's body, and was making improvements to it prior to the tournament's start. His broad torso was covered in heavy leather apron, but his face and hands were bare. He hammered a metal plate intently, heating it with fiery gouts of his own breath, courtesy of a draconic lineage. Sturgar too had once been able to breathe flame like the mighty dragons of old, although irreparable damage to his throat had lost him that ability.
Zordroth hummed happily between blasts of fire, hammering, shaping, heating, tempering. He was in his element, his muscular arms relentlessly beating raw steel into works of art, and his throat glowing red as his draconic breath melted the ore.
Sturgar, on the other hand, was not in his element. His weapons had been taken to be sharpened and reinforced, and several of his armored plates were detached, lying on the ground.
"You'll be good as new, you will" Zordroth turned around, brandishing a newly forged pauldron. "Better than new, in fact. This here's a brand new steel-tungsten alloy. Very durable and heat resistant. I could barely heat it enough, and I'm using dragon's breath! Ooh, I'd like ta see you go up against one of them pyromancers. They'd feel so useless!"
He rattled on and on about this piece of armor and that kind of metal as he deftly screwed, welded and latched on Sturgar's new exoskeleton bit by bit.
As Sturgar stood and admired Zordroth's work, there was a knock at the door. Sturgar immediately grabbed his weapons, eyes locked on the door. He prowled closer, moving strangely silently, then, in a flash, wrenched the door open, blades at the ready.
"Umm.. l-letter for you?" A young man stood at the door, holding an envelope at arm's length and sweating profusely. He handed Sturgar the letter, pulling his hand away as rapidly as possible, and running down the street. Sturgar quickly scanned the street, checked each window and alleyway, then slammed the door shut.
"So?" Nartheus looked up from his book. "Who was it?"
Sturgar stared at the golden seal on the envelope for a long while, then handed it to the duke.
"Ah, good" Nartheus nodded approvingly. "This will be fun."
Chapter Two - Acceptance
Lyuben woke up early in the morning. The rising sun shone like a bright gemstone, painting the dawn sky with its fiery light. Lyuben walked over to the window of his room, staring longingly into the horizon. Lyuben could almost picture his dead boyfriend next to him. Lyuben could see those beautiful hazel eyes and that smile that brought Lyuben light even in the darkest times.
I miss you. So much. I wish you could be here with me…
In an instant, a low, dark cloud passed over the sun, shrouding its dazzling light. Lyuben’s once bright room was now covered in dark shadows. He felt his boyfriend disappear again. Lyuben was alone.
Ṯ̵́h̸̻̀ǎ̷̧t̵̨͋'̸͕̀s̷̫͛ ̷̧͂ṛ̵̈́į̸̅g̷̲̚h̸̩̒t̶̗͛,̶̭̾ ̵̨̅L̶̖̐y̴͎͒u̷̻͋b̴̗͗e̴̛̹n̸͍̈́.̷̠̌ ̶̻̍Ä̷̝́l̴͕̅l̷̦͊ ̵͇̈́g̴̙̀ộ̸o̶̲̎d̶̝̈́ ̴͍̎t̶̪̽ḧ̵̝́i̴̞̇n̷̹͒g̸̩̃š̵̱ ̵̢̕d̸̺͒i̷̢͆s̷͔̓a̴͚͊p̵͑͜p̸͚͌ē̴̲a̶̟͗r̴̫͌.̸̨̑ ̴̱̂L̸̙̓i̴͚̓k̷̠͆ẹ̷͝ ̸̛͍y̶̺̆ơ̶̜ũ̶̫r̵̡̈́ ̴͕͊b̵͇̎o̸̢̒ý̸̝f̴̢̽r̸͇͐i̵̠͛e̴̻̅n̴̢̾d̵̝̽.̸̪͒ ̵͈̓L̶̥͒i̴̲̐k̸̼̍e̴̩͒ ̴̙̒y̵͎̕ȍ̶͜u̶͉͂r̶̺̾ ̸̙́p̵̖̌ặ̸r̷͎̒e̷͊͜n̴͔͐t̷̳̊s̵̛̮.̸͚̅
Lyuben felt a searing pain in his heart. “Get out of my head!”
Ä̶͇́s̸̬̊ ̴̹̔ỹ̶͚ò̴̜ų̷̈́ ̴̧͝w̴̟̓ĩ̸͖s̵̫̏h̵͚̓.̵͉̀
As the voice disappeared the clouds vanished with it. Lyuben changed into his cheap black robes and exited his room.
Lyuben stepped out onto the beautiful streets. The cobblestone pathways slithered between the numerous buildings in the area, all of them leading to a brilliant plaza at the heart of the city. The sun cast its majestic golden rays onto the city, adding to its cheerful ambience. The place was crowded with people from energetic kids to wise elders and everything in between. Still, something was off. Despite the people’s innocent smiles, Lyuben couldn’t help but feel scared.
Any one of those people could hurt me like my parents did. My parents used to smile at me too…
A hand tapped him on his shoulder. Lyuben gasped and spun around casting a dark spell towards his assailant...or maybe not his assailant.
Lyuben’s pale cheeks turned bright red as the people around him stopped to watch the scene.
“A-are you okay?”
A man coughed as he sat on the floor, clutching his chest. His fancy clothes were charred due to Lyuben’s spell. Lyuben put out his hand to help the guy up.
“Well, I’m fine now,” he laughed.
That smile...it’s the same smile he had…
Lyuben’s hand moved to the rose that was still in his pocket.
“I’m s- so sorry about that,” Lyuben said, ashamed.
“I came here to give you this.” The man took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Lyuben. “It’s from Judge Gaspar, one of the most powerful people in the city, so I think it’s pretty important.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Lyuben trailed off.
“Well, I got to go now. I can’t really be seen in these charred clothes.”
As he turned around to leave, Lyuben quickly shouted, “Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Could I get your name by any chance?”
“Sure. I’m Ayden.”
After Ayden left, Lyuben looked at the envelope. It was golden and had a perfect red seal.
“Could it be..?”
He tore open the envelope to see a letter written in nice handwriting. It read:
Congratulations! You are one of the 16 fighters who have been chosen to compete in the 17th Tournament of Champions! On the morning of the 23rd day of this month, you will travel with tournament guards and hosts from the city of Seastnan to the Werther Fortress, where you will fight until 8 contestants are left. More information will be given at arrival!
Lyuben was elated! He ran back through the winding pathways to his room happily.
“I- I did it! I actually made it in! Mom! Da-” Lyuben stopped. All of his excitement vanished in an instant. There was no one to celebrate his achievement. Lyuben reached into his pocket and took out his boyfriend’s rose again.
All this...All of this is for you...I will fight for you. For if I lose, I will be forced to return home to my parents, and all my work to keep your memory alive will be lost.
Story Card:
Chapter 2
It was fairly early in the morning, and Cypherous was in his lab. Or was it his home? Cypherous decided it was both. It had been about a day since he had entered the tournament, and he was impatiently awaiting some form of acceptance from the people of Avelaide. Or denial, but Cypherous hoped for the former.
He stood up, and walked to his metal desk, sitting down on the stool in front of it. He pulled off his gauntlet. One of his first creations, and one of his favorites. It was an amazingly helpful tool for focusing his power.
Cypherous pulled out a few of his tools, and just started... fiddling with the gauntlet. Removing a few of the parts, switching them around. Et cetra.
Suddenly, Cypherous heard a knock at his door. Well, not exactly a door. To get in and out of his home, there was a circular piece of metal on the metal wall, that slid open and close on command.
He hastily put his gauntlet back on and pressed the button, and the door slid open. In front of Cypherous was a human male with brown hair. In his hand he carried a sort of white envelope.
The man was... different. Very different, from the other people on Kaladesh, in terms of his clothing, and his just look in general. His clothes were a simple, plain brown. At his waist was what looked like a large brown bag.
When the man spoke, he sounded quite out of breath.
"Sir... are you-" The man said in between gasps. "You... Doctor Cypherous, it says?"
Cypherous nodded.
"Judge Gaspar... he," The man stopped and handed Cypherous the letter. Then he ran off, and in an instant he was gone.
Cypherous opened the letter. It was clean and crisp, with a red seal.
Inside was a piece of paper that read;
Congratulations! You are one of the 16 fighters who have been chosen to compete in the 17th Tournament of Champions! On the morning of the 23rd day of this month, you will travel with tournament guards and hosts from the city of Seastnan to the Werther Fortress, where you will fight until 8 contestants are left. More information will be given at arrival!
If his face made of aether could smile, it would have been covered with a huge grin.
Cypherous let go of the letter and it dropped to the ground. He walked back to his desk, feeling elated.
Oh... this, this will be great.
Part 1 1/2: Suspense in Seastnan
The crowds gathered around the announcement podium situated in the city’s center were growing restless, the hum and roar of their impatience rising through the streets. A blot of crimson hair bobbed through the hustle of the residents and visitors assembled for the announcement. As the bearded dwarf made his way up to the pedestal, Nilfi neared the front of the crowd to listen closer. “Took me long enough to get here, I ought to at least hear things first hand.” Nilfi thought as the stout figure loudly cleared his throat.
“Hear ye, hear ye! The time has arrived! The Tournament judge has decided who will fight in the seventeenth Tournament of Champions!” The dwarf proclaimed in a booming voice that instantly silenced the murmur of the gathered crowd. “Many have come from far away, yet only sixteen chosen contestants will have the honor to compete in this legendary game! Citizens and visitors of Seastnan, here are the names of those who will fight for the title of Champion!” The announcer declared, before listing off a series of names from a wax sealed scroll. “Of no particular order, those chosen are…” He began, listing of all manner of strange and unusual names from across the multiverse; titles, monikers, any means of addressing the entrants that they might recognize or be known.
Nilfi couldn’t help keeping count as the man read out the list. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, come on Nilly, were you not good enough for this? Fifteen and sixteen is…”
“…and finally, Nilfeira Williamson! Contestants can expect a sealed parcel delivered by our expert messengers with further instructions and information.”
“Yes!” Nilfi started to cheer, cutting themselves off as to avoid making a scene. “Well, your name is about to be broadcast across the entire country, so don’t be too coy Nilly boy. And did you really have to use your full name?” The crowd was in a boom with chatter and gossip. From the sounds of things, most names were simply a mystery to the common folk. People began to disperse slowly, returning to their daily routines, although not without the announcement being the talk of the whole city. With a sigh, Nilfi went and took a seat over by the podium which now lay vacant, detaching the dragon head-shaped ferrule from the top of his staff, giving it a quick cleaning with his coat before bringing the whistle-like mouthpiece to his lips and playing a few sweet notes from the recorder.
As the alchemist sat on the stone streets attempting to mimic the local bird calls, a young woman with a large messenger bag slung across her chest appeared practically out of the blue rushing up to him. “Are you- Master- Nilfeira?” She asked breathlessly as she rummaged through her satchel. Nilfi gave a brief nod as the messenger pulled out a light gold envelope with a red wax seal and his name carefully inscribed upon its face. Reaching out and taking hold of it, Nilfi paused for a moment.
“And what if I don’t accept the letter?” He asked the woman whose hand still held onto the envelope.
“Oh, I’m afraid you’ll be accepting it sooner or later. Everyone always does eventually.” She said with a cheerful close-eyed grin, her smile glowing in the midday sunshine. She let go of the letter, giving Nilfi a quick bow and throwing closed her bag.
“Huh, how oddly terrifying. Thanks for the delivery.” He muttered, though she was gone as suddenly as she arrived. With a delicate flick, Nilfi broke the seal on the envelope and quickly skimmed the contents to confirm the information inside and where they would be heading. “Strap in pal, we’re in for a wild ride.”
(And no worries Tenebris? Nemo? Temo? Haha, life happens and we all appreciate the amount of work that goes into writing and organizing this whole thing.)The elf stood up, bookmarking her page and putting the book down on the desk. Walking over to her room's window, she looked out of it and down to the street. The hustle and bustle of everyday life in Seastnan calmed her. Even after the announcement of the contestants of the tournament, there was still peace enough for citizens to continue with their day.
"This is what I'm here for," Arha said to herself.
A knock on the door made Arha jump. Smoothing her dress, she walked to the door and opened it.
"Arha de Mira?" the courier said.
"Yes?"
The courier held out a metallic letter. "A letter from Judge Gaspar for you."
Trying to contain her nerves, Arha took the letter from the courier, who bowed and left. Closing the door, Arha went back to her desk. Breaking the red seal, she pulled out the letter and read it. Reading it again, she sighed and relaxed.
"This is going to be a tournament to remember, Arha," she said. "Try and keep a journal of it, for memory's sake."
No problem with the pause in the story. Unexpected things are bound to happen, and it's totally fine to work through them. Plus, it gives everyone a little extra time to write their first chapters.
An unusual raven with glowing blue eyes perched on a window of a somewhat 'abandoned' mansion somewhere deep in a forest. To normal people born without natural magic, the large building would appear so due to certain magical wards that had been placed on a large area around the building by a certain powerful wizard lady with a rather demonic visage.
Held in the beak of the raven was a letter, stamped by a familiar insignia of the annual tournament.
"Oh... it must be the letter that Lady Aiko spoke of." A female human servant in a dark maid uniform approached the bird, then took the latter with her.
The raven emitted a loud caw, then just flew away.
"Alice, be a good dear and go to Seastnan. Fetch me some local wine and get some information about the tournament, specifically about the contenders. The sooner the better. I'll be taking the letter, thank you." Commanded the demonic lady as she descended the main stairs in an elegant but simple white noblewoman dress along with a ruby necklace on her chest. Despite being an outlander herself, she spoke clearly without accents. A small boon of being knowledgeable in a certain 'Tongues' spell.
"Y-yes milady." Alice bowed as the lady took the letter, then the maid's eyes aglow for a brief moment and simply vanished in a smoke of brimstone.
The sun of that particular plane was beginning to descend into the horizon, painting the sky in an orange glow with dark grey tone.
A fleeting beauty that Aiko couldn't enjoy as she was in deep thoughts, contemplating about a statement from her former elder dragon master, who abruptly gone during the great war event in Ravnica.
Flashback
'Ah my dear Aiko, despite I am confident about my plans to simply amass more... sparks from those world-hopping fools, that meddling 'brother' of mine, Ugin, is still clever. I am aware that he already had plans to stop me. So you and another agent of mine, a lich planeswalker that you will soon recognize, will become my failsafe. If I die, then it will be easier for me to return back, otherwise find me in my Meditation Realm. For it is the only place that fool of a brother of mine could think of, if I somehow lose my spark.' The infamous elder's dragon voice reverberated inside of Aiko's mind. The rather unholy smells of murky swamp of Takenuma didn't help either.
"... And what if I just go-" Aiko tried to make a retort, but her voice just died in her throat as her eyes completely darkened, all while she could only envision Nicol Bolas in his majesty on top of a golden throne in a desert plane.
'As I expected. Loyalty is such a rarity nowadays. Know your place that I hold your contract. And only I alone who can remove that, or greet oblivion after one year of your servitude.'
"O-of course, my lord." Aiko buckled and vomited black blood, sweats poured from her forehead profusely. She really didn't like being a slave of someone in exchange for power, but she really had no choice in the matter.
'Mark my words, girl. For I do not speak nonsense, and my promise is absolute.'
Flashback End
'Only six months left, before it's all gone forever.' The rather beautiful succubus frowned, for she was aware about the imprisonment of her former master.
And she really needed to find that particular lich planeswalker, for he held the key to her master's return, his planeswalker spark, and the key to her survival. And she was aware that the person she seek was on the plane where she was currently standing, for both her and the lich were in the same syndicate that Bolas himself made to satisfy his endless greed, the interplanar Immortal Syndicate. The one that was being lead by a powerful demon only known as the 'Syndicate Mastermind' in the absence of the said elder dragon.
Minor Mischief (Series:#2)
Moments seconds became minutes and minutes became hours. Only recently had judge Gaspar announced the participants of the tournament and Arn was only too eager to learn of them.Arn wasn't in this for any particular reason, but in order to hunt your prey, you must learn how it acts and staying here was only elevating his boredom so he decided to go to work within the city confines.
(Short passage of time)
Arn entered the city and not wanting to be recognized as an outsider, he used his wild magic to shift into a more appealing form. he had heard of a witch from a certain consul called Baltenainne and of her great talents and promise. If she was truly all she was built up to be, Arn figured she would make a great prey to hunt.
Arn sat on a nearby stall awaiting the arrival of this particular messenger and wait he did, but after twenty long grueling minutes the messenger arrived with great haste.
Arn: "Excuse me, do you have a moment to spare"
Messenger: "I don't mean to be rude sir but I am kind of in a rush" the messenger spoke while out of breath.
Arn: "I know that it has been a long day and you have to deliver letters to those pesky tournament champions but surely even Gaspar knows you deserve a break. Come have one drink before you go"
Messenger: "It is really important that I deliver this."
Arn: "I insist. Besides, who is a lonely man like me gonna have a drink with around here."
Messenger: "I guess a little drink never hurt anyone" the messenger said finally convinced as he walked into the tavern with this very generous stranger.
Arn walked into the tavern with the naïve messenger and ordered two pints of ale for himself and for the messenger before loudly proclaiming in his shifted voice.
Arn: "In honor of our messenger friend" he said patting the messenger's back "I will buy you all a drink!!!"
The Tavern erupted into a uproar of cheers and hazaars upon hearing this proclamation, as they drank to their hearts content. But as the minutes passed the taverns grew quieter and quieter. The messenger began to notice and went to say a word but then ultimately he too passed out.
Soon the tavern was a cacophony of snores, snorts and snorkels, as everyone in the tavern fell into a deep slumber.
Arn then reached in the messenger bag and pulled a scroll with a gold seal on it.
Arn: "You people are so naive, alas its time to for me to leave. If you don't mind dear messenger I will borrow one more thing, and upon your awakening I have insured you will forget this entire ordeal'
Using it's wild magic, Arn replicated the form of the passed out messenger, learning just enough to fool the recipient of the letter. This would buy him enough time to learn of this so called witch from Baltenainne.
Later that afternoon, Arn went to the residing quarters of Imilia to both deliver her letter and scout her abilities. He arrived quickly, feigning tiredness and exhaustion.
"Miss Haas, are you there? I have an important message from Judge Gaspar!" Arn made his voice sound somewhat out of breath.
"Miss Haas? Hello? I'm going to-" Arn abruptly stopped talking as Imilia flung the door open, catching it with her hand at the last second and gently slowing it to a stop. She smiled.
"You say you have a letter for me?" She asked, showing a vibrant blush that made Arn almost reconsider her as a worthy prey.
"Yes, yes, right here, from the Judge..." Arn's voice trailed off as it searched for something in it's satchel. Arn found what it was looking for, and held it out to her: a letter with a golden wax seal. "You know," Arn said feigning conversation whilst observing Imilia's marionette in an attempt to decipher its workings., "You've got quite a pretty singing voice, my wife used to-" Imilia cut him off as she plucked the letter from his hand, smiling again before slaming the door in a great haste.
Why would anyone go through the trouble to bring such a thing, Arn thought before concluding that it was best that he left before he was discovered by any interloper. He had to keep an eye from afar on Imilia until then.
(Later that night)
The messenger awakened disorientated in a room full of other unfortunate victims. A strong hangover came over him like an eagle on its meal and his head was pounding but it slowly began to subside. He reached beside his pockets without realizing what he was searching for until he hit his messenger bag on the side, and he was soon overcome with a feeling of sudden dread.
Messenger: "mrs. Imilia's letter! I have to deliver mrs. Imilia's letter! Wait where is her letter!!! *He said frantically searching around with no recollection of how he got here or where the letter went* "Gaspar is going to kill me" he said as he began to walk back to Gaspar's meeting area.
Conclusion
Chapter Four: A World Anew
He glanced around, looking for some clue of where he was. The woods he was in cleared out to some extent on one side and showed a road. While nature was nice, he had a mission. A road had to lead somewhere civilized, and from there he could head to the tournament. He heaved a sigh and prepared for a long walk.
As he came close to the road however, something disrupted him from his internal reverie. Voices! People! And oh dear lord, it's not happy people.
"Hey! Stop the coach!"
The familiar hiss of steal coming out of a leather sheath spurred Kaigan on further, dashing the rest of the way up the hill. Holding his spear at the ready, he couldn't get to the top before he heard a clang and a grunt. When he got to the top, the scene was already set, and for the worse. A group of four bandits had assaulted what appeared to be a stagecoach, and while one of them was cursing and leaning against a rock on the other side of the road, three were hard pressing someone who appeared to be the driver, who was clearly not a great swordfighter, but was trying anyway.
Not even hesitating, Kaigan lept down on top of the coach, then down again, stabbing one of the three upright bandits in the foot with the spearhead, then pulling out and swinging the butt around to crack the man in the side of the neck. The highwayman groweld and pulled back, going to bring his club down on the disruptive kobold, but the spear danced in the way, deflecting, blocking, and hindering each blow. One of the highwayman's friends paused assaulting the old coach handler, confident in his ally.
"Goddamnit Boris, stop playing around! If that lizard kid is gonna get in your way, smash him! He's less than half your {redacted} size!"
Boris merely grunted in response, already working up a sweat from how har his blows stared with. Tossing aside his massive club, he grabbed for the solid silver spear. What he planned to do after he had it was never made clear, for Kaigan's response was a simple thrust forward, stepping in and going over the attempted catch to nail home a devastating gutshot. Kaigan bowed low, the bandit's clenched fist wooshing over the back of his head as the man collapsed backwards.
It finally dawned on the leader that the small, scaled being was more dangerous than he first thought.
"Look, kid, you want a share of the haul, we can arrange for that. We've had solid dealings with the lizardfolk here in the pa-"
"I'm not here to rob people."
"Look, where are your parents? You're really too yo-"
"I've just outfought one of your men. Not a scratch on me, and he's at least seriously injured. Do I appear to need parents?"
Kaigan's voice wass brisk, firm, and brooked no questions. The leader seemed slightly confused, but recovers quickly.
"No..."
"So are you going to take your men and leave or are you gonna try to outdo Boris's performance?"
The bandit leader sighed and lowered his sword. The other man was clearly winning majorly, but followed his leaders cue, stepping away.
"Kid, why are you ev-"
This time, his sentence wasn't interrupted by Kaigan, but by himself, as his downed sword flashed up and lunged at Kaigan's chest. Not expecting that, Kaigan leaped back, nearly tripping and cracking his head against the coach door. Grinning, the leader stepped forward to finish him. Bright steel flashes in the sunlight, and a spray of blood gets on the side of the coach, including the window. An 11 year old girl peeks out, terrified but intensely curious. As she looked over the scene, she saw a cute, red kobold lying against the door, a beheaded bandit, and a panting coachman. The coachman reached down and pulled the kobold up, shaking him gently as the other bandits turned and fled as best they could. Her parents pulled her away from the window at that point.
"That was a solid fight there... you probably saved everyone in the coach. Next time though, don't talk to them. They would kill you and everyone in the coach for whatever riches we had. Mercy doesn't exist on the road. Now, how can I repay you?"
"I need to get to the tournament?"
"Ha! You're in luck; we're headed to the host city anyway. I can drop you in the hotel district without even going off course. Get up top with the luggage; can't have you bothering the lord or lady inside."
Kaigan eagerly obeyed; this was much better than walking. There was something unfair about him not being allowed inside he felt, but it didn't matter to him. The air was fresh, warm, and full of the scents of a beautiful spring. He and the driver talked for a good bit, and enjoyed each other's company in silence for a good bit more. The guards at the city gate gave him an odd look, but no trouble, and they entered the magnificent city.
Ah, the splendor of the city! Unwashed bodies, sewage in the streets, beggars and lepers on the corners contrast spectacularly with the pristine buildings, posh outfits of the rich, and firm, polished steel of the guards. The driver, Richard, dropped Kaigan off at a comfy rest stop, and continued with his nobles on to the palace. Word would spread of the brave little lizardkin, and pass along to the manager of the tournament.
(cutting this short since it's 12:30 am for me.
~ A Cat And Time - Part 2
Ytsix sat at a table in a local cafe, stirring around a crepe in his espresso. How? How did he end up in this situation again? It seems that no matter what he does, no matter where he goes, he always ends up in some… competition! He did one for funsies, and now, again and again he finds himself locked in increasingly dangerous contests that could very well end in his death. And today it’s happening once more… a letter, delivered to him directly, saying he was chosen for a tournament he didn’t even enter. How did this happen? He had heard news about a tournament of champions, how there were so many colorful heroes and wonderful visitors from distant planes. And yet they chose him… him! And he was going to be escorted by armed guards! Oh, this day couldn’t get any worse!... wait… maybe it’s just a lack of sleep kicking in… yeah… not sleeping for two nights might do that to you, yeah… OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY?!
~ Flashback - The Night Before Last… ~
“GET BACK! GET BACK! GEEET BAAACK!”
Ytsix was panting, slowing, tiring… how long had these shadowy figures been on his tail? Two hours? Four? Eight? He forgot to install a watch on his newest prosthetic, and right now he didn’t have time to calculate. The only thing keeping Ytsix alive was some well timed chronomancy, and the mana battery in Ytsix’s arm was running dry. He shot bolts of electricity, aether blasts, and even an actual gun at the pursuers, but they wouldn’t drop… and every second they were getting closer and closer to getting him.
“No… this can’t be how it ends,” he thought to himself. “All I’ve been through… so much I’ve done… just to get murdered?!” Something scathed his shoulder, causing him to stumble a bit and nearly lose his momentum. A flicker, and he just barely dodges a lethal blow. “I have so much to live for! I… I could still make the device! I could still gain control of my powers!-”
“GAH!”
Ytsix was struck in the knee, falling down. Is this it? His final moments, wasted as he died a victim? No… he couldn’t stand for it. But alas, as he tried to cast his signature spell, his arm shocked him… he was out of mana, and couldn’t draw enough from the surrounding area in time. As a last resort, he prayed… he’d do anything! Anything!
Suddenly, his prayer was seemingly answered; suddenly, he blinked, and appeared in the city of Seastnan… during the day.
~ Flashback - A Day In Seastnan
Ytsix was awestruck as he took in the sights. This city was beautiful! Everything was wonderful! But alas, a bad apple to ruin the batch. Being escorted out of a building was a stocky elf with a mohawk, who stood about eight feet tall and was dressed in a crimson suit.
"What do you mean no planeswalkers?! Afraid your champion might be powerful?! Unbelievable! I could lead this pathetic plane into a new era of growth and prosperity! Save your world and liberate the people! But alas, I suppose you aren't worth my time anyways…"
What… was going on here? What was that massive building for? Why were so many people gathered there… and why were some of them approaching him?! The first to speak is a child, another leonin with his feline parents.
“Mama! Papa! It’s him! It’s the cyborg dude, Eats It!”
“Um, um…” Ytsix didn’t know what to say… how did these people know him?! Could he trust them?! Were they going to kill him?! As though by instinct, he warped, appearing underneath a wagon selling fresh fruit.
“Hey! Get back here! I want your autograph!”
The father of the kid is next to speak. “You can come out, buddy. I won’t bite.”
“Why do you want my autograph?!” Ytsix cried out. “I’m just a researcher!”
“What kind of researcher travels to five different worlds and wins five different tournaments? You’re a legend back at home, kid. Your pops is proud of you.”
“I don’t want to win tournaments! I just want to go back home and make a planeswalking device, ‘at’s all!”
“Then why are you here, at… ahem… one of the biggest tournaments of history? The Tournament of Champions?”
“I literally just got here on accident! I don’t want to be in a tournament! AHHHHHHH- ahuh- uck! Hairball!”
“Hey, wait!”
Ytsix suddenly ran, faking a hairball, but he couldn’t escape… is that… his partner Kavro, from his stay on Kylem?!
The mouse speaks up. “Well well well! I knew after that show we put on you’d come here!”
“I’M NOT HERE FOR THE TOURNAMEEEENT!”
“You said that on Kylem… and yet you kicked butt! C’mon! Let me take you to the signups! I’m gonna be entering too!”
“I’M NOT ENTERING!”
“C’mon… we can be buddies! Remember when you summoned that pile of junk and I turned it into a giant hammer? It was amazing!”
“I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE!”
“Oh, silly… people don’t die at Valor’s Reach-”
“THAT GUY WAS LITERALLY SACRIFICING HIS OWN SOLDIERS FOR POWER!”
“Okay… not normally…”
“Just leave me alone please Kavro… I’ll cheer you on and all, but I’m not participating.”
“You haven’t lost a single bout before. You’d make a perfect champion!”
“I don’t want to be a champion. I just wanna see my dad again…”
“So do I, but I’ve got fights to win! Seeya later, furry friend!”
Kavro waved goodbye as he went to join the tournament, hopping and skipping, and Ytsix sighed as he went to find the nearest cafe...
~ Now…
“He signed me up, didn’t he?”
“Um, no sir. You signed up yourself,” the messenger replied.
“I didn’t sign up!”
“All of our sources say otherwise. You were seen at the arena, and everyone made a big fuss about how excellent of a champion you are around the multiverse. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent contender!”
“I guess... “
Ytsix gulped. His coffee was getting cold… as was his body as a chill ran down his spine. He wasn’t ready for this, but apparently, dozens of people came here just to see him. He just hopes that this doesn’t end poorly for him… he honestly doesn’t know what’s worse for him; the fame of victory, or the price of defeat. However, he stands nonetheless, paying for his tab, and heads off to the town square...
Three
Just the Beginning - Part I
#toc4_story
Chapter two (Tournament) - The Hour That Never Ends
Arn made himself comfortable in the animal wagon and prepared for the long journey ahead. Arn being a natural born hunter who spent a majority of his time resting on uncomfortable places and smelling the even more uncomfortable smells of nature found this rather tame. Relative to everything he had been through, this was what common folk often referred to as paradise.
Arn watched all the contestants from aboard his carriage whilst avoiding conversing with them as he passively scryed for any signs of weakness and hints of possessions of value. Prior to that he had also being observing sir Killian and decided that causing trouble with such a diverse caravan of affiliates would be ill advised. So Arn watched with no pranks, no killing and no hunting and frankly this was clawing on Arn's nerves but Arn stayed strong.
Arn dreamt of how he would flay the foolish guards, how he would turn the other contestants into various assortments of items, all the chaos he could cause, and all the fear he could insight as he squirmed discreetly in his undead spiritual husk monstrosity that was his body. Never had all his prey been so close, he could smell their fear just by sitting in the carriage yet he couldn't kill them right away. It was the ultimate cruel joke from the multiverse. Yet he couldn't wait to savor the beat of combat, the thrill of the chase, and the cruelty of the pranks, but until then he just sat there in the carriage as the caravans headed to the supposed tournament grounds each second feeling like an hour that never ends.
Conclusion.
(Arn's pronouns are: "He, Him, His, They, Them, and It", the first three are the main pronouns but as he can wild magic to various forms the last three also apply. Also it just makes typing Arn's stuff easier.)
@TenebrisNemo: If anything in my chapter conflicts with your story plans, just tell me and I will fix it.
Three riding tournament guards are leading the party. Behind them is Judge Gaspar's carriage. Then comes the four caged wagons, where your heroes are. There are four heroes in each wagon, and each of them is accompanied by two riders. Then there are six riders at the very end of the party. Sir Killian is riding right next to the carriages.
2nd Wagon
3rd Wagon
4th Wagon
Enjoy your ride!
~ A Long Day Ahead...
Ytsix shivered in his wagon... who were these people? The old man and the tournament guards seemed okay, but otherwise he couldn't trust any of these people! That knight might vow to protect his life, but what if he isn't there? How can he be vigilant enough to keep an eye on all sixteen contestants at once, plus the road ahead?! The poor cat is utterly terrified, but alas, he does what he must. First, he snaps his finger, and the carriage is suddenly clean, tidy, and smelling like strawberries... as he suddenly disappears. After a moment of absence, he reappears, and removes his prosthetic. His mechanical left arm is a marvel of steampunk engineering, simultaneously sleek and slightly bulky. He places it on his lap and begins to meditate, and an energy cell within begins to collect energy from the surrounding area. His meditation is interrupted with every bump in the road, remote noise in the wagon, or anything he deems remotely conspicuous, and he does his best to hide his tail under his jacket and his eyes behind his goggles...
A Series of Brief Observations
First, the attractive demoness with a powerful dark aura around her. "Careful Nilly, you've encountered enough women like her to kill a hundred men." Nilfi thought to themselves, promising themselves a glass of whiskey if they were wrong about the demonic lady.
Next was the darkly robed woman and what Nilfi could only assume was her loyal knight. He couldn't tell if the smell of rot came from the animal cage they were stuck in or if it was wafting over from within the armor.(Correction, forgot about the fact that Steaphan the knight doesn't rot or smell bad.) But the woman reminded him of an old travel companion, and not in a good way. "The dead are better left that way, you should know better than anyone."
Finally, there was the mysteriously masked figure with the strange technological gauntlet. This was a fair new sight for Nilfi. What interested the wizard most of all was the massive concentration of raw magical energy, and an apparent lack of any organic matter. When he stepped into this wagon, Nilfi planned to sit back and take mental notes of the appearance and behavior of the other contestants, but curiosity was getting the better of him.
"Excuse me, you with the magical machine glove. Hate being the one to interrupt this quiet ride in the woods sitting in sheep crap," Nilfi began, knowing he was already digging himself into a hole. "But I couldn't help but notice you don't seem very, oh how should I say, fleshy? Is your physiology comprised entirety of compressed magical essence?" He asked while leaning in a bit close for comfort, clearly excited at the prospect.
(Kinda short because it's getting late, but really wanted to get something out tonight.)
L'interêt
Imilia was having regrets. First she had to push her way through a crowd of dirty citizens, now she was sitting in a dirty cage. For our protection? Bullshit, they don't want any of us to leave. Such a way to treat a consul. Imilia wrinkled her nose in disdain, and she faintly picked up the smell of strawberries. She had to fight hard to keep the scowl from her face. She hated strawberries. But where was it coming from? She looked around her cart.First, some sort of... cat? Imilia had never seen anything like him before. Inwardly laughing at his attempt to meditate, yet mildly intrigued at his prosthetic, she moved on. Next, a shadowy figure of sorts, seemingly completely separated from the world. Imilia considered trying to get his attention, but deemed it unnecessary. Third, an old man, who Imilia could only assume was a wizard, based on his robes. She made a mental note to be careful around him. With age often comes wisdom, and wisdom is the enemy of deceit. He'd make wonderful practice though, wouldn't he...
Bored with the members of her own cart, she turned towards the cart in front of hers. First, a horned woman, and an especially gorgeous one at that. Imilia felt jealousy rising within her, but managed to push it aside as best she could. Next, a knight sat next to a woman. Both looked... decrepit. Imilia didn't even begin to wonder what they might smell like. Imilia was about to move on when she picked up on a trace of magic, brief and ephemeral, like a flower petal on the breeze. She reached for Sim, and another flash of magic hit her. From the knight? No, that doesn't make any sense. Or does it? Imilia decided to conceal her true abilities from the knight until she figured out what exactly he was. Lasty, a well dressed red haired man talked at a mysterious hooded figure. What is that, under the robes? Imilia thought. Some form of artifice? Interesting.
Imilia turned her attention to the cart to her rear, momentarily shelving her thoughts of the previous cart for later, when she could reflect, and formulate. She recognized Conscience Reveera straight away, and her fist clenched. She had never met Conscience before, but she knew from her research that although powerful, she would be easy to influence. The entitled rich kids always are. Her mind fluttered briefly back to Baltenainne, before she shook herself out of it. She decided that the best way to interact with Conscience would be to take the lower position. Hmmm. I can't say I like it, but there's money to be had here. And not just money, but influence as well. She'd deal with Conscience later. Next, the blind man with the lute. Imilia was silently outraged how little she could grasp of him. Damn it all you blind enigma. I'll know you soon enough. Just wait, when I'm finished with you you'll be writing your own dirge. Mentally composing herself, she turned her attention to the next occupant. It appeared to be a boy about her age, wearing cheap robes. But what Imilia noticed most was the expression of pain on the boy's face. Imilia's eyes widened with glee, and she fought down a laugh. Preying on the mourning was a challenge all on its own, and one that so rarely presented itself. Sure is a shame he's just a peasant, not much other than enjoyment to earn from him. As she looked at him, Imilia paused, as she realized that this boy was no commoner. His robes may have been cheap, but his boots were fine craft leather, and his skin was pale and unmarred. Who are you, mystery boy? And what can I gain from you? Filling in her mental notebook further, Imilia turned to the last figure, and was startled to find the figure already looking at her. She managed to keep herself from flinching, but she was frustratingly unable to keep the confused expression off her face. Something about this figure felt scarily and unmistakably... familiar.
To be continued...