Way of the Warrior II - Blood Shed - Lobby

[Wind]

Forced Entry

*Ktch… dsh! DSH! Prowktch!*

The door flew off its hinges, impacting the floor almost as loudly as the strike that tore it off. Three bowling ball sized dents could be seen in the sunny side of what would be a large steel framed vault door.

Within the walls of a huge complex there stood many men and women, each armed with some of the latest in combat arms. A majority of the unarmed were garbed in lab coats, tending to various testing tubes and alchemy stations. The laboratory was now in turmoil, as scientists fled in all directions, and military dogs aimed their guns in to the clearing. After a pause, three figures emerged from the door.

“Fire!” Came the command of a stationed officer. No footstep or cry could be heard thereafter, muffled by the sound of dozens upon dozens of rounds being shot in to the doorway. Then unto the sound one would call a ricochet. Movements became blurred, as the figures swept past in unison. Each bullet missed as if fated to. No more than a quarter minute passed, and the sound of gunfire ceased.

There laid eight fully armed soldiers, each riddled with just as many bullet wounds as they fired. Amongst their scattered bodies stood one man. Clad in an unorthodox outfit almost mocking the scenery. His upper side of his face was veiled behind a multi-spiked metal visor. The rest of his body was hidden behind a lab coat. At his left and right, at opposite sides of the large room there could be seen others like him - adorning the same equipment, yet younger in appearance.

“Area clear. Shall we advance with caution?” One of the younger troopers spoke. His metal Nuborg gauntlet was held out and pointed towards the fearful crowd of lab workers.

“We need not advance too many steps further. Look with your eyes, my son. Our treasure stands before us. Can you not distinguish its magitech origins?” The center figure pointed forward towards a strange device, hooked up to the walls and other machines through a serious of tubes. It looked much like two known things. An upright hoola hoop… or the frame of a manacle.

“This is it. Oh how I have yearned for this day. But the path is still blocked… no more! You there, cretin. Clinging on to your vapid life.” In a horizontal arc, the figure changed the aim of his pointing hand to a surviving lab worker, of whom cowered in the corner. It took the figure some time to dare return speech, the hand pointing at him was none other than one of the nuborg gauntlets. Three barrels aimed wide, and at the bottom a pair of skeletal extremities resembling a hand pointing its index finger.

“You… you’re him… the… Iron surgeon?!” The scientist stammered. Musing Zweig with his bounty label. A foul grin stretched across the face of this ‘Iron Surgeon.’

“A shame that I cannot reciprocate. Your name slips my mind. It will be a name mourned for, if you do not activate this portal for me.” Zweig played threats, using terror to ensure his goals. It did work, after all. The little scientist could not refuse this offer. Trembling to his feet, and reaching for the operation panels.

“Y-yes, sir! The portal will take you... out of this world... we know not where.” The laboratory worked hesitantly claimed, as if actually interested in Zweig’s well being. But hidden behind his words was an immediate scheme. As he entered various codes in to the machine, directing the portal to none other than the famed tournament. As it activated, a strange amorphous aura immersed the portal frame.

“Your ignorance will not be mine. For if I should ascend in to the realm of gods, this place must be left behind.” As he spoke, Zweig approached the portal. Fascinated with its every detail. But not idiotic enough to enter blindly.

“Smile pretty for the devil.”

They were some of the last words this lab worker would hear. Suddenly one long extending rod of steel shot out of the NUborg gauntlet and pierced him through the gut, and coiling around his body. In agony he screamed. Throwing his voice father than his blood could splatter. Zweig pulled back on his gauntlet, and with precision, flailed the man’s torso in to the portal. Tethering the two realms together in blood.

Ascension

“Aaaaahhhhh! Arrghhh… nyaaahhh! Oh god! Get it off! I can’t get it off… augh!… my wife… my kids! How will they... no... Stop him!” Suddenly the lobby would be filled with a chilling series of desperate cries, as a scientist’s body was flailed straight in to the desk. The cute young clerk would begin to shriek in a chain reaction, as her dress became stained by the spray of blood across the entire portal chambers. Thus the tournament would earn it’s name quite early.

Still alive, but barely, the scientist tried his hardest to pull away from the wreckage of this desk. But no matter how far he crawled, he could not remove what bound him to the portal. His hand reached out for the receptionist's leg, but he would find himself being dragged right back in to the dimensional waypoint he came in from. The screaming would cease... for now.

Anticipation, silence waited for another to appear from the same portal. Again adorning the lab coat, but this time less bloody, save for the stains over white. Zweig took several steps in to the tournament lobby, raising his two gauntleted arms wide and high.

“God! I have come to tear down your hierarchy, and annex your throne!"

His voice rattled the entire arena, as he embraced the new world. But to his own surprise, what he saw before him was no throne of golden clouds. Instead, there was a single girl, sidled to the wall in fear. She stared him down, but dared not speak.

Who would dare respond to such a question?

[Sikako J]

He took in the opponents it seemed his master had pitted him against. So far the ones he had seen weren’t battle ready for someone of his caliber or so he thought. But his recent battle with a barrier master that had left him scared all over his body told him to consider beyond appearances.

Following the attendant he pasted many halls that he supposed led to other rooms. Whom all was housed here he did not know, only that it would take the army he led a few hours to pillage the enitry complex he had seen so far. Being shown the door, she offered out his key. Snatching it from her hand, he hissed out at her and turned to open his door.

“Don’t open that door yet, we have some business to attend too, Scalesert,” Liaison whispered from three inches away. He pegged the being when he entered, and had kept tabs on him since. After a conversation with Seit, he knew that, the Undead would send one of his own to play a part in Liaison’s game. “A package arrived and I have been informed that you can open it, if this is true, please follow me.” He left no room for her to respond, instead twisting around and heading down the hall, down into a dark corridor.


The shadowknight was shocked, this man had managed to slip up him behind the attend or by some other manner. Lifting the top portion of his maw, his sharp yellowed teeth shown through. His master had told him that the being hosting this was powerful, that and his tactican like mind told him not to strike as he listened in.

Nodding lightly he begrudginly spoke," Indeed, it ssseems we do." he stated as he followed the man.

As they moved down the dark corrider, they came to a lone room, left alone to the void of it’s own existence. This was the place they had placed “The Walker” open Liaison’s own orders. No one needed to know what was in there. “Ah, here we are. I assume The Walker is an associate of yours, which works out magically for me.” The Liaison pressed into the room, and entered slowly, the lights pitch black. Soon he adjusted his sight - not paying much mind to the being that had accompanied him. “Open the coffin over there and we’ll discuss business.” He motioned towards the center of the room, where a chained Coffin hovered upright. His plan was coming together magically.

Ah the Bone King's warrior had arrived. The alliance between the Necromancer and the Undead Lord had spawned a wonderful pairing of power creatures and generals. As they had both worked to fill the ranks of the undead army, Scalesert had trained with a fellow general in many new attacks and maneuvers. The Iksar trusted few, but one of the Bone Lord’s minions would make him fell a slight bit safer as he tried to sleep and hour or so in this place.

Holding up his hand, it began to glow a dull red and hissed. “It would be my pleasssure..”

Placing his hand on the chains, they began to shake and shamble as if possessed by an evil spirit. The curses that had been place on the heavy chains now lifted as the screams echoed out in the room. Lifting his spear upward, he thrusted it down in a splintering display. Two more times he struck the coffin, “It is time to rissse brother, duty callsss uss.”

[Philosorapter]

The Battle.

*THUMP*

The sound of a Power-Hammer firing off, followed by a loud *CRUNCH* as Power-Armour crumpled inward and the hammer met flesh and bone. Another one down. Sparks and crumpled bullets flew off
of the Mark XVIII Terminator Armour. Experimental Subject 00214676 or 'Smiley' turned to his next quarrel. Putting a boot to the dead Angry Marine he pulled his power hammer free.

In front of him now was an Imperial Soldier, around him the corpses of several others and the crumbled yellow masses of Angry Marines which had been launched into battle. Smiley considered his options, the Imperial Soldier in front of him was no threat, all he possessed was a light service rifle, capable of nothing more then scratching the paint off of his armour. He could charge, a few short bounds would take him within range and then all it was was a swing of his Power-Hammer and the soldier would be a fine red mist. He liked that thought, red mists were always so. . .beautiful. But no, that was a little too
much effort.

Planting his hammer into the hard rock of the moon they were on Smiley put his hands together, wrist to wrist, and concentrated Sonic Energy into both his palms. With a small jerk forward Smiley sent forth a blast of sonic energy and where the Imperial Soldier had stood was now a sanguine mist.
Smiley took note of his surroundings, the corpses of perhaps 200 or 300 hundred Angry Marine and Imperial Soldiers alike littered the surface of the small moon, off in the distance more gunfire and the unmistakable sound of Chain Swords revving as the cut apart flesh and bone.

Senseless violence, this moon held no resources or even tactical advantage, it was simply a killing ground, what happened when two opposing groups encountered each others scouting parties. How Smiley got involved was simple; wherever there was conflict and killing Smiley was present.

The Tournament

The sound of Smiley's boots hitting the tiled floor of the teleporter room, his massive 8'2” frame fully filling the room.

*THUMP* *CRACK*

The sound of Smiley's hammer as his swing carried through to hit the tiled floor. Where it hit was now a meter wide 8 inch deep impact creator. Smiley gave a savage roar, as he thrashed his Power-Hammer around completely consumed by his blood lust.
“RRRAAAGGGH!!!!”
Around him now looked like a war-zone from the ceiling to the floor to the walls, all had meter to two meter wide impact creators all caused by Smiley's Power-Hammer firing off as it made contact.

“E-Excuse me sir.” A woman's voice, soft, sweet, feminine. Smiley turned, training his hammer on her.
And then he saw her as she was, and his surroundings splattered in drying blood. Had he caused this? No his hammer was clean and the blood was perhaps an hour or two old, enough so that it had gone tacky already.
“You there, my fine woman would you be so kind as to explain my current location and how it is I came to be here. It would be much appreciated.” Smiley said as his helmet folded into the back of his armour, revealing his thick neck and square face and the harder then metal crest the sat like a brutal crown on his head.
“You are Experimental Subject #00214676 I presume.” The woman asked.
“Indeed, that is my name given to me by my creators.” Smiley replied keeping his tone polite despite the blood lust that still lingered, he lowered his hammer.
“You have been summoned here to partake in The Way of the Warrior II tournament. You will be paired up with any of the other fifteen competitors yourself excluded of course."
“Killing is killing, I suppose. A worthy opponent would be much appreciated after some time, one such as myself gets tired of killing the endless thralls only to never meet a worthy opponent.”
“Here is your room key.” She said handing him a key.

Smiley looked it over, it had a Indigo rubber ring around it and the #32 stylized in the exact same was as Indigo 32's badges were. Ironic or was someone playing with him? He put the thought out of his mind, he was a beast meant for killing, though he was intelligent he had no love or mind for such trivial things. He was trapped here, supposedly against his will. This would be. . .enjoyable.

[Jude]

He sat with his head hung. His hair grew only from the center strip of his head, brow to nape and was pulled back into a tail which was secured with a thin leather cord. His hands and feet however were not as fortunate and adorned quite a thick binding rope tied adequately for its intended purpose. His ponytail draped over his shoulder and hung a bit due to his lack of seated posture. His face was much like his spirits, down. His captors had sold him and his female slave to a rich merchant. As active as Jude was in slaving, trading, and social circles, he had never heard of, or seen this man referred to only as Karjuk.

Karjuk didn’t speak any pleasantries, only needed words were formulated and projected. The five foot chain connected to Jude’s thick leather battle skirt trailed to the slave’s broad steel shackle of a collar. Fara was well built, large of bosom and bum with a tone build that reflected years of labor. Her golden mane flowed though slightly frizzled from recent tossing about. She was a victim of many a man’s affections and Jude was not eager to sell or release such an obedient target of lust.

Jude wondered why this man would handle such lowly matters in person, and alone at that. This situation was uncommon and worried Jude a bit. He though perhaps the portly plutocrat pondered profound perversions, portraying the prisoners penetrated postmortem…or worse. Jude struggled to rack his fatigued cunning and conjure calculated courses of circumvention. Then the fat man released a stiff parchment which chaotically fell to rest in front of Jude’s eyes.
Jude’s mind was, for a bit, muddled. As he read on things became clearer and caused his heart to sink. The paper outlined a tournament and all its regulations. Written below the formal printed words were jotted notes informing the reader about the purveyor of the tournament, a rough idea of the accommodations and tidbits about two of the fights from the last competition. The description of the contenders was lacking and details were scarce. The reason these words were written was to reveal that the entrants were not limited to simple beings such as him. These beings were the essence of lore’s and song’s alike.

Jude raised his head and looked to the gaze of the trafficker as his erection inducing counterpart laid flaccidly to the side. “You’re bartering me off to die?” Jude kept it minimalistic like Karjuk preferred. “To live.” Karjuk responded with a bit of sincerity laced in the indifferent tone. Jude now understood that Karjuk was to receive a sum based on Jude’s performance. “After?” Jude asked with the tiniest granule of hope provoking the response, “You go.” Karjuk didn’t lie, Jude could read his face and as long as he received his payments he would care less about Jude. Jude knew it because that is exactly what he would do should the table be turned. Karjuk would slip away to never be found should he manage to conquer all engagements. They both knew that planning that far ahead was a wasted effort.

Jude sat in the candle lit tent, bound, simply blinking thoughtlessly as everything seemed to be more vibrant. All the things he took for granted were now jutting out at him. The air was crisper and the feel of his skin was more fickle than ever. The sun’s rising was given away by only a sliver of light in a parted crease of the tent. Shortly after which Karjuk returned bearing the weapons that Jude was seized with. A family heirloom spear comprised of 5 foot of verawood, a common gladius, and a well built recurve bow with a stocked quiver were wrapped up in a fur and laid atop Jude’s extended arms.

He was blindfolded along with his slave and lead some distance into what his senses told him were woods. Karjuk stopped leading him and nudged him forth. After a few steps and a small urge to shit on himself, the ambiance transformed. The receptionist would remove his blindfold to reveal raised brows. His head turned to see his slave still with him but retching from the displacement. The scene was taken in and he let the receptionist ramble all the things he had read in the letter. The flooring was cratered and stained red. He noted a lush of a lady nearby and the unmistakable scent of a fire. The woman handed over a key with a number inscribed on an attached tag. His head looked from the receptionist to the key and then followed the pointing gesture she made.

He walked past the walking armor suit and tried to appraise it subtly, stopping only when reaching his door and opening it. “Fara, I’ll explain later so just perform…” He could count on her for this. He reached and pulled the blindfold from her eyes. “Take the boot knife strapped to the sheath of the sword…” Jude adjusted the fur enabling her to access it. “There you are, now just.” He offered his arm bindings and she cut the knot loose from them. He took a moment to become familiar with such things as the TV. Once satisfied he decided to walk about, his slave in tow.

He walked to each facet and tried to gauge the new reality presented to him. He deciphered what he could of his position and attempted to translate it to Fara summing it up with. “healing devices, edibles, portals, but one thing remains a constant…” his green globes glanced gleefully, the gist; guards. Guard’s took a gander about the generative girl. She understood the body language and began to strut, showcasing her frame. She was no genius but she figured if Jude lived her odds were significantly increased.

He approached a single sentry with slut in tow. Snaps, Singular sounded and she slid to her knees. Jude inquired with sincere tones. “I do wonder if you could possibly assist me with a curiosity of mine.” He started out and continued to sell his wares in exchange for future information or favors. The price was to be determined and the availability of such a toy, broadened.

[GrievousKhan]

Waking the Damned

The Iron coffin shook, at first slowly then more quickly still. Circler shaped plates affixed to the large iron coffin, each with a rune written upon them in an ancient dead tongue long forgotten, glowed brightly a dim purple of nether energy. They then turned clockwise once, then quickly spun counter clockwise rapidly, faster and faster they spun, their light soon becoming a orb of purple. Until they all stopped simultaneously, the symbols all upside down from the position they had been before. The chains fell away, as the runes grow slowly brighter still. The sound of locks being opened could be heard one after the other, the sound echoing throughout the room. Then the final lock unhinged, its inbuilt gear snapping open.

Then two slits appeared one across the iron coffin set horizontally perfectly in the middle, the second vertical split right down the coffins center. The hiss of air could be heard escaping in a sudden rush. The runes began to turn once more slowly, and the four now separate segments of the door opened up as well, peeling away like a blossoming flower. The sound of turning gears sounded out now as the door slowly opened. It seemed like an eternity. Soon it had opened wide enough to reveal what lay within. It was no dreadful beast of the future, or alien being off another world. Or any assorted kitchen appliance. Neither was it some war machine of death.

Nay, instead what lay within appeared quite humanoid, wrapped in numerous layers of dark grey and brown cloth and rags like some ancient mummy of some forgotten age, it’s arms and legs held in shackles. Upon it’s head it wore a cowl deeply drawn over it’s head, hiding partially hiding a face adorned with what looked to be a simple iron mask with two slits, each reveling an empty black nothingness. At first nothing happened. The whining roar of the gears had all but stopped, leaving the room in an eerily dark silence. Even the runes had gone black. Then it stirred ever so that if one had not been watching closely they would have missed it.

Then in a sudden and abrupt flash, the eye slits brightened instantly, seeming to ooze a dark purple, like the light of a burning lamp save for the unnatural color. It moved once more, the cracking of long unused bones could be just be heard as it shifted. The restraints then clicked one by one, first the arms, then it’s legs, as it moved whiffs of pale dust fell from it’s body. It finally pulled free from it’s place within the coffin shaking more of the dust from it’s body. It rotated it’s shoulders and cracked it’s neck slowly to either side. First it looked to Scalesert, inclining it’s head ever so slightly.

“General Scalesert…I see that you are well, good. General Grievous sends his, regards.” It spoke in a harsh voice that seemed to echo from within, something that did not entirely have to do with the iron mask it wore. Then it turned to Liaison then, and what passed for eyes brightened in recognition. “Ahh, and you…would be the one who sought me out I would venture?”

[Rilla]

Contractual Obligations

A deep breath exuded itself from the body of Liaison has he watched the beast be released from it’s cage. It was a magnificent sight, and the Coffin would prove useful in future endeavors, if Liaison could get his hands on it. Perhaps another time. The display that preceded the release was visually impressive, if not a little gaudy, it seemed the Bone King liked his runes. This was duly noted by particle sized nanobots acting as a camera. If any paid attention to the floating dust, that’s what they’d see, dust. Amused for the moment the man said nothing as his newest mercenary was awakened from his slumber.

As the being made his introduction, Liaison started to become pressed for time. It was obvious these two knew each other to some extent, perhaps in a military fashion. He would have to look into that later. He could neither work for nor against them, however, due to his status as a Liaison. Even now, his actions fit, despite his hiring of several mercenaries to take out Jynx and Alphonse. No, that was in the spirit of the game and there were others whom wanted them gone, for their own personal reasons - Liaison just happened to be the man that had connections to both of them and a plethora of other connections that could do this job fairly easily. He thought on this for a moment and smiled, the Liaison never disappointed. Soon his inner thoughts were broken.

“Ahh, and you…would be the one sought me out I would venture?” Said the Walker.

“Not you in particular, but you were referenced both by your beloved Bone King, Torigh Oughys, and General Khan, themselves. They both said that you are an exceptional combatant, especially in close combat. And you, Scalesert, both of you come highly recommended by your superiors, and I am sure we can make this venture a fruitful one. I suppose we should get down to business.” His hand waved and the dust particles shifted and formed one to one scale models of Alphonse and Jynx. “These two men are your targets, Alphonse “The Warrior”, whom won WOTW during it’s inaugural event, and the other is Jynx, whom competed in last years tournament, and seems to hold a grudge - Scalesert, you know of him, yes? Due to, in no small part, my own fault as I kidnapped a child of his.” His eyes went from Scalesert to the Walker, and back again. “I have discussed this with your superiors, respectively, and they have both agreed to the terms set forth by them and myself. You two are to take out Alphonse and Jynx, for each one taken out, the victor’s superior shall get what they asked.”

He turned to exit the room and leave the two to themselves. “You are still clear to win the tournament, which should be your primary objective, but the most important thing here, is to take out those two men - for some very lucrative and important businessmen.”

He slipped from the room quickly, and vanished. There were more meetings to be had, and more deceitful acts to be done.

[MelonHead]

Sigurd had made his way decisively towards his room as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He saw no benefit in conversing with the assorted murderers who had soon assembled in the lobby room, and he was still reeling from the realization that the world was greater than he knew, or if not greater, than at least more expansive… and terrifying.

The smouldering remains of the fur lining his plated armour reminded him of one good thing to come of this misadventure however, he had been handed a lucky escape from a particularly powerful dragon. Possibly the strongest and smartest he had ever faced, and one he had been tracking for far too long. For a moment, he almost wished he hadn’t slain the dragon which had been plaguing his village. Almost.

As he threw back the door to his room, he whistled lowly under his breath, whatever magic had brought him here, had definitely known a thing or two about his home. The room was perfectly suited to his tastes, bare. With a simple stone bed covered with fur and a rack for weapons and armour. As well as a small basin for washing and something he assumed was an indoor toilet. Although he did not call it such, for they were unheard of in world, however convenient they may be.

He shrugged his shoulders and knelt next to the fireplace, kindling a flame with some flint and tinder nearby. After some effort, he soon had a healthy flame, although it was mostly for lighting as his arm and torso still burned from the after effects of the beasts’ inferno. He sat back on a wooden chair, and looked around his lightly furnished room with something akin to contentment, for the first time since he had started his trek to hunt the dragon, weeks earlier a world away.

Liaison moved quickly, he wanted to get as many as he could in this particular crusade. Jynx and Alphonse were deadly, and now pitted to take each other out, with potentially Scalesert and The Walker now on their heels as well. His next stop would be the dragon-fighter, plucked fresh from the ripe flames of the dragon and given a second chance at life. Perhaps he would be thankful to his savior and take this assignment without word or question. He flipped through his catalog and found the room of the man, and went on his merry way.

His appearance was sudden, he appeared floating an inch above the bed, laying down. Sigurd was kneeling by a fire, in a room that was modeled after what he was used to for maximum comfort. “So, what kind of dragon was that? European? Chinese? Or was it something else?” Liaison said slowly, almost deliberately bringing up his homeland and what could have very well been his last day upon his own planet, in his own time. Here in the Place Reality Forgot, none of the time had passed, but, no one knew that - they thought they were here for varying amounts of time, but when they got back none had passed at all. Would this man help him? Or find himself back in the path of hungry flames that sought to devour his being?

Sigurd turned slowly in a half crouch. He was fully aware that whatever manner of being had just entered his room was beyond his understanding, or prowess. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the floating figure. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet with strong legs, used to baring the weight of the massive man in armour. For a split second, he considered unsheathing his blade, but his hand never strayed near the weapon. Even if he had decided upon drawing his weapon, he would not have done so until necessary, and far faster than the average man.

For now, things remained casual. “Why do you ask questions to which you know the answers?” He asked him quizzically, his voice bold and unwavering, if slightly halting as his accented speech filtered through to whatever language the combatants shared. “Unless I am mistaken, you are Liason, and you brought me to this” he gestured with both arms at the surroundings “place.”

Liaison watched the man as he moved to gain a proper point of viewing. As it were he was at a disadvantage, and he seemed to know it; evident by the fact, he didn’t reach for his blade, though it would have made very little difference. But what would this man do, if anything, nay, he would do nothing but listen. “Indeed, I am the man that brought you here and I am indeed named The Liaison. You’ve been brought here for a purpose, to compete in and win a tournament designed to pit the best of the best, and you sir, are one of the best. Not many can face down a dragon and bath in it’s flames, coming out relatively alive. But furthermore, you were also brought here for an opportunity, something to help your people evolve and move past the primal ways that they survive now.”

He watched for any signs of intrigue. “I need a favor from you, and in return, you shall be given anything you want, as long as it is within my power to bestow upon you, if not in mine then certainly one of my contacts or connections will have the ability to give it to you.” He moved himself and raised his cane, drawing crude forms of two individuals. “Are you interested?” His eyes turned to the Dragon Slayer, and a amused smirk crossed his lips.

Sigurd purposely considered the being’s words. This was something he had often described as ‘Too good to be true’. Similar situations being ‘The dragon just crashed into the cliff Sigurd, you’ve slain the beast!’ Or ‘I’ve made an arrow that can put a dragon down in one shot.’ And in these situations, it was always turned out badly.

“What is this, favour, you ask of me Liason, that you would reward me so generously for?” Sigurd asked him suspiciously.

He studied the man’s face, by no means was the Slayer dumb, he knew the risks that would be had if he embarked on such a quest. How they could backfire on him, even if he did succeed. No one could fault him for that, not even Liaison, but then again, things always worked out in the favor of the only truly neutral man in existence.

“The favor is simple, as it is the overall objective presented to you in this tournament. Kill Istasis and Scalesert, hell, maybe even both. Some very powerful contacts of mine are offering insurmountable rewards to any who can take out the two combatants, or even one, in some of their cases.” This was not entirely, untrue, Istasis and Scalesert had caused a lot of trouble and were marked fighters, across several dimensions and times, and Liaison was the one called upon the facilitate their demise. He finished up the drawings of Istasis and Scalesert, both in one to one scale. "Both are here now, one is seated out in the Lobby and the other, as far as I remember, in their own room. Be careful, should you accept, both of these are highly dangerous and wanted fighters."
He stood there for a minute to see the reaction of the man to his proposal, would he accept? Deny? He would hear the man’s answer, whichever worked for him and then he would have off to find another, perhaps the gigantic beast that entered into the Lobby earlier, Smiley- oh yes, he had special plans for him.

Sigurd considered his proposal long and hard. As he did so, he thought of the foul deeds that ‘Istasis’ and ‘Scalescert’ must have carried out in order to of incurred the bounty upon their heads. He hoped whatever it was had led to the deaths of hundreds of civilians, because although he could do nothing for those gone now, he could avenge them, and possibly save his homeland in the process.

Despite his summarising, his justification for murder, his calm logical decision, guilt still gnawed at him. Small for now, but it would grow, he had now doubt. His mouth tightened at the edges, as he pulled the words he knew he must use reluctantly from his soul.

“I accept your deal, if you ensure the safety of my homeland, from the dragons and anything else.” His fate was sealed. At first he had considered only asking for the removal of the dragons, but then he realised there would be an obvious loophole those of malevolent intent may exploit, in which they may invoke some new evil to terrorize the land in the place of the winged beasts. He stared at Liason grimly.

“Now leave.” He told him. He turned back to the fire, and a soft ‘pop’ marked the Liason’s departure.

[Glitchybugger]

Bidding a Weapon Farewell

The house was busy today, it was never usually busy though so it was an important day, how it was important wasn't an issue and nor was it the main focus of the abode's occupants. At the start of this day what remained of a woman's family had gathered to see her off, she was leaving to do something that could make her father proud, and possibly make up for his previous failure. Nothing else mattered to the woman in question though, she'd been raised for this since the old man had come back lacking in victory, but glad to still be alive. He had fallen in the first round, but this is why he raised her solely for this battle, that way, she would be superior to him and have more of a chance at victory.

There weren't many here, but with how few there were, this small house was considered busy by this woman and the rest of the family. Now, unfortunately, this woman was one of the last practitioners of magic left in the family aside from her father, but he was too old to use it anymore. If there was one thing that had to happen, the woman what was the object of everyone's attention today had to survive, even if she didn't know anything but battle, she had to survive if they wanted to keep their magical hereditary line going.

"I guess it is time for me to leave then. I promise to try my hardest father." Speaking softly to the elderly man, the woman gave a predatory grin. "Good, I expect you to come home, victorious or not. You understand that, Tamara?" The woman, Tamara, nodded and leant down to embrace the man before she stood again and made her goodbyes, hugs, kisses on the cheek, handshakes with the more distant relatives, she made sure she had finished all the loose ends. And now it was definitely time to leave.
"Send Liaison my regards." The old man called after her.

The main thought that went through her head was "How am I going to get there?". But that wasn't a concern for anyone else, this was the usual date for the competition, so it would happen any time soon. And it did, the moment she left through the door, she was gone for an indefinite amount of time.
============

A Weapon's Arrival

Suddenly, the scenery had changed from the trees, grass and other minute details outside to this, a slightly damaged reception area. There was the signs of something going bang, as the circumference of damage there suggested. Also, the unfortunate receptionist had been caught with some blood spatter, maybe from the same incident that caused this blast-like damage?

Though, it was irrelevant. Walking towards the desk and looking the woman up and down to judge her features before speaking. "Excuse me, ma'am, is this the Way of the Warrior Contest?" Tamara was quick to try and locate where she was, whilst there was a spatial disturbance, that could've been anything.

"Yes, this is indeed the Way of the Warrior contest, you must be...." The receptionist trailed off slightly before nodding. "Tamara Vic, yes?" The nod that was received in return confirmed it. "Okay, here is your room key. Everything is prepared in your room already, there is just about anything you need here that you can attend to before your battles. The fights have not yet been declared though, so I'm sure you have plenty of preparation time."

“Sir, Tamara Vic has arrived,” said a sultry voice in his ear. He had been expecting the girl, the child of a man who failed to win the tournament long ago. He believed, as it were, Alphonse had defeated him handedly in the second round. Liaison had kept tabs on him, amazingly the man was still alive and had passed down his magic to his daughter, Tamara. A smirk crossed his lips, how could he use that formidable magic to further the plans of his sponsors, contacts, and those who needed someone dead for something in return. But the true question was, what would she ask for? Restoring her father? Honor? Two rewards to be gained, one for completing her objective, and one for winning the tournament. If she could.

He vanished with a twist and a snap, appearing in the bedroom that had been assigned the woman. When she’d arrive, she’d find him looking out of one of the windows, out into the delicate whiteness that one’s imagination could make into anything - for him, it was his brother - Jadik. He hadn’t seen the man in ages, and often worried about his older brother. He erased the thought and simply waited - for why think about what he did not love? Absentmindedly, he’d twirl the cane in his hand, and simply wait.

After retrieving the key from the receptionist, Tamara paid no attention to any of the other competitors who were already here, not even giving a sideways glance to them as she headed straight for her room. She didn't need to converse with those she was going to fight with, it would just cause her problems and cloud her mind if she had to kill someone she knew. Unlocking the door and calmly pushing it open, there was a slightly surprised look on her face as she saw a strange man stood there.

"I did not ask for any company." She idly commented as she stood at the door. "Who are you and why are you here of all places?" There was no hostility from him, so she assumed it wasn't another attempting to off the competition before they had a chance to fight.

“True you did not ask for company, but you are in my home,” the man spoke softly, he knew where this conversation would go - just like her father, she spoke her mind. He turned slowly, tip of his finger brushing the very brim of his fedora. When he came to a stop, he motioned for the woman to relieve herself of the wares she carried with her, to become comfortable in face of a man that had problem placed a hit on her, for someone else.

“Your father,” he mused slowly, “fought honourably when he participated in this tournament. The question is, my dear, will you follow in his footsteps? Will honour pervert your chances of victory?” He turned back to the window, and looked back out into the whiteness that laid itself bare there. “To answer your question, I am “The Liaison”, and as it stands, you are in my building being used in my tournament, like your father before you.”

This was a strange situation, a man in her room that she knew nothing about claimed that this place was his home. It was understandable, perhaps he had been in this world far before she had, so rightfully, it was indeed his home. At the gesture for her to relax, she slowly unfastened the straps for her thigh-sheathed throwing knives and laid them on the nearest side and afterwards placed her knives and two small sacks next to them.

Looking towards this man once more as he started talking again, Tamara looked at him in surprise. "I was raised to have more of a chance of victory than my father. Does that answer your question?" Speaking in response to the mention of honour, she then paused momentarily after he answered her question. "Oh, so you are Liaison? My father sends his regards, I am sure he would have wanted to meet you face to face again, but he did not come along."

"So, is this just a complementary greeting you give to all competitors, or is there an underlying purpose for this conversation?"

“I’m sure he would have,” Liaison mused, then remembered the man, whose name escaped him. They had not seen eye to eye, but that was a fact of life. “How is the old boy? I’m assuming by the way you speak, he is still alive,” the Untouchable said, looking back from the window. He didn’t care, he didn’t care about anyone in this tournament, he couldn’t. No matter. Liaison was sure the man would not have wanted to see him again, not many people did, especially after learning the business practices of the man.

A chuckle parted his lips. “Of course there is an underlying proposition. I know your situation and you don’t know mine. I don’t know the rest of them and I have not met the rest of them,” a lie, “but there is some people here I need taken out, not for me, but for some rather powerful clients of mine. You do the job, and they reward you, whatever you wish, they are sure to be able to get it.” Whom would he assign her? Perhaps the Trigger, or maybe the man with the sex slave, he seemed, interesting and very wanted. “Are you now interested?”

"Yes, he is still alive. I assume he remembers you fondly if he asked for me to greet you on his behalf whilst here." Right now, her father's name didn't matter anyway, so she simply listened to his explanation about why exactly he was in her room. She waited for his explanation to finish and she looked at him blankly as he asked her if she was interested.

"I kill someone and get rewarded for it? And you get nothing out of this, yet you still go ahead and make the proposition anyway? I do not see why not, it is a benefit gained from needless murder, and that is something I have been desensitized to." Tamara then paused for a brief moment. "Liaison, who do you want me to kill? I will tear them apart physically if that is what the contractor wants to see. My father wanted me to be a living, breathing weapon, nothing more."

“Of course I want nothing, I am Liaison, a middle man, nothing more and nothing less. I just happen to be the most powerful one in existence. Ah, yes, this should be perfect for you, Xeelov, The Lieutenant. Should you come across him in battle, it’s quite simple that you kill him. Or at least defeat him, though death is more acceptable.” Liaison turned and headed towards the door, of course, this would provide him endless entertainment. He vanished through the door, there were more people for him to speak with.

Listening to Liaison, Tamara mentally shrugged off what he'd said about being the most powerful middle man in existence. "One moment, can you not tell me what to expect when I fight him?" She called as he vanished through the door. He was long gone though, so her question fell upon deaf ears. So she simply frowned to herself before she looked around her room, only just noticing one thing, the window wasn't white any more, it displayed a large open field for the time being. "How Peculiar..." Tamara mused to herself before sitting on her bed and thinking. I need to find out who this man is if I am to kill him.

[Jude]

Get busy living or...

The security guard walked back down the elongated hall of individual pied-à-terre and gave a short curt nod to Jude. Jude reached a casual hand forth and received a small rolled note from the guard he had previously shared dialog with. He turned and stood between the sentry and the door with the L-shaped chrome handle. His green eyes scanned the words, names and details of random staff members from janitors to the receptionist. The receptionist’s sister was listed as having a son, six years of age. A guard, Rygan was mentioned as acting suspicious during the late hours near the medical wing. Naveer and Firun; Sentry and janitor respectively, were seen coupling insidiously on the midnight shift. Seven tidbits adorned the sheet and brought a grin to Jude’s face revealing slightly tinged teeth. He turned the key and gripped the door handle opening the way for the informant. “This is adequate, you did well if this is all more or less accurate. What can I call you?” He questioned as he took to the side of the doorway to let the man pass through to the inviting arms of Fara, kneeling and purposefully heaving her breasts with every breath. “Happy…” the guard stated, focused entirely on the plaything that writhed in place before him, chained to the bed post. Jude smirked politely at the riposte. “I’ll be back in a few hours, just don’t rough her up.” Jude slapped him on the back and shut the door, removing his key and walking toward the receptionist’s desk.

Seeing no one in view he stopped at each door on the right hand side of the hall and bent down pressing his ear to them. His steps were silent but the light of the hall would cause his shadow to blacken part of the door’s bottom slit. He focused on any noise that he could gather. Most rooms just blurted the sounds of the rooms TV or were uninhabited. After six doors he thought about what he had heard if anything and set his sights on other perhaps more substantial opportunities.

Finding his way into the eatery he greeted the servitor by name. “Gregory, a moment if you could spare it?” His eyes and tone leaked courtesy. Gregory complied and offered his assistances up. “I was worried about a few delicatessens that seemed to walk off, Not so concerned with the cost of such rarities though. No. I only hope someone didn’t consume something they hadn’t heard of before and found it to disagree with them. I am sure you can see where I’m coming from…” It was obvious that Jude was offering an alternative to Gregory for his transgressions. Gregory was allegedly distributing exotic morsels for personal gain. Small filled crates would be sent out through portals and in return he would receive credit to his personal account on his home world. “What do you want?“ Gregory sternly stated his lack of amusement radiating through Jude off a bit. “Are any of the other contestants allergic to anything? Is there any way to find out this kind of information? Anything like that, there has to be something” Gregory looked down and thought for a second “I guess you aren’t looking for the obvious arsenic and venom solution.” Jude shook his head. “Not unless you have either available.” Gregory moved the conversation on. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll see what I think of that might help.” Jude bobbed his head. “Thanks …” He stood in an awkward silence while Gregory went back to attending to the foods. Jude turned away.

It had only been a short a while and his room was preoccupied with Mr. Happy. Jude walked around the face of the receptionist’s desk and gave her slight half smile before finding his way to the opposite end of an elongated couch in the lobby. He crossed his legs and leaned back leaving a hand atop the collar of his boot if only to hide the small boot knife. He didn’t want to offend Casana and liked to appear as little a threat as possible. It was not a hard task as it seemed he was the only regular, unpowered, human there. Should she make eye contact when he would look to her face she would see a welcoming smile appear on his lips and a small blurb of irrelevant pleasantries like, How about this weather and such.

[Tasuke]

A Return to Happenstance

One year. It's a simple measurement of time whose scope can encompass a lifetime of events. Wisdom bequeaths her understanding with unfolding of days; each of them a teacher. No short amount of fools refuse to take her instruction to heart; more moronic are they whom wonder why they behold a world in burning and filling to the brim with violence. Is the spirit of men so ravenous for self-slaughter and vanity? This is a question philosophers have charged themselves to decipher.

A few others seek to obtain self-awareness through the avenue of battle. Such a woman of competitive heart is the lithe Chiaki and that ideal is what beckoned her return to the expansive estate. Her silk-wrapped form emerges from the furthermost portal with an effervescent buzz of arrival. Terrific flashes akin to those of lightning whimsically paint the room with white until her being passed through.

What's revealed is the supple physique of quite a fetching damsel. Japanese lineage bestowed her with slender curves and a comely complexion. Naturally jet hair is split with alabaster tresses which frame her twenty year-old face and chocolate gaze. Obsidian kimono tied with silver obi exude an elegant air completed by the zouri she wears on her feet. Slung through the sash at her back are her methods of martial artistry: twin kodachi sheathed upside-down. Flames of azure lacquer like their black sheathes and accent silver guards. Each hilt enjoys wrapping of navy and white; each house a parental spirit personified by roaring water and crackling ice.

She steps into the space slowly with both hands overlain at her lap. With a geisha's straight yet sluggish gait she walked left toward the conveniently close registration desks. Aki carries herself before the one adjacent to her dexter; she greets the woman attending there with a shallow bow and blooming smile.

The mutually bowing lass favors similar dress: a kimono of emerald green and black hems. She wore her lustrous auburn hair in a tail that flowed over her left shoulder and down her bosom. Her voice possessed a chipper timbre matched only by the onyx luster of her stare. “Welcome, Lady Aki.”

Chiaki giggled into a grin. “You remember me?”

The lady nodded with a beaming grin of her own. “Of course! You're here to register, correct?”

She canted her head to her right and withheld further laughter. “I am, but first, have you thought about my offer, Miss Miharu?”

Her nods came in a pair. “I have. I must respectfully decline.”

Aki's dimmed smile and wide eyes convey her surprise. “Truly?”

“I enjoy my service here, but if that ever changes...”

She cut her off with refreshed warmth. “...then you have my location.”

A final nod had Miharu moving right onto business. Slender hands work to align her pen and paper; behind her is a wall bedecked with many keys. She writes into what must be a registration note as she whispers a name. “Kurosawa... Chiaki.”

She thereafter turned to the wall and retrieved a single silver key. Their gazes reunite while her right hand holds the item up for acceptance.

The tender innkeeper's left hand rises and twists to let the key fall into the palm. Gratitude comes in the form of another bow of deeper depth than the previous. It's met with the same until both women rise. “Thank you, Miss Miharu.”

Miharu gave a friendly wave of farewell with the elevated hand. The brightness of her grin alone could illuminate the darkest caves. “Be safe, Lady Aki.”

A feminine interjection from the hall to her right stole reply. “I'm sure she will; if any need blessing, it's who she'll kill.”

Familiar voice dumped arctic water into Chiaki's veins. Her smile melted into a parting of lips and her eyes grew with shock at the speaker's lyrical language. A slow turn of her head toward the stranger revealed a persona too pitiful to fear despite how her heart sprinted. A woman of Japanese blood and short but feathery charcoal hair. She leaned against the right side of the corridor clothed in yukata of royal purple shade with folded arms and crossed legs. White stockings spilled into black greaves complimented only by similarly colored gauntlets; no piece of the coyly smiling girl's expensive ensemble matched the value of her gaze: a pair of glittering sapphires agleam with audacious verve.

Five seconds of study felt like hours of static silence as the two of them locked eyes. It's not until she chose to move that the stillness shattered like dropped porcelain. Aki explodes into a sprint as her right hand seamlessly moved abaft to clutch the hilt of the sword slumbering there. In mere moments she was before the girl with weapon drawn into inverted grip. Its ghostly whisper followed the finely polished arc to her tender throat; the unflinching woman appeared merely amused while the razor steel pressed against her carotid. Her chuckle and delighted grin only affirm her arrogance.

Aki conversely smoldered with seriousness and a voice rich with seething hatred. “What are you doing here, Sitirin?”

She took a few moments to answer. “May a girl not enjoy her day by beholding a bunch of fools as they fray?”

Chiaki pressed the kodachi down hard enough to cause noticeable discomfort. “Answer me!”

The calm facade didn't crack as Citrine coolly replied, “Such a forgetful blockhead. Remember that my lady wants you dead!” Noiseless seconds trickle by before she continued, “Easy, Amane, do desist. I'm here to help, you know... to aid and assist.”

“You're here to kill me!” Aki hissed through her clenched teeth.

She shook her head in wordless disagreement; her face reflected genuine honesty. “I had no idea you'd be here, contrarily! Now that you are, I want to help you, verily!”

Aki's arm relaxed and moved from the ventose vixen's neck as she said, “I don't have time for this.”

She slid her sword home and turned toward the openness of the corridor. The rigid stride which took her away from her former partner is hardly as refined as before. To reach the security of her room became the goal and nothing short of a blade in her back would impede her now.

All the while Citrine's shout echoed through the hall. “Don't play too hard, Amane! If you do, you won't last the first day!”