It is time.

The winds whispered it, carrying the words down from the Mountain's peak, through the jagged crags of rock which dominated the heights. The trees whispered it, their leaves rustling and shuffling on the lower slopes as they passed on the message. The stones whispered it, grinding and turning when nobody was there to watch, opening paths that had lain shut for centuries.

It reached the ears of the monks, and they readied themselves to receive guests.

The first shrine lay at the very base of the Black Mountain, hidden in its titanic shadow. This was the largest of them, resembling wide-roofed temple, complete with pillars hewn of rough grey stone, an evident contrast to the black rock upon which they rested. Carvings adorned the walls, some made colorful with dyes. Depictions of heroes, warriors, assassins and magi, those who had challenged the Mountain in the past. The centerpiece, however, was no mortal monument. The Shrine itself dominated the temple: a pair of vast winged statues, rendered in pure white marble, eternally locked in combat.

The monks wove back and forth, hurrying about, sometimes quietly muttering to each other. All wore robes, but many bore different colors: red, brown, grey, white, all were present in some quantity or other. They were solemn, and certainly not rambunctious, but their movements betrayed a certain excitement. Finally, the hour had come.

Food and supplies were brought in from a nearby village, and laid out to be taken freely. Though hardly luxurious, these were plentiful, for it would not do to have a challenger starve or freeze on the climb, however unlikely it might seem. The Mountain demanded blood, and the monks were to help ensure it.

Sooner or later, those brave enough to make the ascent would pass through here. Some might pass straight through, intent on their goal, while others might stay awhile, to make final preparations for their journey... or size up those who might oppose it. The monks were on guard, ready to break up any physical altercation- though perhaps not as skilled or strong as those who would soon arrive, they had the numbers to do so.

At the far end of the structure, beyond the great angel statues, lay the first path. A simple dirt road, it was wide and welcoming- but quickly split off into dozens of narrower routes. These were the roads to be taken by those making the climb, each just wide enough to one person. Some might try to follow others, but they would soon find themselves on a different road- for once one reached those sheer and dangerous slopes, no path remained the same for long. It was a well-known rule: climbers always ended up alone.

Until two paths crossed, and two of those ascending had the misfortune to come face-to-face with one another. It was then that the Mountain would demand its blood.

For those brave enough to face this challenge, it was time.

D'Angelo leaned up against one of the statues of an angel, his cowl pulled up and cloak wrapped around him as he stared ahead onto the path and then the many paths that it would become. There was no way to know exactly where each path would lead, it was a crap shoot. As far as he could discern one path was as good as the next. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and waited patiently, occasionally a gloved hand would appear and he would tear off a piece of dried meat or take a swig of water.

He was content to wait in relative peace, enjoying the calm before the storm as it were. Yet, something always had to ruin the moment, something always went wrong. It was so when D'Angelo heard someone step up on one of tables and take care of business. He had only meant to look over his shoulder and see what the commotion was, yet when his dark eyes came upon the horrendous act that Gonad was committing he simply couldn't look away.

"You are a disgusting Neanderthal." He said plainly and loud enough to be heard. Truthfully, D'Angelo didn't have the words to express the level of disrespect and complete idiocy he just witnessed, he could only give a stern look of a disapproval and then shake his head. He hoped that one died first.

A fire pit and pitched tent completed a small camp-out at the base of the apocalyptic mountain, here is where Iolanthe waited out the final days before the climb. It was when the wind and earth stirred, and the monks became every frantic, that one could assume the paths opened up once again. The hike would be a perilous one, Iolanthe knew well of the stories of old, but the rewards far outweighed the dangers. What was it with the gods, and mountains? Was Olympus not a grand enough bastion on Earth's soil, did the archangels have to create their own mountain, with the flesh of the fallen? One gaze upward, the peak was perhaps one of the only things beyond Iolanthe's view, hidden behind cloud cover.

Covered in a red cloak, and huddling over the warmth of a fire, Iolanthe waited till dawn to arrive, whilst surveying the path leading up to the first temple. From her position came an advantage, she was able to scout out the other competitors from a slant over the ridge. Blessed were her eyes, for few things escaped their criticism. Two champions already made their way towards the shrine, and perhaps did not notice Iolanthe's camp in time to figure out her motives. Insight was important to the hoplite maiden, and knowing what manner of warriors competed against her could give her the edge towards victory. Neither champions that arrived so far wore much armour, which explained how they came so quickly. Their weapons, or lack thereof in the case of the tanned warrior, were quickly noted, as it would go for anyone who arrived late to the tournament puppeted by the gods. Iolanthe feasted upon a slab of salted pork, whilst remaining unmoved, she was still a remarkable scout after all, and she wanted to know just what she was going up against.

Luckily, the display of a certain barbarian would go unwitnessed by Iolanthe, though that didn't mean she couldn't gauge his vulgarity at first glance. An aura of flies seemed to follow him, signaling either a lack of hygiene, or a defense mechanism similar to the forest foxes, who bathed in their own excrete hoping the smell would ward away predators. Iolanthe prayed to Hyperion, begged and sought to persuade that he would not find amusement in matching her against barbarians that did not share her honourable combat etiquette.

As time passed by, Iolanthe might grow bored of waiting, and eventually return to the narrow path behind her, which she knew would lead to her first challenge. May it be man or monster, she came equipped for battle against either.

The first of the brave few looked upon the paths, some already beginning the climb. Whether driven by deep desires, or simply a thirst for battle, they all had the strength and the tenacity within them to begin the long and arduous ascent.

For hours, they would take their roads alone. Over sharp crags, through dense woods, past fearsome volcanic vents that belched steam like the maws of some terrible beast. Much of nature's beauty and ferocity was on display here, plain to see- but there was little sign of life. A few stray notes of birdsong, perhaps, or the sight of a small furred creature darting away into a hole, but only rarely, and only if one were watching for such things. The animals were hiding, perhaps sensing what now crawled up past their homes. The very air, cool and still, seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.

The paths wound and turned, bringing the climbers higher and higher, and drawing them closer and closer. Then, just as they'd be getting used to the quiet, perhaps thinking that there would be no challenge after all, the paths would veer sharply, crashing into each other like blind snakes, forcing the climbers together.

The dragon-slayer Sigurd Stoneheart would be greeted by the fearsome sight of Iolanthe Adastreia,

even as the elite specialist Gigue Lagace found his path crossed with that of the swift Shen Chung Gong,

while a vile stench filled the nostrils of Guzman Galliard III, as his mighty footsteps drew closer to the smelly Gonad Yakspitter,

and deft-footed Nicoli D'Angelo's winding way guided him straight towards the hunter of monsters, Trixi Hex.

By magic or stone or iron, the ways were shut to them, and would not open for either pair. Only one could pass each barrier- and there was no doubt as to how this one might be decided. High on the slopes, the climbers would clash, the chorus of their power and their pain awakening the sleeping power deep within the Mountain.

Begin.

@DJAtomika
(I hadn't read about the separate thread thing when I posted this. I'll add it to your thread when it has been made.)

Gonad stroked his long beard with a heavy right hand, nodding sagely as he walked up to Guzman much like how a kindly professor walks up to his podium. The hulking man seemed not to even have his guard up. His free arm hung easily by his side. Were Gonad to have approached even the most feeble of children in this way, surely would the child have no fear. There was no aggression or discontent in the barbarian's single eye, no fire of competitiveness or secret lust for blood. He was just a big fellow that knew apples were apples and oranges were oranges, and that men could choose to die as enemies or as brothers.

"Bwuh! Taller than Gonad be Tall Man! Not often seen such has Gonad, gruh."

Somewhere in California
A few hours ago before the tourney…

“What the FUCK do you mean by ‘sending me to another plane?!?” Trixi’s voice practically screeched into glass shattering volumes as she shouted. Her hands smacking the table top, kicking up dust in her action, and glared at the unfazed man before her.

Samuel Rictor, an immortal man with a knack for alchemy who had skimmed more eons than she had existed, was suggesting something she found ludicrous! Not to mention suicidal. Her chest was heaving up and down with her green eyes were sparking with rage when the man finally decided to address her. His large, callous hands placed down the stone mortar and grinding tool, then turned his wrinkled old face into her direction. Sam, as she called him, looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, his skin weathered by the elements to create crows feet. Icy blue eyes cracked by the energy he held within his body and sent chills down Trixi’s spine, quickly freezing her rage at its peak then cooling it down into a whimpering sensation.

Her fingers retracted from the table surface and pulled back a bit, her body instinctively not wanting to meet his cold disapproval. Ever since she met him, Trixi had always thought something was… off about him. Something unnatural and creepy, her suspicious increased by the fact every gut sensation seemed to have told her to run on the day she met him. However, like the stupid teenager she was then, she didn’t listen. She sometimes regretted she didn’t.

Angry at herself for losing patience, something she rarely did unless being tugged around in the dark, Trixi’s jawline tensed in frustration and her teeth grinded to prevent from feeding the emotion. It bothered her that Sam had seriously considered this route for her training at all. Did he not see the danger such a thing could create? Her eyes flickered up to meet his and her heart stuttered in her chest, almost stopping. He did. Taken aback by the realization, Trixi’s foot stepped back into the shelves behind, each filled with animal organs to dried herbs, and components for Sam’s various alchemy.

“I’m not doing this because I want to, but because we have little choice. Do you want to live past this war or die in it?” His tone was flat, emotionless for his image. His dark moustache starting to shift with each word and revealing the hints of grey edging into the color.

To see him like this, it was enough to make Trixi’s skin crawl in concern.

“I already discovered a rune which will prevent everything you’re thinking about, though I will state this: most of it is theoretical nonsense and movie bullshit. We’re not the only ones that have done this and so far, our timeline is just fine.” He stated in german, baritone voice and shifted back to the bookcase behind him. A finger edged out then skirted along the various book spines and brushed each title until he came across the newest, his finger skidded up and tilted the thing out into his hand. “Besides you need to get stronger in a short amount of time, and this is the only way.”

“Explain to me how this won’t fuck us up in the future? Ever heard of the ‘butterfly theory’? That’s actual thing!” Trixi cried, finally breaking from his spell. Her body leaned forward to get closer as if to intimidate him into seeing it her way, and her rear smacked into the shelve hard. The mason jars rattled and clinked their protest, reminding her of how fragile they were. She ignored it in favor of chewing Sam out some more. “How can you make sure time travel, dimension hopping, or whatever the hell you’re planning is not abad idea?”

Sam was clearing at his patience’s end over having this conversation over and over with her, ever since he told her at the beginning of the year what he intended to do. He flopped the book down, wide open, on the table suddenly causing her to jerk immediately. She briefly spotted a decorative tattoo made of a celtic knotting weave and two stallions rearing up against each other. Her eyes pulled back up and her topic focus changed immediately, pulling toward the reason for such an elegant image. “What’s that?”

“The rune.”

“What the hell is it with you, tattoos and needles?!?” Trixi tossed up her arms in frustration, groaning at the idea of another one. Sam didn’t use a modern day tattooing needle, but rather an arcanic thing that required dipping and sticking her until she bled. The tattoo took half a day and itched like a whore infected with crabs, while the place was far too close to anatomy best left to her one night stand’s memory rather than a old man. She didn’t like it made some strange sense when she actually thought about, namely only because her target was a incubus with a fetish for tentacles and the only way to lure him out was to be the bait.

She shuddered at the memory. Never again would she look at her deepsea tentacle friends the same way again, alive or not.

Sam continued, his ears ignoring her tone and reaction, while he explained. “The rune will allow you to co-exist alongside a timeline without physically unraveling it and when your task is done, the rune removes any evidence you were ever there. Distorting it enough that it would rapidly snap back into its original series of events and completely eliminate your existence. It will be as if you were never there in the beginning.”

Trixi’s hands pushed her upright, her eyebrow raised and not fully believing him.

“Do I need,” Sam countered, his tone bland and even, “to continue into finer details? Including how exactly it’s theorized that dimensions, planes, and more work?”

“And what, confuse me more?” Trixi snapped. “Tell you what, I’m going to trust you for now. Then when it blows up into your face, I’ll laugh and scream ‘I told you so!!!!’, how’s that?”

“And when it doesn’t, you can shut and do as you’re told.” Sam replied as he added a murky, milky water substance into the black tar substance in the bowl. Pouring it carefully, he emptied only about a quarter into the stone before he stepped back and reached for the drawer. He jerked it open and retrieved a thin, reed like application tool which he placed on the table.

“Since you’re so paranoid, I’ll tattoo it into your chest now.”

Trixi shot upright causing her body to smack the shelves much harder than she intended. Pain briefly rippled along her back and she fought not to winch at it, feeling the hurt spread than fade. The jars, however, made clicking sounds and one abruptly fell from the highest shelf. It slammed hard into her head top then crashed into pieces on the floor. Trixi bent down while tenderly rub the spot, her mouth uttered a curse under her breath. Her fingers started to collect the pieces and pile them up, wary not to cut herself with the glass edges. She then tossed them all into the nearest trash that Sam had kept mainly for failed concoctions.

When she finished up, she inhaled then asked another question. “Anything else I should know about this rune?”

“It won’t help you in the tourney if that’s what you’re asking. Even the ‘Fallen’ application of it won’t be affected, but once the tourney is completely over then you’ll be coming back. The rune basically resets time, bring you back in the same state and about five minutes after you’ve left. This allows you to finish out your time in other realm and keep memories of what happened. This includes memories of when you die permanently.” He hadn’t noticed her pallid face bleaching itself of any remaining color. “After all, exposing you to the possibility of death and teach you how to deal with it is a good learning experience.”

“That’s just wonderful!” Trixi practically shouted and this, her body didn’t lean into the shelves. She had been beaten in the head once too many times already.

“If I wanted you to stay dead, I would’ve let Salem finish you back in the alleyway.” Sam stated in a cold tone, his hands dipping the needle end into the ink then gestured for her to get on the table. He already been busy cleaning off the section where she was to place her ass and sit while he poked her repeatedly.

“Bite me.” Trixi said simply as her cheeks puffed out, popping the air in her defeat. “Fine.”

She started to unbutton her blouse, exposing her semi-flat chest, while she turned against the table end. Her hands braced on either side of her as she pushed upward and flopped her ass on the edge. She had over shot her aim on purpose and any contents in her way were quickly shoved away, a few even toppled to the ground. Trixi made little to no attempt to stop them when they shattered, rolled and clattered to the ground. Feeling Sam glaring at her, Trixi smiled in an ‘innocent’ way which didn’t amuse the old man.

As a result, the process hurt much worse than usual afterwards…

After the tattoo was imprinted on her chest, just below her collarbone, she left to get her stuff together. Sam told her to travel light and not worry about healing, mainly because the monks at the shrines would provide it. Keeping this in mind, her batons, nightshift clothing, wiring and several kunai were chosen as her needed items.

She was busy examining her equipment and ensuring it was in order. Her mind pondered over the information about this ‘Black Mountain Tournament’ and she didn’t watch her mentor prepare for the trip’s transport. Honestly she hadn’t cared to ask until the smell reached her nose. That was when her eyes ripped themselves from the mirror and spotted the sight happening in the livingroom. It was the scent of rotten flesh and burning meat that was causing that god awful scent, her hands clamped over her nose while she edged out into the room’s center. Sam merely chuckled at her image as he lite each pinkish candle, all roughly about the size of an eight oz water bottle, that surrounded a single large rune.

Curiously, Trixi leaned closer so she could easily make out darker red chunks embedded within one candle. Her stomach felt sick for a moment when she realised there was a human nail preserved on the outside.

Suddenly she jerked back, certain she didn’t want to know about the other contents in that item. She looked hard at Sam and wondered what the fuck provoked him to use such black magic for this training of his. What drove him to discard humans in such a way that inside made her stomach crawl and twist in knots? It was question she secretly never wanted to learn the answer to. When Sam finished up, he began to open the portal.

He used another stash of ingredients and incantations, causing the whole living room in the apartment to fog up. Within a few minutes, her head was feeling like it was inside a huge bong and world was coiling in on itself. Colors dripped onto the floor where they pooled and swirled into a mess. Sulfur, flesh burning and shit lingered in her nostrils denying her any ability to smell clearly. The world tilted abruptly as her feet shifted, trying to stabilize herself instinctively, and widened her stance. Her bones seemed to take on the structure of jello, failing to support her as she stumbled onto all fours. Sam’s baritone voice was rumbling in the background then shortly faded when her eyes closed, her mind sent rocketing into unconsciousness.

“Sam, you bastard..” Were the last words to slip through her lips when darkness consumed her.

---

Present

Naturally, Trixi was among the late arrivals.

The woman’s eyes were closed, but she could hear voices nearby. She kept her body eerily still with only her steady breathing to show she was alive and her body laid out in wide eagle spread on her back. There was an ache in every single inch of her figure. The muscles tingling with hurt and her bones seemed like they hadn’t moved in over thirty years, her mind questioning if moving at all would be an ideal action. Cautiously she twitched her finger then waited several moments, testing the reaction to the movement. Nothing.

Encouraged by this, Trixi slowly started to open her eyes… which she quickly wished she hadn’t.

Immediately her eyes were burning from the vulgar display performed by the barbarian as he literally shit on his hosts’ table. That was enough to make her turn to the side and eject whatever meal she had managed to keep down before her trip, vomiting over rocky ground with a wet splatter. Part of her suspected it was also because this was her first dimension hop and mentally hoped the reaction was normal for first time travellers. Another thing on her list to ask Sam, she told herself.

Wobbly, she started to get to her feet as she wiped her sour lips, tasting the sour carrots in her mouth. “Why the hell does vomit always taste like carrots. I don’t even like or eat them, yet there’s the taste. Gross.”

She shook her head trying to loosen the vertigo edging into her head, her hands gripping her knees to stay upright and stand. Last thing she wanted to do was to fall flat on her face in front of what she assumed was her competition. Slowly she inhaled then exhaled, trying to see if getting some air in her lungs would help relieve the dizziness, her focus primarily on getting back into shape. It helped after several minutes, the color in her cheeks returned gradually over time and paleness vanished while she straightened herself into a more upright stand. Casually she pulled a hair tie from her belt then pulled her hair back into a very, very short ponytail in order to keep her red bangs from floating into her green eyes, observing the others interacting.