Usually,The Liaison didn't bring himself to host events on this small of a scale; he was sure there were others of lesser talents that could handle the event without him having to metaphorically sully his hands. He preferred to host something on the scale of The Way of the Warrior, a massive tournament that brought in spectators from all over the Angar-Ryllan dimension.

But, the backers for this tournament had requested him and his infamous Lobby specifically. They had their eyes on several newcomers in the battling field, And would take no one else. They offered him two things, a truly insane amount of money, and information regarding a priceless artifact from his home world. Of course he would accept.

Now, the white clad man and his cane were standing in the middle of a a spacious and technogically futuristic room going over the dossier of various fighters. Some names he knew, he was informed they would be the mentors to these upcomers. To his left was a dossier on the new fighters. His benefactors were specific, they would need to see them test their mettle in various situations. Unlike WOTW, he decided to run this in a round robin type tournament setting. They would all face each other eventually.

Tabitha, he chimed, getting the attention of a Bahtak looking woman, They are due to arrive at any moment. Prepare everything.

The woman nodded and glanced back over the dossiers. His lobby, situated outside a place of time and space; it's own pocket dimenion which he had brokered control, boasted a cafeteria, sleeping areas, a place to watch ongoing matches, and finally a restoration center for those who finish their bouts. Usually this place was infamous for ruthless sabotage - but that was outlawed for this tournament.

With a snap of his fingers,a majestic looking cane appeared next to his right hand. With two taps, The Liaison vanished to the viewing room where several top rulers had already begun to appear. Some things never changed. His events were spectacles. Everyone wanted to watch.

Four years ago, she was broken, left to rot beneath a hellish sky of red flame and falling debris. The flesh that bound her whole had been ripped and pulled apart, right down to the bone. She wanted to scream, but the fumes of the fire filled her lungs each time she gasped for air.

As she choked from the fumes, and lay on the cracked earth, she captured a glimpse of the man who left her for dead. He won, after all, and it was only fitting that he would be free to escape. In an ironic twist of fate, her body would mold with the elements, and she would be forever lost to the black. She could have laughed.

Xaih stepped to the center of the lobby, her leather boots echoing softly though the empty room. While this particular setting was certainly new to her, she was first introduced to rugged areas, a drunken crowd, if there was one, and leaving a fight on an empty stomach. While in recovery, she grew more accustomed to a life of peace than aggression. The people who helped her, they reminded Xaih of the ones in her village--privileged to live on a and of abundant resources, yet lucky enough to not live under the rule of a merciless God.

Unlike them, however, she could not sustain a lifestyle of peace for long. She wasn't ungrateful, but she couldn't live with them.

Looking around, to her far right she found entryways to other areas, and to her left a small resting area. Her boots clicked against the floor once more as she made her way over to the small set of chairs and sat down. She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder and immediately started to move her fingers through the strands. Quietly, she waited for the other competitors to arrive, and with both eyes closed.

She needed to keep her memories close, and to remind herself she made the right decision.

He never came to these things, not usually anyway. In fact, this would be the first time a tournament took place that he wasn’t in…in years. Probably more of them than he could count, not excluding backwater affairs where nobody even really knew civilized combat. Still, word through the grapevine said this tournament had some up-and-coming stars, and he was always looking to recruit. So, he figured with nothing better to do for the time being he should come check it out. At least, that was the logic six days ago when he decided to show up. Now of course there seemed to be way too many posh people in the lobby, and he was far from their normal ilk. They kept eyeing him askance, what with his combat gear and gigantic sword on his back. Standing in the corner, arms covered by the rough material of his black coat and crossed over his lithe chest, he watched them with the same contempt. At any moment, he could wipe them out, but they posed him no threat – and for now his job was to watch, not assault.

Unfortunately.

His gray eyes continued on past them to look at the guy presumably hosting this thing, Liaison. The man looked familiar, like maybe he saw him somewhere before. Though, he wasn’t exactly sure if he knew the man or not – and for now it was of no consequence. He looked over the schedule, attempting to see if he could pick out a name that might be a big winner. His keen hearing picked up words from the guys sitting at the front, discussing the odds they saw for each fighter. Bets were going back and forth, and Lysander perked up at that. Gambling, drinking, and whoremongering was generally his preferred past time. So, with no alcohol being offered to him as yet (and with him deciding to do this right, he needed to stay sober), he walked over to the richest-looking guy he could find. Pulling out a large bag, he dropped it on the table with a solid thuuunk. The top spilled open and a few gold coins slipped out of it and onto the white table.

“Give me twenty-million credits on Xaih to win it all.”

With that, Lysander turned and walked toward the doors that lead to the hallways outside the viewing room, deciding to go off in search of the cafeteria. Of course, a fucking map would have been nice. Nowhere did he see one, and he supposed he should have asked for directions. Now, though, lost in the hallways so hopelessly that he couldn’t even remember which direction his last turn took him in, he simply continued to wander. Maybe someone would come along eventually and find him, or he’d eventually find what he was looking for, or neither. Who knew? He continued like this for a few more minutes, before he found what seemed to be a room with some chairs and the words on the wall reading “Fighters Only”.

“That’s oddly non-specific. Which fighters? I’m a fighter, but does it mean tournament fighters? Well…damn, I don’t know. Maybe one of them can help me find my way back, though!”

Stepping up to the door, it simply refused to move. It seemed automatic, but for some reason it didn’t want to open. Sighing, he touched his finger to the seam – and sent the shadows from beneath and around the door through into it, where they overpowered the locking mechanism and pushed it open – all the while convincing the latch that the door remained closed. With that done, he took a step into the room and looked around. There was only one person here, and he wasn’t sure but she looked oddly familiar too. From the description he received from his spies about this thing, it was definitely the one calling herself Xaih. He knew a Xaih once, and this girl looked a lot like her – but it’d been a long time since he’d last seen her. He presumed she was laying somewhere dead and gone by now.

“Um yes…my name’s Lysander, and I represent The Mystic Dominion…but I seem to have gotten myself lost. Could you maybe tell me how to get back to the main viewing room?

Xaih wasn't aware of how long she was waiting for another fighter to enter the room, but she considered her patience to be a virtue. She recalled how brash she used to be, and how much effort she wasted in using aggressive tactics. She almost lost her life because of it.

The sound of the door sliding open snapped her back into reality. She opened her eyes, as blue as ice, and stared at the man who introduced himself as Lysander. The name was familiar, but he looked like a stranger. Perhaps it was simply a common name, or maybe her memory failed her in this instance. Either way, he was worried about finding his way to a viewing room. If she was correct in her assumption, he wasn't a fighter meant to be in that room with her. Even if she wanted to help him, she could be of no assistance. She remained seated, hoping for a short conversation.

"I'm afraid I'd be just as lost as you. Have you tried retracing your steps?"

Obviously, it wasn't a helpful question, and she may have come across as less than inviting. It was her nature. Regardless if she knew this man from years before, she wanted to ponder very little on the subject. She had other events to prepare for.

“No help at all then, eh? That’s a shame. Liaison really should hire more competent workers, you don’t even know your way around your workplace. What kind of waitress are you?”

Sighing, he turned and walk back out of the room – trying to figure out the way back. He walked for what seemed like an eternity, hours wasted and time spent taking curves and corners. The complex model he built in his head of The Lobby showed him everything he needed to know, eventually he managed to find his way back to the viewing room; where he immediately went to find a seat next to the most pompous looking asshole in the area. He lifted his hand, and when the waitress came over he asked for a bottle of beer, which was delivered quite promptly.

“At least the waitresses here know what they’re do…oh…she might not have been a waitress. She could have been entertainment for the actual combatants!”

That sounded righter than her being a waitress, and it made for a good explanation for how she didn’t know her way around the join. She wasn’t a waitress…she was a prostitute.

“I wonder if they provide one of those at all these events…” he asked aloud, looking around and drinking his beer, quite pleased with himself.

Xaih tilted her head to the side a little in confusion. A waitress, she thought, in the room labeled for fighters only?

He left before she could point out the flaws in his logic, but it didn't matter much. He was finally gone, and she could return to the silence, waiting for the others who belonged in the room with her.

Rindheart made his way into the lobby, his heavy boots practically clanking as he entered. His gave the room a once-over, observing the presence of Xaih. Of course he ignored her, favoring taking a seat within one of the very comfortable chairs, leaning back, and closing his eyes, for all intents and purposes asleep. Of course no one fell asleep that fast right?

Vallen walked with steady sure footing silently and alone through the long empty bare hallway, an air of serene tranquility following him and his thoughts as he steadily pondered on many great lessons of his past.
The relevancies of one lesson more prevalent than most. Vallen recalled questioning the monks on why they practised martial arts but preached of peace. The monk simply replied.

"A garden is a better place to be than a battlefield yet I would rather be a warrior in the garden than a gardener in a war."

Vallen spent half his life learning to tender gardens while simultaneously preparing for battle. He had built and nurtured many gardens but never found his war.

...

The hallway came to an eventual end as did Vallens memories. He had finally found the lobby. Silent steps took him through the new room. A gentle nod was given to the other patrons in greeting as he casually eyes them over. What ever his curiosities were of this strange new place, he kept them concealed. What ever his curiosities of these people, he equally remained disinterested.

Finding a clear spot Vallen crossed his legs and sat on the floor. It was in silence he could properly hear, in stillness he could truly see, in this calm he calculated things to come. While his spot appearing seemingly chosen at random it wasn't. Very little was done without consideration. Vallen drank in the details of information that surrounded him while awaiting for the competition to begin.

The viewing room was filled with a lot of odd sorts, as you could expect from a contest located in a multiverse. Emperors sat beside presidents, samurai sat beside plasma soldiers, mages beside scientists. But it wasn't just occupation or apparent place in time that made these people different, it was even the shapes of their bodies. A seven foot tall man was sitting beside a blue haired girl with eyes larger than his fists. But both of them would tell you that they were human. It was a melting pot of personality and culture where it was almost impossible to stick out. Nothing was strange, because everything was strange.

That rule was no exception for the viewing room's newest additions. It was a girl cuddling a gray cat. The girl wore a rather eccentric red dress. With every step she took, the charms and jewels attached to it silently bounced off of her form. She could have been a mage, or perhaps a princess? She couldn't be identified, as her face was under a black helmet. Even the visor was tinted. The gray cat she was holding wore the same helmet, and was playing with a strand of her red hair that hung over her shoulder. The girl wasn't just holding the cat though. she had two tickets pinned between her fingers, each one with a seat number on it. She kept looking between the seats and the tickets.

“Hmmm...”

The helmet girl stopped at the next row of seats. Her visor slowly moved between the seat numbers listed on her tickets, and the brash man sitting in one of her seats (Lysander). She stared at the man for the better part of a minute before shrugging and sitting down in the seat directly beside him. At this point, the cat stopped playing with her hair and curled itself into a ball in her lap. Its head pointed out towards the combatants.

Rindheart poked one eye open and looked around suspiciously. Nothing had happened, except for another person showing up in nearly total silence. "A gypsie and a monk? Not exactly known for being much good at anything."" He said skeptically, snorting. "On top of that you both look you don't believe in armor and have never been in a fight before. Hope some fighters show up." Was he being rude? Oh most definitely. Did he care? Certainly not. It wasn't like anything he said was untrue.

Without warning, the doors to the lobby slammed open, and in walked a man of average height and a wolf of not so average size. Knives adorned the man's body, secured by multiple straps, sheaths, and tucked away sleeves. Though other than that, he didn't appear to be carrying much equipment on him. Nonetheless, he was sure he would immediately come off as cocky to the others. A grin was plastered across his face as he practically strutted into the room with the wolf at his side.

"You lads and lasses may as well give up now," the man proclaimed as he affectionately petted the top of the wolf's head, "The name's Dorian, try to remember it, since me and my girl Timber here plan to sweep the tourney from start to finish." He narrowed his eyes however when he scanned the room's occupants. "Hold on...don't tell me, there's only three of you here? Well ain't that a shame, I was expecting more of a challenge."

He'd heard talking coming from within the room right before he entered, and as he sized up his competitors he assumed it had to have been the Knight-looking fellow. Timber picked up on this, and began looking over in the guy's direction. It was already clear that she didn't like the guy.

'Not yet, Timber,' Dorian mentally told her, 'Just focus on identifying their unique scents for now.'

The lobby was finally beginning to fill up with the other competitors: a man with steps too loud and one who enjoyed the silence, much like her. Although, as she learned in the past, first impressions hardly lasted. They were in a comfortable lobby, and tensions were relatively low. Xaih kept her observations to herself, nonetheless.

The loud one seemed more wanting to share his thoughts, however, and it was only slightly bothersome that he decided she was a gypsy. She may have been nomadic, but it wasn't her choice, and she certainly wasn't free-spirited. To be fair, she did steal on occasion, for necessity of survival, naturally. Still, she didn't feel the need to correct him. First impressions hardly lasted.

Another loud person entered the room rather abruptly after what was said, and trailing beside him stepped an oversized wolf. That would cause some concern in a fight under a multitude scenarios, especially in tracking. She quit fidgeting with her hair and folded her hands together and narrowed her eyes in thought. He seemed confident enough, but perhaps too much.

"Who knows," she chimed in, "Maybe three might prove to be too much for you."

Hidden in the shadows cast by his hood, a small grin creeps across the corner of Vallen's lips. Although he had been taught better he was still not unsusceptible to vices of emotional gratification. The confidence and arrogance of others gave rise to such opportunity. For to confute such beliefs in battle was a moment he sought after and cherished. Oh how he loved to see the mighty fall.

It was not a case of proving his own superiority, not at all. Humbleness a lesson long since deeply seated and ingrained in his very identity. No, he just enjoyed opening others to the same learning experience.

However as the situation changed with now the inclusion of a beast Vallen found new things to ponder and consider. So in his meditative silence he remained unflinching, belie to his cunning alert awareness.

Once more, the door swung open, this time revealing a rather large old man, whose body seemed to defy time. His muscles bulked, ever so more visible due to the fact that he wore little more than a skirt. If you could not see his face, you could easily have been misled into thinking that this was the body of a young man in his peak, but alas, it was not true, for the tattooed man was well over his sixties, and seemed to still be in fighting condition. As he entered the room, he laughed loudly, his voice being warm and masculine as one would expect from someone his size. His eyes scanned the room around him, which appeared to be the lobby, before stepping deeper into the room and letting the door clatter shut behind him.

“It seems I am in the right place,” he said, loud enough for those interested enough to hear, but not loud enough to overpower everyone else in the room. For his aggressive nature, he had a mild sense of tact when it came to social occasions. “Just a minute ago, I accidentally walked into the ladies' toilet thinking it was the lobby. What can I say, my eyes aren't what they used to be!” Again his thunderous laughter sounded before he walked into the cafeteria that was situated within the lobby.

“Truth be told, I'm not even sure how I came here. We're not on earth, are we? Some of you friendly folk don't look entirely normal, after all. Hmm. Thinking about it, how did I get here anyway? All I remember was drinking a bit too much, and suddenly I was enrolled in something called a New Beginnings Tournament, or some stuff like that. Crazy how that works, isn't it? Hohohoho...”

Though the other contestants that were present seemed to be entirely busy with preparing for the fight, this much wasn't true for Sutemasu. It wasn't even out of arrogance - he had come in here not knowing how, why or when he'd signed up, and much less did he expect to win. In the end, he just wanted to test his strength, and resolve whether or not he was made of the same steel as others were. What else is there in life but to test your mettle, in every aspect of it, against others? There was always someone superior to you, and perhaps they were in this very room right now, he thought. Curiously, he looked around at the other contestants, smiling brightly at them, before turning his attention to the bartender. “Give me a shot of your hardest, that it may take the edge off, friend. The nerves are striking me now, what with these fighters in the room here with me, giving me the creeps.”

Without a word the bartender smacked down a drink for him, which Sutemasu promptly slammed back, before turning in his seat. As he twisted, he leaned forwards slightly, resting his arms on his own knees, holding onto the glass as he looked at the other contestants once more. “My name is Sutemasu, at any rate. It's a pleasure to meet you all today. I wonder what extravagant events they have lined up for us. Surely this is no normal tournament, as I can tell each and every one of you is miles ahead of the rest. And so, the events must be miles ahead of the regular earthly events too! Hohohohoho, it's only natural after all.” Even in this dormant position he was sitting in, his muscles seemed tense, hard as steel even. But now that he looked around, he realized that these others... well, he was sure there was more to them than they betrayed on the surface. The man with the wolf was an obvious one, as his companion betrayed that he was not a regular person, but the others were harder to read, perhaps. Not much he could do about that now. So, he just leaned up and put the glass down on the bar behind him again, waiting for someone to say something to him, or for something to happen.

Hm, something had better happen soon. He didn't sign up for this tournament for nothing. Or well, he did, but now that he was signed up, he wanted to make the best of it. Hoho, it's only natural, after all.

Liaison stood in the viewing room, eyes venturing over the nearly impossible amount of nanotechnology in his hands. Microsopically small, these marvelous wonders came to him especially delivered from the hyper-universe of Wedux, specifically the second inhabited planet Deup II. They were cameras designed to his exact specifications and were the reason he could see everything happening within his lobby.

With a flick of his wrist, the cameras scattered as if carried by the wind, dispersing to various parts of the Lobby. With excellent camera quality, he would be able to see everything as if he were standing there in person. A Martian woman, one of the last in existence, took her cue and activated the cameras - illuminating the room in a myriad​ of holographic screens.

Uncharacteristically, his eyes immediately bolted towards one of the cameras. They have finally come to an event, Liaison mused, as he saw one of the formerly last four members of the Hivan race. He had heard that the other three had met their fates at the hands of another of their number, seemingly the one who was now seated in his very viewing room now. He had cursory talks with the Mystic Dominion but it was one of the few places he had not been hired on as a middle man for - and it was little wonder. The man before him, Lysander, was as dangerous and capable as they come. He was dangerous, but could be a formidable ally if the cards were played right.

A woman had entered and placed herself beside him, did they know each other? It mattered little, this was a safe haven - and he has secured what he had deemed his ultimate security. A man whom had become known as the Segulah First, among his many other names.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the young human male that had come into his service recently. He informed Liaison that the combatants had entered and were ready, and that the reserves that were needed had arrived as well.

Liaison nodded and turned back to the gambling table before him, Lysander had placed a twenty-odd something million credit bet on Xiah, while the other onlookers were betting planets and the like. A simple man of simple taste. He glanced across the table at Okanra, the warlord leader of the universe Ompufi - a man with a significant amount of money on his head, and a greater amount of martial ability. Next to him was the Empress of the Black Shroud, the new leader of a cult-like coven of cryptids from an off moon located in the Severii sector of the primary hyper-universe in the Angar-Ryllan dimension. He thought it odd that they had a seat at this table. He greeted each in kind. One was missing, a Cughtagh of reputable stature and amyhtest eyes. Word was that he had not been seen in many a moon sense his minor skirmish with Fury.

It was time to get to work.

His Cane appeared in his left hand, or as near as possible with actually making contact, and them was positioned before his lips.

Welcome all to the inaugural New Beginnings tournament. Our mighty benefactors, of whom I consider close allies in both personal and professional endeavors, have come to me with this idea and I would have been remiss to pass up the opportunity to host this pretigious event. Liaison stopped for a moment, letting his words sink in. Already, his many employees were preparing the teleportation machines, the restoration room, the chefs were masterful blending sauces for the buffet like dinners that were to be had. Today, I host this tournament in a fashion akin to a round robin tournament. I would like to wish you luck, but more importantly inform you of what you are fighting for. Not only will you receive invitation to the Way of the Warrior tournament, but you will be offered a hefty cash prize or something of equal value from one of the backers of this event. Be well, be merry, but please - be bloody.

Liaison twisted on the spot, turning his attention to one of the monitors. Yet had been determined the pairings, or where they would fight but those would be narrowed down before his next announcement.

He had more dignitaries coming - surely they would not appreciate coming in the middle of a match, especially if there were bets on the table.

In a space and time far from peering eyes, closed off from the many worlds and dimensions that exist around it, extends a beautiful Forest. It's lush green landscapes are only paralleled by the glistening emeralds that lay scattered throughout, emerging from the ground in awe-inspiring spirals, sticking from trees as if delicate fruits ripe for the picking. A once sacred land, now thought to no longer exist. At one time, it had. Creatures far and wide would come gaze upon the spectacle that was the Emerald Forest. It's magic and secrets sat deep.

But even still, among the beautiful shades of green, something breath-taking exist. Both light and darkness, beginning and end battle it out. Up top a stone slab, a lone ancient sage sits. A red dust permeates the air around him, as glowing red veins seem to grow from the stone slab that he sits upon. A long sage's robe covers the man from his neck down to his feet, that lay tucked under him as he sat. His eyes peered into great distances, a sharp red. It wasn't a red of evil, but simply of pain. The rest of his guise was hardly visible, covered under layers of coarse grey and white hairs, that stretched the top of his head, down most of his back, and from his face towards the ground below the slab. And although this forest may have been forgotten, the man that sat upon this pillar was not. His descendants dream of his face and his words. Guided by the powers of the Red Sage. His enemies and enemies of his kind dream only of the terrors that he means them.

But now, in this place, something this way stirs. a wind flows through the forest. A sharp wind. The trees creak and moan as if suddenly hit by an unrelenting force. It had been a long time since a wind had swept these lands. And for the first time in years forgotten, the Red Sage stirred. He could feel the hard chap of his lips, The dry thirst in his throat. The brittle fragility of his bones ached his body. The red in his eyes softened till becoming a deep grey blue. A gasp escaped his throat, echoing through the forest. Something was calling him. What was this? Was it a child of his? A descendant of a bloodline long forgotten? Or perhaps something much darker, more evil.

He could feel something different. A Change had come, and a new change was just beginning. One that required him to awaken from his position. The fabrics of reality were secure. But, now a new threat had emerged in his absence, but things would not be the same as before. No, all of the Multiverses had changed. He wasn't sure he'd even have friends anymore. His brothers in arms... He closed his eyes as he trickled his thoughts across the realms. He could not feel them. Even the one known as Rilla, he could not sense. Though, he could feel the treachery of his offspring.

"Jynx." He finally whispered. His old friend had fallen, and in his place, the Heir to the Empire's throne had risen. How had he let this happen? He whispered names as he felt for other presences. "Aniya... Scream... Jacob... Naosie...
Phoebe... Abyssmir... Joseph... Wyatt... Athena... Dems... Sky... Terra... Ezekiel... Ro'man..." There were many other names as well, and to him, they all meant something. Many still lived in far off universes. Others had passed on. He pondered how long he had been away, Time worked differently across the verses. So, it was truly relative. Then he pondered on what had woke him. He was unsure. But, a presence did stick out to him. A lone man, meditating in the distance. The sage could almost make out his face. He was surrounded by powerful forces. Some he recognized, oddly. Though, he wasn't quite sure how. His gaze fell once again upon the meditating man. He wasn't sure why he needed to be there, but he was sure that's where he was going.

After several grunts, something peculiar happened, the cloak of the sage seemed to rise, as the old man with it seemed to do as well. Power swirled up around the cloak, and red lighting flickered though out the Forest, in an horizontal fashion. The greys and whites of the sage's coarse hair seemed to fall away, revealing a fresh younger face. The wrinkles that gripped his eyes seemed to pull back and his skin became soft to the touch. The Blue Grey of his eyes flickered with excitement followed by a fiery red, that suddenly flushed to an emerald green. His hair was shortened, and full of red, the common color of his people. The old sage's robe fell away and under it, was a young man in a red and black armor, lined in gold trimmings. A gold V portrayed across his chest. It had been too long since he felt like this.

With a flash, he left the forest behind him, and he stood in the lobby of Liaison's Tournament, his eyes fondly searching the screens a bright smile across his face. He had finally returned. And the Entire Multiverse was sure to feel it. He couldn't hold it back anymore. He screamed a battle cry, followed by, "My Name is Astor Raeym, and I have returned!" He glanced around briefly at all the people sure to be looking at him with peculiar gazes. The only thing that seemed to be missing now, was none other than Rilla Tsh'Rael. He'd pull the dead stiff from his cold grave and bring him back himself if he had to. They needed to continue their fight.

In one quiet corner of the lobby a small puddle of water had formed from condensation and steady leakage. By design or simply due to poor building maintenance, the puddle grew and grew until it was almost two foot wide, though hardly deep. Strangely enough, without any fan-fare beyond the sudden gushing of said liquid upwards, a human being suddenly materialised in the puddle. In such a place, the woman’s arrival was by no means all that spectacular and she had not had any intention of trying to impress anyone. It was simply the best way for one such as her to get around.

The woman was a strange one. Her reddish hair hung limply across her pale face and down past her shoulder blades, seemingly drenched with water. She was beautiful, but so very sad, her lithe form donned in the ragged remains of a once proud wedding dress. Water dripped constantly from her clothes, giving off the impression that she had just taken a lengthy swim in her strange attire, and her bare feet padded across the lobby as she moved with unconscious grace.

She moved with purpose, an intense look breaking through her melancholy visage, her cold, watery, eyes fixed on the girl known as Xaih. Why this woman had an interest in her was uncertain, and in some respects, the interest was not her own. There was something else besides a human soul inside this tragic woman, and it yearned to contact the water elementalist, it was like a compulsion.

The only time this red headed lady saw fit to move her eyes elsewhere was to glare angrily at the men in the room, swaggering braggarts for the most part, she would have liked to drag them down. Yet the Liaison, a figure with which she had a passing acquaintance, offered his protection here. While simultaneously sending these figures to fight and die for the amusement of others. Such hypocrisy was not lost on the woman. She stepped close to the girl.

“Xaih, my name is Anna, I want to help you, if I may.” Her accent was a lilting Irish brogue, but her voice was very sad, and belied a great melancholy. She stood there before the girl, oddly self-conscious, dripping water on the floor.

@Xaih

"Aye, I suppose it might," Dorian nonchalantly agreed with the woman who replied to him, though the smirk hadn't left his face, "Doesn't change the fact I came here to win, lass. And when I play to win, you'd best believe I won't be losing a fight all that easily." Timber let out a low growl after that, not sounding particularly threatening but it was aggressive enough to get Dorian's attention. "Come on, be a good girl and wait," he told the wolf as he knelt down to be eye level with her, lightly running a hand through her fur all the while, "You'll get the spotlight soon enough."

In reality, this was nothing more than a pre-rehearsed ploy to get Timber to appear more threatening, both to try to unnerve the other fighters and to try to get them to see her as the bigger threat of the two. At the same time, this small relief also gave him some time to think over the situation without it being obvious. He couldn't quite yet tell what everyone was capable of yet, but the lack of visible weapons on the woman made him think she may be some sort of martial artist and likely a magic specialist as well. The silent man keeping to himself reminded Dorian of a monk, and his physique suggested that he would be dangerous to try to take head on in a close-quarters fight, as no one with that kind of build would be a slouch when fought up close. And then there was the knight fellow, who seemed a little too standard and inconspicous to actually be so. All in all, it looked like everyone there would have a trick up their sleeve that he simply wouldn't be able to discern simply by looking at them now.

A little after this, a fifth fighter finally showed up, and Dorian could immediately tell that the guy was quite the character. An old man with a body that would shame most young men in their prime, now that was interesting. Even Timber had cocked her head in interest as the man moved around and talked. Just how did the people in charge around here find these guys, Dorian wondered.

"Dorian, and Timber," he introduced himself simply, first gesturing to himself and then to the wolf, "I'm just as interested in seeing how this tournament plays out as you are."

He didn't get to say much more however, as a voice then began to boom into the room as if from an intercom. Timber tensed somewhat while they talked, appearing to be apprehensive of the voice but didn't react further. Dorian just nodded along, glad to hear it confirmed that there would be a reward for the winner, and exactly the kind of reward he was looking for too.

Two more people showed up thereafter, with much more dramatic appearances than everyone else so far. Dorian cocked an eyebrow as he eyed them in interest, unsure of what to think of them. There was no way they could be competitors, not with the amount of power they were giving off by just simply existing in that room, so it was possible they were the mentors he'd heard mentioned when he decided to involve with himself with this tournament. Very interesting indeed.

She half expected him to say as much. Naturally, no one arrived anywhere to lose. Nonetheless, she remained silent after in continuous observation. Xaih watched him calm the wolf down, but the threat, and need for her precaution, was not in the growl.

Another man entered the room, offering a lighter tone to the growing tension. His booming laughter and hearty voice seemed almost grandfatherly. Xaih reminisced on a lesson from his simple attitude, which best described the theme of the moment: to live in the present, the now, and enjoy it. It could easily be a disguise. After all, he did come practically as unprepared as she in regards to wearing any protective gear, and that usually garnered suspicion. Regardless, she never minded reflecting on the positive memories of her past. She had so few shining dimly in the gloom that loomed over her. Her lips curved into a small smile.

A voice interrupted her thoughts back to the reality at hand. He spoke through a microphone, though they couldn't see him, and welcomed the entrants to the tournament. She stood from her chair, the strands of her hair sliding off her shoulder to behind her, freely hanging from her ponytail. She took a few steps away from the chair to stand closer in the center, listening closely. She wasn't aware of a cash prize to be awarded to the winner, which was a delight to hear.

To her right, she heard the unmistakable pitter-patter of footsteps in water after the announcement. Quickly turning her head, she spotted a redheaded woman nearing her with a somber face. Her thoughts returned back to home once she looked in her eyes. A touch of death crossed this woman's eyes, although Xaih didn't believe her to be dead. She had those eyes engraved in her memories, empty and cold, where they could rip the soul right from your being if they wanted. The woman seemed animated enough, but then again...

Xaih turned to her as the woman finally stopped beside her. She knew her name immediately and offered assistance in the tournament, of which she would hardly turn down, especially in her condition. The dripping water, and the woman's apathy towards it, also suggested that this woman may be of help in other aspects. She offered a smile to the woman's dismal tone. "I would appreciate that, thank you. And you are...?" She trailed off, but she was trying to be polite. Being able to have a mentor was wonderful, but she felt it would be disrespectful to not know their name.

@Melonhead

Things are gotten more interesting. Two more entered, a talkative man who looked rather old as well as an elf like person with too many knives and a pet, rather confidently as well. Their host had announced that victors would receive as substantial reward as well as an invitation to another tournament, doubtless with rewards of its own. Following that a man in regal red and black armor appeared from nowhere, letting out some sort of cry and announcing himself. Hopefully not another competitor, or else Rindheart might be in quite over his head. In addition a red-haired women rose from a puddle of water, offering her aid to the gypsy girl. There was a sort of quiet power that she had, distinguishing her from the other competitors.

Things were looking like some good fights to go around. The barechested man seemed like he would be a fierce opponent, the monk doubtless had some skill in unarmed combat as most folks like him did, though it wouldn't surprise him if the man had kama or two hidden somewhere, the girl likely was rather similar. He didn't relish the thought of fighting the knifeman and his wolf at the same time, but as long as he was careful it shouldn't be too much trouble. Of course he also had to assume that everyone here had access to some sort of magic as he did, which was bothersome as there was no way to tell what it was. It would be best to save his own magic until he could land a decisive blow with it. Well the fights should start soon and he wasn't aiming be aggravating at the moment, wolfman had already filled that role well enough. Best to consider his strategy for defeating each opponent. Hm, for the more bulky combatants it would be best....