[IC] Way of the Warrior

[Rilla]

The Lobby

The entirely muted footsteps that echoed along the hall were the only sounds that persisted in the impossibly dark construction. How long had it been since the place had been in use? Surely not since the last scheduled maintenance check and upgrade. The Warrior had little to worry about being here, despite the darkness and unfathomably long time out of use; only one could enter here, and he had gained that permission.

It was not long before another pair of footsteps, accompanied by the in time tapping of a came, joined him. The Master of the Lobby had arrived.

I assume then it was just as expected, Liaison asked, peering to his left at his bodyguard. Alphonse had grown accustomed his role, and played it well - protecting the man he had sworn to kill. Well, let there be no delay, the man said as he snapped his fingers, turning the dark Lobby, into a well-lit space of magnificence. The Sterling white walls flashed as the technology embedded within came to life. At the same time, the place was almost instantly full of staff, in the midst of work as though they had been there the entire time. Alphonse wouldn't have put it past Liaison of that being the case; the previous darkness being no more than a powerful ruse concocted by someone who owed a favor.

Liaison moved swiftly and purposely, taking care to read through and sign various papers presented to him. He ran the Lobby as though it were a business, similar to how he ran his earth space based company, the Raeym Corporation, through the use of two very important families - the Tsh'Raels and Seraphics. The workforce was populated with a variety of beings, from a multitude of hyper universes, some willing and some not so much.

A portly woman, or at least as far as Liaison and Alphonse could tell, approached them with an open laptop of off world make, likely from the hyper universe of Hyrut II, where technology was the master and had many times over surpassed what the milky way universe, where earth was featured, was capable of. Mr. Liaison, the letters are ready to go, whenever you wish to send them.

Liaison flashed a friendly smile and punched in his codes, a series of keys that changed almost by the minute, that would send off the invitations. This was among his favorite piece of business, the writers often tried hard to convey the seriousness of the tournament and how it changed not only those who failed, but the one who won moreso. None, to date, had ever heeded the words - and in fact, his bodyguard had entered twice.

Invitation

You're not going to listen to me, but I have to try anyways.

The name you may know me by is El Chappo, Champion of the Ring. That's not my name anymore, but it might carry some weight with you anyways. I've been where you are now, holding this very letter. Bright-eyed and determined, convinced of my own invincibility, convinced that I was the best there was and that Liaison - may the Diablo take his poxy soul - would shortly be granting me the prize he'd so richly offered to the strongest arm and keenest mind of his thrice-be-damned tournament.

I got one of these letters, too. A letter warning me to stay away, that Liaison can't be trusted, and that there was no joy to be had in winning the contest I'd set my sights on. I didn't listen. No one did. No one ever does. But I still have to try.

Attached to this message is a map highlighting key locations you'll need to know how to find if you insist on trying your hand against Liaison's competition. If you enter, don't lose it. The medical ward will ensure you're back to fighting strength between bouts. The lobby areas might seem like so much superfluous fluff, but don't be fooled - the best warriors are the ones who can learn much and give away little in the time between matches, and they'll know anyone who doesn't show has much to hide. Keep your secrets, learn theirs, and perhaps even win allies.
You'll need them. There's a food court as well to nourish yourself, off the lobby areas. I do not recommend the Mexican - it gives you gas like you would not believe, and I've eaten real Mexicana.

Lastly there are the preparation rooms, which lead out onto the tournament grounds proper. You can use those rooms to arm yourself, warm up, and prepare for the battles ahead if you must compete. I would advise that you spend some time praying to whatever deity guides you for forgiveness. I wasted my time praying for victory, instead. I know not what sins I committed to offend the Saints, and if I did I would spend the rest of my life atoning for them, for they must have been black indeed. My Saints heard my prayers, you see. They gave me the victory I so desired, and when I had that victory in my hands I learned the truth of what Liaison is, what this 'Way of the Warrior' farce's true purpose is, and what my victory had 'earned' me.

I don't fight anymore. I can't fight anymore. My mask is gone - I tore it off myself, cast it away. I'll not don another. My days of championship are behind me. My days of glory are behind me. 'Glory'. I don't even know what the word means anymore - all it is, is ash in my mouth now. Once, when I was El Chappo - when I was a champion - I proudly swore that I would never beg another for anything. I would earn what I took, took what I had earned, and would never stoop to such lowly, cowardly behavior as pleading with another.

Here and now, I cast aside that oath. I am low, I am a coward, and I beg of you, my unwary successors - heed my message. This is no place of glory, no champion's grounds. This place is a den of snakes, and if you accept that Diablo's invitation, you will be bitten.

There will be other battles, my young friends. Other chances to prove yourselves and earn glory. I pray to the Saints that you will listen, though they do not hear my words anymore.

Fortunate favor you...however you may choose.

The invitations would cross through both time and space, traverse universes, all to reach their intended targets.

Task completed the woman turned on her heels and scurried off, leaving Liaison and Alphonse to attend to their business. For Alphonse, that was to return to the veil, a hidden mirror world that allowed him to protect Liaison from a place deeper than shadows and other elements.

Liaison, on the other hand, vanished and reappeared in an upper area, restricted to personnel of sufficient clearance. There were things and people that appeared in this room that warranted the removal of unneeded eyeballs. He looked over the equipment, and inputted another code, one that would grant him almost unilateral control of the Lobby and all functions therein. He set the parameters that would guide those who came to the proper location. Non combatants would be shifted to this very room, while those marked for the tournament would land in the lobby, near a receptionist who had seen it all, and continued to show.

Already his Lobby picked up trace amounts of incoming energies, both magical, natural, and tech based. The call for the upper levels players had been sent out eons ago, this was a highly anticipated event. In fact, for the first year, he was expecting an analyst from a budding agency that specialized in this type of thing. Later they would work out an agreement, more work, for a favor. Always a favor.

All there was to do now was wait, and so, the well dressed Man that held the cane, and couldn't be touched, waited.

[Tristwich]

Walking down the once deserted halls of The Lounge, a young looking red devil of a woman was inspecting the impressive architecture she was looking at. This was her very first assignment from the GCA, and she was excited to get this show going. If ever there was a person suited for the job, it was Ember of Hatred, field reporter for the Guild of Combat Analysts.

"My, my. This is a wonderful little place you have here! I am very impressed with your setup, Liaison. Seems like the rumors were true when they said you had both style and clout." Walking up towards him in the viewing area, the tiefling was sporting a sensible fashion of a skin tight mesh of nanocarbon fibers covered in a thin sheet of metal in the shape of octagons. Over this she wore a light gray jacket of plastic fiber mixes that went down to her thighs. Covering the rest of her legs were large leather boots that were strapped on with platinum buckles. On her left breast was the symbol of her station, a bronze GCA encased in a square that denoted her as a field reporter, their only field reporter honestly. Small guilds had small staffs, but she was determined to do her job well.

Her own features were attractive in a dangerous sense. Her eyes today were gray like her attire, though she could change them whenever she wished as a minor parlor trick. Her horns were carefully painted in octagonal formations with a silver paint, her platinum blonde hair smoothed down and short to the nape of her neck. Many found her body to be disable, her curves had both men and women staring, her bust was fair, her hips wide and her lips were full like forbidden fruit. So many wished for her in their bed, and all that do live to regret the action to the deepest parts of their souls.

"We at the GCA would like to thank you for giving us this opportunity to cover your event. You can expect professional service and nothing but top notch quality from my work. We don't half ass anything, as I'm sure you already know." She gave a wicked smile, her charm on full as she waited for his response. Looking down at the Lobby, she wondered just what kind of fighters were going to step up to the challenge of this little tournament. Whoever it was, it was sure to be a great fight, and her Guild was going to get the full scoop on it all. Christmas bonus here we come.

[yoshua171]

Maeiraltys; The Teryth Mountain Range;
Veinan - The Sentinel's Fortress

---

Naudun Liaessar

On a small world revolving around a prismatic sun in a distant universe the planet Maeiraltys a man stood upon the the peak of a nearby mountain, his gaze upon the surrounding peaks--his back to the great fortress of Veinan. The place was his home, but as it did most, it had weathered him over the man years of his life, tempered him into what he now was. Having guarded it against trespassers for a very long time, not to mention studied within its halls, Naudun Liaessar found himself desiring something new. Though he was wary of such things, for his world was not a kind one, he could not help but have that itch in the back of his skull that told him to spread the Reza far and wide. Strangely, this desire was not something that he shared with his brother and sister Sentinels. However, it had been documented before, so he at least knew that this was not something to be worried about--though that did little to quell his wariness of the sensation.

Turning to look upon his home once more, he gazed at the great fortress and allowed himself a smile. It didn't last long as he was struck by a force. Staggering back a step he was instantly on guard, the Reza flared within his body, tiny prismatic sparks of flame emanating from his fingertips. Then came the message.

It was like he blacked out for a long moment to receive what his mind told him was some kind of invitation--though he had no idea how he would know such a thing. The message was some kind of call to arms it seemed; twas a contest of strength. Eyes narrowing faintly his stance relaxed marginally and the Reza calmed. The itch in his mind had intensified significantly despite the stable state of the Reza flowing through him. Frowning he reached out, having noticed a strange swirling schism in the air to his left. It felt off somehow. Briefly he hesitated to touch it, before doing so in earnest and vanishing. Who knows if he would ever see his world again.

---

His body twisted and warped by the portal as he was flung unceremoniously through space-time, Naudun nonetheless managed to land on his feet when he was unceremoniously deposited in what appeared to be a strange room. The place was well lit, yet he saw nothing betraying the use of either magic or natural light of any kind. Eyes narrowed and stance low he glanced around. There appeared to be one person in the room with him. They were wearing strange exotic clothing that he had never seen the like of before.

Where in the eight hells was he?!

While he doubted he could trust anything anyone here said--what with their strange, alienness--he forced himself to relax somewhat and approach the individual. To the stranger--a receptionist, though he didn't know it--he said, “Where is this and who are you?” There was a tiredness in his voice and an edge that one might recognize as the tone of a warrior...of a survivor. It appeared that Naudun had gotten himself into something rather dangerous--and interesting--for once. He hoped that it would turn out in his favor.

At the very least he'd gotten the itching in his skull to disappear. Hopefully it wouldn't cost him dearly.

[Maquina]

There were many different expectations for an event like this, when it came to the fighters who would come and try their hand at the prize. Hulking men in metal suits, covered in steel and bearing thews most heroic, seeking to overwhelm their foes with main strength and heroic resolve. Wiry men in darkened leather with slender daggers and shifty eyes, tricksy rogues who eliminated their targets with the quiet whisper of an unseen blade. Hides-clad woodsmen with bows in their hands and wildlands predators at their side, wizened old men with beards down to their knees and eyes crackling with power. Occasionally even great bear-like champions in nothing but a set of shorts and a pair of padded gloves, the promise of a world of pain in their eyes for anyone who underestimated their ability with the empty hand.

One expectation that was not common, however, was tall, teal-skinned, point-eared women with old-fashioned bolt-action rifles. And yet that was exactly what stepped off the arrival pad in the lobby mere moments after a confused mountain man, papers held loosely in one hand.

The woman’s name was Ryoko Nocity, a mercenary of some repute back in her home regions. Her registration papers called her out as a ‘Wild Elf’ and she certainly looked the part. Bright, energetic teal skin, impossible to miss at any distance. Blue-tinged white hair, trailing in a loose tail down to her waist. Beguiling violet eyes that regarded the room their owner found herself in coolly, frankly, and very judgmentally from behind a natural mask of stark white skin stretching over her face; the band of color encompassed her eyes, the bridge of her nose, and her long, sharply pointed sylvan ears, like a robber’s cloth strip or a set of overlong eyeshades.

She was beautiful, but she was also unmistakably a warrior; over six feet tall, with the toned and sculpted musculature of someone who knew the precise balance between strength, agility, and endurance required of a soldier and strove to maintain that balance. Her skin bore its fair share of scars, old wounds from old jobs. Her right arm bore intricate, spiraling tribalesque tattoos, covering it from the back of her hand all the way to and over the shoulder, flaring out into a web of markings over her shoulderblade.

She was dressed in an outfit that did not at all jive with the usual tone of such events. A black leather halter top preserved her feminine modesty without restricting the motion of her arms at all, bearing the entirety of her back and shoulders to the world. A wide, heavily tooled and reinforced belt circled her waist with a handful of pouches and packs hung off of it, including the holster for a snubby pistol peeking out from the small of her back, hung for left-handed draw. Below the belt, a set of loose, beat-up dark grey denim pants, worn through in spots and clearly past their prime. The legs had been cut short, hems stopping just below the top of a pair of very metal boots. Heavy black leather, reinforced with enough plates, buckles, and studded straps to count as light armor in its own right, the boots bore a set of spiked studs over both their toes and along their heels, promising swift regret for anyone who gave the mercenary riflewoman cause to give them the boot.

Her hands were partially encased in a set of fingerless shooting gloves, studded over the knuckles with short, drill-shaped spikes akin to the ones on her boots. Wristbands of the same material hooked up to the gloves, liberally festooned with a triple row of similar spikes. More drill spikes hung from her ears, a single pair of earrings decorating her head, while a handful of other decorative charms dangled from the occasional clip or buckle on her belt and boots.

Before one noticed any of that though, they would notice the monumental rifle slung over the woman’s shoulder. Almost as long as Ryoko herself was tall, the weapon was built on the long-obsolete bolt action pattern, positively archaic in its construction. Hardwood and steel throughout, with a permanently fixed bayonet making up over a foot of its length past its muzzle. There were some people out there who wouldn’t have even recognized the antique thing as a rifle at all, but Ryoko doubted anyone invited here today would make that mistake. As delicious as it might have been.

“Nocity, Ryoko. Preregistered. Here,” she said, tossing the packet of papers she’d been carrying on the receptionist’s desk as she sauntered past, ignoring the rather dazed-looking individual who’d gotten there just in front of her.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to wait until – “ the woman started, only to be met with a faintly annoyed wave of the still-moving mercenary’s hand.

“Meehhh. You’re the official, figure it out,” Ryoko tossed off as she wandered past the reception desk and into the lobby area proper. The letter she’d received from some poor sorry depressed fucker named El Chappo was tucked in her hip pack, but she’d already committed the map attached to it to memory. A quick glance around showed that she seemed to be the second actual tournament fighter here, or perhaps the third. A succubus-looking thing in a business suit was hanging around while Captain Confusion dealt with the receptionist; she wouldn’t be the first individual RYoko’d encountered who fought in a business suit, nor honestly the first succubus-type thing that had tried to start shit with Ryoko…but the riflewoman just didn’t get that sense of edge from her. Not yet, anyways.

Disappointing. She was supposed to be learning shit in this part but fuck if she was gonna learn shit without anybody here. She wasn’t about to stand there and ogle someone doing their paperwork looking for deep secrets of their fighting style; until people actually showed up for real she basically had the run of the joint. Oh well. She could already smell the food courts from here, and where there was gnosh to be had on somebody else’s dime, Ryoko would be there. She changed course, sauntering with slightly more purpose in the direction of the eating areas. She was going to order the shit out of some of that Mexican, because fuck off if some dickless weenie in a letter was going to tell her what to eat or not.

“Time to get me some burritos. Woman can’t fight without a burrito or six in her,” Ryoko muttered to herself, caring not a whit for the innuendo or the inevitable sneakycams recording the whole thing. That was just part of the job this time, and Ryoko intended to get herself paid today.

Handsomly.

[Enki]

SRI(Shinra Inc.) Building


Ark le Doux held the strange letter in his hand as he was exiting the Presidents office. He gotten the strange letter earlier and with such a weird request being sent to him from another world he had to report it to the higher ups, unfortunately Enki was out and unavailable to consult so he had to go to the next up on the list 'El Presidente herself. She read it and laughed, asking him if he wanted to go. He just kind of shrugged while saying "Sure, could be fun. And the guy running it sounds like an interesting contact to make for you." That's all that was needed, permission was granted, and out the door he went.

It was all a formality really, Ark was a member of the KNIGHTS division and they had a high amount of autonomy in their doings as they were some of the most trusted in the company for the last few years and change of leadership. Ark went back down the building to the KNIGHTS armory where his personal gear was stored. Making it to his section of the armory, a door labeled "Nergal" opened before him displaying his armor and weapons.

Nergal was his code name in the Project, something all of them got to pick when entering into the program. Grabbing his armor and weapons he double checked and triple checked his equipment before he even dared to cross over knowing it would be hard to come back before it was all over. Finally confident that he had everything he held the invitation up and with a flash he was in a new place.

His visual display inside of his helmet gave him a video feed of what was behind him if he glaced over to the side inside his helmet as well as being able to look out in front normally. Seeing as the room looked non threatening he decided to take his helmet off revealing his longer white hair and pale white eyes. He was greeted by a receptionist, "Well hello deary, Nice black armor and long white hair. I never see that combination around here!" Her sarcasm was only slightly irritating to him as he himself on his journeys through the many worlds and universes that SRI had sent him to, had found out that long white hair usually meant that person was a dick of the highest order. Combine that with a black outfit and you have the corner stone for each and every wannabe bad ass trying to emulate some other guy. It was those times that he wished hair dye would stay in his hair, as his armor was the color of his original home worlds Dark Knight tradition.

With a sigh, "Just show me where I can stay till I fight please." She nodded and pointed at some doors to which he bowed at her graciously and began to walk over to.

"I don't like this set up, especially with not being able to use Apoc...though I havn't had to in a while now. Not since the that damned day of the dragon nonsense. Oh well, wonder if I will run into anyone I have seen before here?" He keeps to himself as he walks towards his room, where he plans to rest and meditate before his first match barring any interruption before reaching his room.

[Xavier Bloodbayne]

The sun hangs high in the sky, granting it's delicate warm touch to all that would stand in path of it's rays; a young raven for instance. No older than middle age the bird stretched out its’ 8 inch wing span and flapped lightly, gliding effortlessly atop the winds. From its flight pattern it seemed evident that it made it's way into the very center of a massive kingdom, the kingdom of Tigonna; the only piece of land on this tiny planet. It flew, more specifically, to a pile of rubbish which sat just beyond the market; this pile was often left here for weeks on end to allow for the kingdoms less fortunate citizens to dig through rotting meat and produce to find their entrée for the day. It's talons made brief little scratches as it's wings lowered it softly onto the cobblestones below, before the raven began to pick away at the veritable buffet before it.

The raven had been pecking at the rotted remains of a small feline when it was suddenly distracted by a series of noises which seemed to be getting closer. Curious the little bird cocked it's head and began to hop it's way towards a door until it stood in front of it and simply stared at it's wooden surface; head cocking to and fro when all of the sudden it was thrown open with incredible force. By the time the raven realized what exactly was happening its frail body had already been crushed between the door and a wall; destroying the larger of it's bones in an instant and leaving it to fall in a heap in agony while flapping it's one good wing now in a failed attempt to escape. As it lay there, more twitching now than anything, it saw the last image it would ever see; a man dressed in black robes pulled partially over his face. What was visible of the man’s face as he tore passed curious onlookers was visibly contorted into a look of terror; one eye open as wide as physically possible and almost entirely overtaken by his iris and a strange frown/cowl painted across half his mouth. He only used one of his arms to pump himself forward as he dashed passed the crowd; the other was clutched close to his chest, balled into as tight as fist as he could muster and had tufts of vanilla colored paper sticking out both ends.

After putting a good twenty feet between himself and the doorway, the man could be seen throwing a quick glance over his shoulder without slowing his pace; a horrified shriek passing his lips that caused a wave of panic to spread through the crowd as he turned and doubled his efforts of escape. Many turned to look at what had elicited such a fearful scream; seeing only a strange red mist billowing amongst the ankles of the citizens and coming from the doorway the man had used. A wave of worried whispers whisked through the onlookers as hundreds of feet began to shuffle backwards in cautious bewilderment; the strange substance lurching and rolling over itself as it began picking up speed.

The man’s head snapped round again and caused the hood to fling itself backwards; exposing an obviously fresh and large burn like wound over his right eye and cheek that went so far as to expose the bones underneath.

“Leave me be!” the man hollered over his shoulder at the mist; oblivious to the fact that he was no longer running in as straight a line as he planned.

As he turned his head back around he was greet with the sight of a quickly approaching stone wall; against which he smashed his face and body before bouncing off of it and getting throwing to his ass. Coughing and gasping now, the man could only right himself enough so that he was kneeling on the ground, when he saw that the mist was so close that it was pointless to run anymore. Throwing his hands together, the man interlocked his fingers and rose his arms into the air in a pleading motion; blood dripping off of the man’s chin from both his broken nose and a gash on his forehead.



“No!” the man screamed, his entire body visibly shaking “No! please no; I-I’m sorry!” the man was spitting, spraying and drooling as he babbled towards the mist.

“He’s mad!” a mans deep voice boomed over the crowd.

“Someone do something!” a woman’s gentle voice called out. “There are children here!”

“Guards!” a number of voices called out from the crowd as parents began herding their children away from the scene.

The terror did not waver from the man’s face and he was now shuffling backwards on his knees as he mumbled incoherently through his sobs. The man released the grip his hands had on one another which caused a crumpled up, but still sealed, envelope to tumble across the ground. The vanilla tinted paper was embossed with two bold letters in a glistening, almost living, crimson ink; XB. Stolen from a tomb of red stone that had been discovered a few miles out of town.

“HAVE MERC-eck!” the man had begun to yell like only a dying man can; when his own right hand suddenly darted through the air and latched onto his throat; stopping his words in an instant as the veins of his neck began to bulge.

Like a trapped animal the man began to attack his own arm as viciously as he was able; punching, slapping, yanking and even tearing chunks of flesh free with his nails in a futile effort to free himself. With his face now coated in the spray of his own blood and his arm dripping a steady stream; the man’s face began to turn red as his lower limbs started to thrash about frantically. Try as he might, the man was unable to move his left hand a single inch; the red tone quickly shifting to a purple one as blood began to fill the whites of his eyes.

“By Quil; he’s killing himself! Someone stop him!” an older woman’s voice broke through his gurgles.

“Aside!” a very deep and manly voice commanded as the sound of clinking metal filled the area. “Aside I say! Make room for the Kings Guard you unruly peasants!” before long, 4 burly men dawned in shiny metallic armor were able to shove their way to the front of the pack and surround the man on four equal sides.

“You there” the same commanding voice boomed “Stop this nonsense at once!”

Blood filled eyes flickered towards the guard who bellowed at him, but he had not the strength to even quiver his lip and could only stare at the darkening image before him.

“I said stop!” the Captain yelled; moving forward while reaching out so as to grab onto the man’s right hand.

Just as the Captain was able to make contact with the arm, the man’s entire body was suddenly wrenched from the ground and lifted almost 9 feet into the air; lifting the Captain up and off his feet as well before he lost grip and subsequently fell to his back in the dirt. Meanwhile, some unknown and unseen force held the choking man in the air while he held his own hand tightly over his throat.

“By Quil…” the guardsmen spoke softly as they all took a few hesitant steps backwards. The Captain could not even bring himself to stand and could only shuffle backwards on his hands, butt and feet.

The man kicked his legs and flailed his free arm for only a second before his body finally started to go limp; the unconsciousness of being oxygen deprived finally setting in place. It was in that moment that it seemed he would die that the man was finally able to take in a deep, gasping breath as he spit and choked on his own blood. The crimson mist that had gathered before him began to rise into the air now; creating a roughly human like structure that appeared to have a hold of the man’s body with only one 'appendage' on his hand and throat.

The wind itself seemed to whisper to the man as hundreds of different voices whispered incoherently from all around the crowd. To them, it sounded like nothing more than noise; however it seemed to be eliciting a response from the floating man.

“I…” he began in a raspy voice “I was only trying to make some coin… everyone thought you were gone.. I didn’t know!”

The cloud seemed to lift the man an extra foot into the air before suddenly thrusting him against the ground with an incredible amount of force. The subtle squish of torn flesh and the plethora of snaps and cracks from broken bones filled the airways as the man’s body broken in one mighty swing; leaving behind a puddle of blood and guts on the ground as he was lifted up and slammed into the ground once again. This impact acted like a horrid Gallagher Gag and sprayed the Faces and bodies of many bystanders in the crowd; whose faces were already locked with looks of utter disgust and disbelief as their minds attempted to process what had just happened.

The arm of the crimson figure now receded back within the larger cloud just as two red orbs the size of cheeries suddenly popped into being near the top of the cloud; two red eyes that seemed to be staring straight into the soul of the Captain as he lay on the ground, to afraid to move an inch. The figures position shifted slowly and subtly, allowing it to regrow it’s appendage and grab hold of the crinkled letter on the ground; the paper beginning to dissolve almost instantly as it was touched and drawn into the thicker portions of the figures body.

It moved now towards the Captain, who responded in kind by shuffling backwards as fast as he could; before an appendage lurched from within the cloud and grabbed hold of his leg.

“Ahh!” the man shrieked like a woman; thrashing his leg about in a violent manner so as to try and shake it free. As he did this though, another appendage fired from within the cloud; this one covered in an ashy grey flesh that felt like cardboard as it grabbed hold of the Captains jaw.

“Your. King.” A thousand voices boomed from everywhere and nowhere at the same time; causing the entire crowd to cover their ears in pain as their noses began to bleed. “Has. Damned. You.”

The last thing the guard would see, was the expansion of the two glowing orbs in the figures head; becoming two flickering pockets of red flames in the process. This began an impossible reaction with the crimson fog the beings body was comprised off as all but one of the microscopic particles erupted into crimson flames that spread throughout a massive area in the blink of an eye. Any person that stood outside in the Kingdom of Tigonna was vaporized in an instant; their ashes burned away as thousands of dying screams echoed through the air. Buildings were set ablaze and anyone left, would have to deal with the possibility that the entire town was about to burn to the ground.

Only one single particle had been spared from the violent ignition process; utilizing the violent explosions to propel itself off the face of this puny planet and into the cosmos.

---

The single speck of energy would inevitably find it's floating through the hall of the Lobby, winding and weaving through the airwaves in an almost random fashion; sometimes gliding along the top of, or very near to, some of the electronics on the wall, causing their lights to dim and flicker whilst any computer screens were filled momentarily with a strange red static. The electrical disturbances halted as the particle exited the hallway of the entrance and floated towards the receptionist; coming to a stop just a few feet away from her while floating about 6 feet off of the ground. As the speck came to a stop, a high pitched ringing suddenly filled the lobby as it vibrated at an incredibly high frequency. This first vibration signaled an established connection to some unseen force elsewhere in the cosmos; causing an incredible spike in the surrounding energy levels as the speck began to rapidly multiply at an exponential rate. It would have looked as though someone was pouring red sand onto the floor and some unnatural force was preventing it from spreading outwards; creating a roiling crimson cloud with a roughly cylindrical shape and comprised of millions and millions of energy particles.

The vibrations of the particles ebbed away as the energy levels within the Lobby would have finally began to stabilize; the rotations of the particles inside slowing to a crawl as it began to release snaps, cracks and pops from within. The vast majority of the particles were currently undergoing a change of state for Energy to Physical as they took on the form of a crimson metal; evidenced by the glimmering that could be seen within the cloud as droplets of liquid metal began to patterns against the floor. Anyone with a keen enough eye would be able to see the rapid construction of a massive and metallic skeletal structure inside; eventually stretching out beyond the top of the cloud a good 3 inches to expose a metallic forehead and empty eye sockets. When that was complete, microscopic threads of metal began to manifest themselves and starting at the feet they began wrapping tightly to the once bare frame; adding several inches worth of red metallic muscles and tendons as they wove in and out of the structure and ended once again on the exposed portions of the face. Slowly now the cloud of particles began to lose it’s density, while the image of the bare muscles started to fade away; the cloud of energy particulate combining to create a fleshy layer over the entire body.

While the grizzly nature of the face, the chiseled abdomen and stacked pectoral muscles, covered in a mix of scars, would be the first hint at the beings intended sex; there were no genitals to be found upon the pubic mound of this being. Nor would he be dawning a pair of trousers to hide this fact. Now, the eyelids which had been built over the once empty eye sockets would suddenly spring open; revealing them to be deep, rolling pools of a dark crimson light. Meanwhile; shoulder length Onyx black hair was forced through the skin of his scalp and the brows of his eyes.

Most would know not the identity of the strange, naked man who now stood almost directly to the slack jawed receptionist; there is, after all, little to no mention in any records of a man known as Xavier Bloodbayne as most who cross his path never speak again.

“N-name and invitation?” the female spoke timidly towards him; almost unsure if she should speak at all.

Those red eyes shifted to the right in a single twitch of motion; staring straight into and through the eyes of the frail woman. Not once would his lips move even a micron, and yet the woman would be suddenly aware of hundreds of voices within her mind that all spoke in different octaves.

Bloodbayne the voices boomed in her mind as her vision went hazy. As she heard his words echoed in her head, Xavier held his hand out and summoned a burst of crimson particles from the palm of his hand; reconstructing the embossed envelope that he had only recently retrieved. The woman could be seen visibly shuddering as a thin droplet of blood ran from her nostril to her chin.

With a shaky hand the woman scribbled a wavy line on her tablet device before motioning to the rather empty room behind her; indicating that he should go there. She dared not speak to him again.

Without acknowledging the woman again, Xavier walked forward and further into the Lobby. A few people had arrived ahead of him and the urge to start attacking was a hard one to stifle, but stifled it was. The chance to fight the toughest of these people would soon be upon him.

[Tristwich]

Staring upon the glowing blue words as they stretched out before him, Uric Densaw wondered about what he might gain from this venture. He wasn't one for fighting in a tournament, but there just wasn't all that much to be gained in this place either. Sure he had established himself as a powerful wizard and the envy of many, but was it really worth such an extensive and draining tri-

“Uric Densaw! You are under arrest for multiple counts of treason and espionage, with warrants out for your head from governments all over Valucre. Open up now or we will be forced to break in.” Hmmm, it seems providence has provided a reasonable justification for a hasty getaway. As much as the prospect of being executed multiple times for the victimless crime of stealing secret lore sounded, he had better things to do. Mainly join this little tournament tournament being held in the vast reaches of the ether.

“Oh yes I shall let you in shortly.” He said as he snapped his fingers, his armor magically appearing upon his body along with a host of other essentials packed up in a burlap sack. “Just need to finish up this little experiment of mine first.” A shame so many of these books wouldn't be able to make the trip with him, but at least he was able to make his copies and put them on the crystal tablet he had enchanted just for this occasion. Can never be too careful when you are so unjustly accused of thievery.

“We will break down this door!”

My they were eager to catch him, Uric thought for a moment, shrugging as he went about setting up the spell circle needed to open a portal. Even for the magically inclined of Valucre, he always felt he was somewhat ahead of his time, and his journeys had proven as much. Wherever he went, he found many of the experts in the field of the arcane to be rather...unstudied in so many things. It seemed to him that they just weren't very skilled in the ways of magic like he was. Oh well, at least he could finally get out of this constricting planet and on to bigger and better things.

From the stairway he heard the sound of wood breaking, a high pitched whine of a spell activating, some cursing and finally the sound of a conflagration. It wouldn't be long before more would show up though, which is why he needed to get going and get out of here while the bodies were still smoking. The runes etched upon the scales of his armor began to glow, and the portal was being constructed faster than any wizard on the planet could accomplish by themselves. As the vortex of blue energy swirled before him, the wizard gave a small sigh into the bronze metal of his helmet.

In a way, he truly meant what he said about missing this crazy old world. There were wonderful sights and some of the people who lived here were genuinely wholesome. However it seemed that he had grown beyond what this place would allow of him, so he needed to go someplace less restrictive. Already he had to drain the mana from most of the magical artifacts he possessed as well as most of his magical batteries. If things kept going the way they were, then there is bound to be no more magic left in this planet at all.

Taking his last steps on this planet, Uric would cross the threshold into the portal, and emerge on the other side into a strange lobby. With the magic fading away on the scales of his armor, Uric came off as any old warrior might. Sure he was a little mismatched with plated gauntlets, plated greaves, scaled legs, scaled torso and a bronze helmet, but magic was more practical than fashionable. Besides it may just confuse the hell out of the competition, something that he thought might be worth a laugh or two.

“Now to figure out how this place works, ah a receptionist, splendid.” From the looks of things competition was sure to be fierce. Good thing he could be just as fierce himself, and he has the knowledge to make it work.

[Tristwich]

Staring upon the glowing blue words as they stretched out before him, Uric Densaw wondered about what he might gain from this venture. He wasn't one for fighting in a tournament, but there just wasn't all that much to be gained in this place either. Sure he had established himself as a powerful wizard and the envy of many, but was it really worth such an extensive and draining tri-

“Uric Densaw! You are under arrest for multiple counts of treason and espionage, with warrants out for your head from governments all over Valucre. Open up now or we will be forced to break in.” Hmmm, it seems providence has provided a reasonable justification for a hasty getaway. As much as the prospect of being executed multiple times for the victimless crime of stealing secret lore sounded, he had better things to do. Mainly join this little tournament tournament being held in the vast reaches of the ether.

“Oh yes I shall let you in shortly.” He said as he snapped his fingers, his armor magically appearing upon his body along with a host of other essentials packed up in a burlap sack. “Just need to finish up this little experiment of mine first.” A shame so many of these books wouldn't be able to make the trip with him, but at least he was able to make his copies and put them on the crystal tablet he had enchanted just for this occasion. Can never be too careful when you are so unjustly accused of thievery.

“We will break down this door!”

My they were eager to catch him, Uric thought for a moment, shrugging as he went about setting up the spell circle needed to open a portal. Even for the magically inclined of Valucre, he always felt he was somewhat ahead of his time, and his journeys had proven as much. Wherever he went, he found many of the experts in the field of the arcane to be rather...unstudied in so many things. It seemed to him that they just weren't very skilled in the ways of magic like he was. Oh well, at least he could finally get out of this constricting planet and on to bigger and better things.

From the stairway he heard the sound of wood breaking, a high pitched whine of a spell activating, some cursing and finally the sound of a conflagration. It wouldn't be long before more would show up though, which is why he needed to get going and get out of here while the bodies were still smoking. The runes etched upon the scales of his armor began to glow, and the portal was being constructed faster than any wizard on the planet could accomplish by themselves. As the vortex of blue energy swirled before him, the wizard gave a small sigh into the bronze metal of his helmet.

In a way, he truly meant what he said about missing this crazy old world. There were wonderful sights and some of the people who lived here were genuinely wholesome. However it seemed that he had grown beyond what this place would allow of him, so he needed to go someplace less restrictive. Already he had to drain the mana from most of the magical artifacts he possessed as well as most of his magical batteries. If things kept going the way they were, then there is bound to be no more magic left in this planet at all.

Taking his last steps on this planet, Uric would cross the threshold into the portal, and emerge on the other side into a strange lobby. With the magic fading away on the scales of his armor, Uric came off as any old warrior might. Sure he was a little mismatched with plated gauntlets, plated greaves, scaled legs, scaled torso and a bronze helmet, but magic was more practical than fashionable. Besides it may just confuse the hell out of the competition, something that he thought might be worth a laugh or two.

“Now to figure out how this place works, ah a receptionist, splendid.” From the looks of things competition was sure to be fierce. Good thing he could be just as fierce himself, and he has the knowledge to make it work.

[LeeRoy]

-

[Metal Tortoise]

Steer:

{Am I the only NORMAL guy here?}

So there were plenty of oddballs, weren’t there? All of them seemed tall, some of them seemed medieval, some powerful, some well-armed and then there was Steer Cottonworth. Make no mistake, he was odd in his alright, snow white hair and skin and strange shade of blue eyes and all but some people here took the cake, didn’t they? It also didn’t help the mans appearance was everything that should have been out of place. Having the look of more of a casual tourist of passing by watcher then actual combatant, the whimsical fellow none the less found himself in the entrance lobby of the apparent tournament to be entrance, invite in hand and pale white faced somewhat baffled. Drama seemed to be the word to describe most of the entrances here, confusion to, demands of respect, and well luckily one normal, much like himself. Hands in the pocket of a somewhat fluffy hoody, the chubby five foot ten fellow paced forward when most if not everyone else had done so first. He had received the invite on the tail end of an assignment he got from his work place. A little surveying and excavating and boom, there was this slip of paper. Believe it or not he DID leave early to get here, a transport ship having left weeks before to get him here on this day, and somehow he was still, from what I can see, last to second to last getting here. Aw ell, such was the ways of normal travel without hints of technological or magical based help! Despite the appearance, Steer himself liked a good fight and challenge and Tournaments when he could get to them. He never one the last one, someone always outdid him in the end but that didn’t stop him from trying. The warning on the invite though was headed, and before coming he wrote down the map and location names to his liking, and well, here he was! Red sock and sandal clad feet carried him forward and when he reached the receptionist he nodded.

“Busy crazy day, eh?”

She looked like she had one and a half at that. With a sigh she nodded, smiled and accepted the invitation he provided letting Steer through then blinking and watching him go ‘into the lions den’, so to speak. HIM, in this, with all of THEM? Well, it was his funeral… [i]or perhaps his to win[i]. Such was hard to tell right now, but for the moment, hands stuck in pockets again, a few little trinkets left at home (namely the ten coins…along with imposed limitations Steer mentally was keeping in mind) the chubby smiley fellow could only help but glance at all those involved. In smart fashion, most kept to themselves here, without scoping others out. Normally this would bother Steer, being the social little creature he was but it made sense given the circumstances. Intel gathering, direct and indirect was prevalent and the more you knew, the more you could get a grip with those you could be facing. Steer didn’t exactly like that, most of the time he liked the surprises that came, made him think of ways to react and experience stuff he might not have before BUT he could see why others ‘played it smart’ or so to speak. Finding a nifty little spot to lean against, IE, a wall, the jolly fellow leaned on it, brandishing a ‘Ginger-Soda’ he had stowed in his pocket and sipping through it. Open to conversation, eyes watchful of all those about, Steer didn’t look the part but he was ready to mingle, ‘dingle’ but most importantly [i]tussle[i] when the bell finally rang.

[MelonHead]

“Fascinating.”

The wiry gentleman’s voice was filled with genuine interest, curiosity piqued by subtle mentions of some sort of curse or consequence had always served to arouse such feelings in the explorer in the past. Ancient temples of long extinct peoples always had to include a curse, an oft-times empty threat designed to deter one from seeking the riches within. In Mathew’s case, he had discovered the threats were not always empty promises, but the age-old adage once burned twice as shy did not apply to a spirit such as his. Likely he would keep going, keep searching and prying, until he met an unfortunate end. Until then, he’d live each day to the fullest.

Invitation in hand, the British explorer sought out the tournament of this Liaison. When he set his mind to a task, he found he was awfully good at achieving it, and obtaining entry was easier than most of the more outlandish pursuits he had undertaken in his short life. For him, a mostly rational man, the entryway was a solid limestone arch descending into the bowels of the earth, and as he passed through some unseen portal his surroundings changed completely, causing the hairs to raise on the nape of his neck. In excitement.

He cut an unusual figure to any watching the entrants to the lobby, but by no means was he as remarkable as many who had proceeded him. Of average height and quite slender, his clothes were functional but also quite fashionable, a light brown hide jacket and black trousers adorned his frame and he wore classic knee-high boots. His only noticeable weapon seemed to entail two overly large lead bolas attached to a belt across his shoulder. Despite his profession, he was clean cut and well groomed, and inclined his head respectfully to the receptionist.

“Mathew Hawthorne at your service, I have an invitation.”

[Maquina]

“JEEZ this party is dull!”

The shout came from the direction of the food courts, where one of the early arrivals had re-emerged from her self-imposed Food Exile. Ryoko Nocity was standing in the doorway, giving the gathered crowd of weirdos, wankers, and wannabes the gimlet eye. Under her left arm was the head of one of the busboys in the food court area; the frantically struggling man was letting off a constant stream of muffled profanity as he tried to get out of the headlock Ryoko had him in. Dangling from the fingers of her left hand was a Burrito Bonanza bucket, with three remaining Extra Large rolls of seasoned meat, beans, and sauce in Authentic Corn Flour Tortillas™. Out of twelve. One could see the distended bulge in Ryoko’s gut where the nine previous burritos were awaiting their final fate, and one could almost feel the remaining three quivering in fear of this unstoppable burrito Chupacabra’s insatiable appetite.

If one was sensitive to the emotions of food, anyways.

“Everybody just standing around being furtive and unassuming…COME ON! Isn’t this supposed to be a show? Do you all seriously think anybody’s gonna get a leg up on anybody else by sitting in a corner around here and watching? Fuckin’ stupid! Don’t you think so, Horace?”

“My name is Jeremy you crazy bat!” the busboy tucked under RYoko’s arm squealed, shoving hard to try and get away. Ryoko, in turn, only brought her other hand up and gave the boy a noogie hard and fast enough that smoke rose from his head, his squealing redoubled, and there was a shiny, polished bald spot on his head where Ryoko’s knuckles had been when she pulled her hand back. “Sure, whatever you say Horace. See? Even Horace here agrees. So c’mon! Do something worth me spending my time here to watch instead of just napping in a prep room somewhere!”

[DJAtomika]

"Hmm."

Daniel stood to one side. He'd arrived at the lobby earlier, so he could case out his potential opponents in the newest iteration of the multidimensional tournament. So far the competition had seemed pretty intense. Fighters both intimidating...and not.

The former cop turned fighter held up his smartphone. The invitation from the Liason sat there on the screen in the form of a text message from an unknown number. Another phone number was listed that, when called, opened a portal that he'd stepped through into the lobby. It wasn't the first time he'd been invited to such events; he recalled a time recently when he'd taken another invitation from his friend Skallagrim to participate in another tournament. However that had gotten derailed by some weird...otherdimensional monsters that he'd only barely escaped from. One thing he'd learned from all these silly tournaments: they were always getting derailed by some silly things.

He just hoped today was going to be an exception.

The wolf lowered his cap and kept to himself. The less he bragged, boasted or even talked, the better. The less his potential opponents would know of him.