trans_9 | Choose your destiny! Flawless victory! [Inevitable Tournament Arc]

No sooner did the Obs Deck descend to Arena Planet LXIII, and the crew allowed to disembark, than they were met by a veritable cloud swarm of cameras. Sleek, elegant things that might have been living, might have been machines, maybe were even magical... but were definitely nuisances as the swooped around to capture video of the crew at all conceivable angles, close up and far away. Their every move from this point on would be on camera.

In front of a small crowd of retainers stood what appeared to be a great circular orb whose only distinguishing features were a nose, and what appeared to be the most overblown mustache ever, which actually appeared to be supporting that two-foot-diameter orb at shoulder height to a tall man. Then the orb took a couple of steps forward,revealing that no, those were actually just really, really hairy legs. A seam cracked open on the creature, and in a voice loud enough to echo across the broad open plains without any need for amplification, it bellowed, "AND NOW! STRAIGHT FROM THE TRANSMIGRATION NINE VESSEL! OUR NEWEST COMPETITORS! FRESH TO THE STAGE OF BATTLE, BUT NO STRANGERS TO WAR--"

It went on like this for some time.

Under cover of this introduction, a small man that to all appearances seemed to be the love child of Richard Nixon and a particularly aggressive Furby stepped forward, and in a bored businesslike tone recited, "Welcome to the tournament. There will be one battle per day. The arena in which you battle will be determined by random draw. Our medical crew will perform all healing necessary and ensure no deaths so feel free to not hold back. Please refrain from accepting any bribes or favors from on-planet spectators--"

"--ARE YOU READY?!" the orb bellowed even louder than before, completely swamping the smaller man's recitation. "THEN STEP THIS WAY!"

And so saying, the orb and its procession began a clearly well-choreographed procession towards a large, medieval-looking fortress that hung dramatically just on the edge of clear vision. (Conveniently, this procession passed several large advertisements.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Alchemist saw Cole approach, and hurriedly lifted the flask to his lips. No sooner did he drink it than the burns on his body faded, replaced with new pink flesh.

He had thought if he just regained his strength, he could use a vial to insulate himself from further attacks. Indeed, even as Cole reached him he had drawn out a brilliant yellow potion from his coat. But he hadn't expected Cole to seize him, nor to nail his wrists and legs to the ground with electricity.

He struggled against the restraints with all his strength, but quickly realized what was already obvious: he couldn't escape.

Well, at least the guy looked a bit better.

But it looked like the battle was over.

"Uhh...", how do you apologize to someone you brought a massive lightning bolt down on?

"Nice job. Didn't like the fact you threw acid at me. Or that you tried to blow me up. But... you did good."

"Hope you feel better."

Yeah, it was a tournament. And yeah, they were probably supposed to go all out. But still...

"No hard feelings?" As a gesture of peace.

Before the Alchemist could properly answer, the roofs on the train cars to either side popped open, and a volley of fireworks burst upwards to celebrate Cole's victory.

His opponent regarded this impassively, then coughed a little before saying, "It was a good fight. Your power is impressive."

"Thanks."
Huh, he won. He was pretty sure this would be minor in the long run, but it felt good to be congratulated.

...But what the heck had happened to his powers?

As swiftly as they had been brought there, they vanished -- reappearing in a small, narrow room, each of them on a narrow bed. The Arc Restraint had vanished from around the Alchemist's limbs, and he sat up.

An old man, hideously blackened and burned, leaned heavily on a staff as he faced Cole. "Choose your spoils," he said. At this, the Alchemist bowed his head somberly.

Well, that would take a bit getting used to. He noticed the Alchemist's bow, what was up with him?

"You ok?"

He'd get to the spoils soon.

The Alchemist looked back up. "I knew the price of entry, and am prepared to pay it. I only wish I had not underestimated my strength."

"Wait, what price?"

He knew the crew had put up some supplies as part of the wager for this thing, but what exactly about this guy?

The old man snorted. "Not paying attention, are we? You won. You may choose one of his items, powers, or abilities to claim as the spoils of victory."

Cole's eyes widened at this. Anyone could lose their power?

"What made you enter this?"

Because Cole suddenly felt like this was about to take a turn for the worst.

"The same war that brought you here, I'm sure," the Alchemist said. "We lost many... too many of our aethervessels to the enemy. We haven't the resources to build more. If we had won..."

But he sadly shook his head. "Well, I did not."

An old rage awakened in Cole.

But he hid it at the moment.

"Who do you represent?"

The Daligig, they saved him and probably billions of others to help fight the Ohm, to save creation. And this guy had entered the tournament just to get some help for his people.

Why the hell were they fighting each other?

"Our world is named Ishuary. You have probably never heard of it," he said.

Ishuary.
He would remember that.

Cole knew what had to happen.

"If I wanted to", he asked the old man, "would there be any way to giving something of mine to him, without losing it completely?"

He did know if The Alchemist had anyone with him here, but if he didin't, he would not go home empty handed.

The old man couldn't quite glare at Cole -- his eyebrows were too bushy. But the effect was still there. "No. That which I remove is gone. And I will not transfer powers to a loser. That would defeat the entire purpose, as well as spell my own end."

"What do you mean, spell your own end?"

"If you believe the tournament's organizers are kind and sympathetic people, you're a fool," the old man snapped.

Cole didn't think he would run into hypocritical assholes this soon.

"When did this all start?"

He wanted to get himself involved sooner, rather than later.

He may have just gotten his wish.

"The tournament's been going on for several years now. Perhaps twenty? Once every two years or so."

"Why'd it start in the first place?"

Cole could figure out an obvious reason, but was pretty sure that obvious had little to do with this.

"Money and bloodlust. Two of the three forces that run the world. Do you intend to accept your victory spoils or not?" the old man snapped. "There are thirty-one other fights today I must attend to!"

Cole realized he needed to get to the others eventually, and let them know.

"No, he's probably lost enough as it is."

Cole then turned to the Alchemist.

"Let's try and meet up in a little while."

Choose your destiny! Flawless victory! [Inevitable Tournament Arc]

no subject

OOC: Does that mean I win?

no subject

(OOC: Yays! BTW, what show does your character come from?)

This one was an original character!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject