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

[meat_mooks]

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.)

Comments

[meat_mooks]

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

[electricman]

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.

[meat_mooks]

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."

[electricman]

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

[meat_mooks]

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

[electricman]

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.

[meat_mooks]

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

[electricman]

"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.

[meat_mooks]

"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!"

[electricman]

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."