Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Jet]

Mischa is on the right, Sasha on the left
​

Mischa rummaged through boxes and drawers, closets and dressers, grumpily mumbling as her parents bickered in the kitchen. Her brothers ran through the house like three vicious tornadoes, knocking over pots and pans, toolboxes and piles of random junk. Her sister watched the madness from the front door, leaning against it like the stereotypical "cool kid" before class.

"Heyo!" Her sister waved. "What'ya looking for?"

"Lucky coin." Mischa lied without a hitch. "You seen it?"

"Nope."

"Shit." Mischa checked her pockets for good measure, but the one thing she needed most was gone, poofed from existence like it grew legs and ran! Her brothers were probably behind it, damn kleptomaniacs were always borrowing her stuff!

"Gah!" She marched downstairs and faced her brothers. "Hey you little shits! I know you—

"And I know you're lying," her sister said, stopping her rant prematurely.

"What?" Mischa forced a small laugh. "You know how much the coin means to me Sasha."

"You've always been too smart to play dumb." Sasha pulled old leather gloves from her pocket. "Looking for these? I see you've made some interesting upgrades."

"You can't be too careful on the sea,'' Mischa said as her brothers threw a chair in the background. Her parents screamed across the house and Sasha laughed like a mischievous faye. The sound of crashing pots and pans followed close behind; then a blue cat passed them and respectfully meowed, nodding his head like a chivalrous knight. The sound of whistling ships and pounding hammers floated from afar, marking the start of another long, productive day in Anovo, land of steam and steel.

Sasha opened the door and stepped onto a small lawn dotted with flowers. Her red hair swayed in the breeze as she quietly said, "You can have them when you stop treating me like an idiot."

Mischa paused for a moment, hiding the truth with a convincing poker face. "Please cut the crap, what are you on about?"

"Oh nothing." Sasha sarcastically rolled her eyes. "Only that you joined the games."

Mischa ran outside and slammed the door behind her, loudly whispering, "What the hell! Do you want the whole island to know?!" She looked back and forth like a paranoid criminal. "How did you find out anyway?"

"How indeed!" Sasha boisterously laughed; a pure, innocent sound that rang like a bell. "You told me in your sleep."

Mischa's face turned pink. "I did not!"

"Did too!"

"When?'

"You stayed up late once, did that half sleep thing you told me about. Never knew you danced that well, or blabbed that much!" Sasha snickered like a gremlin.

"That's not funny!"

"No, it's hilarious!" Sasha wiped tears from her eyes. "Now I know why you never half-sleep."

Mischa's face reddened until it matched her hair. "God I'm stupid!"

"Yeah sometimes."

Mischa lightly elbowed her sister. "You're stupider."

"You're stupidest!"

"No idiot, that would be you." Mischa paused for a moment. "Thanks for not telling on me." Her expression sobered as she stared at Nye. The metropolis towered over Anovo, a shining diamond below clear skies and cotton white clouds. "I'm gonna win this thing, for us."

"You better, cause everyone's gonna be watching. You're Anovo's first contestant in what? Twenty years?"

"I'm trying to ignore that."

"Don't." Sasha warmly smiled. "Think of us when you fight."

"Ew." Mischa wrinkled her nose before obnoxiously laughing.

Sasha couldn't resist the infectious laugh and joined in, creating a feedback loop of ugly, snorting laughter. After a minute they leaned against each other for support, chuckling between deep, desperate gasps for air.

"You have no manners." Sasha straightened herself out. "You should've told me sooner. You know I'm a locked box of secrets."

"Except for when you told Mikhael I liked him! I still haven't forgiven you!"

And so they recounted stories of youthful adventures, mischievous mistakes and drunken benders. The family popped in like guest stars on occasion, starting with their father. He opened the door with a wide, dumb grin, and between laughing bouts he said, "What did one plate whisper to the other plate? Dinner's on me!"

The sisters groaned at the comedic crime against humanity. Then they endured three minutes of brotherly bickering, where each one claimed ownership of a magic stick. When negotiations collapsed they demanded trial by combat, but Mischa had a better idea. She grabbed the stick, snapped it into thirds and gave them one apiece. Finally their mother popped from a window and tossed them sandwiches, saying, "You don't eat enough! You need meat on your bones to build airships!"

"Not if you're designing them!" Mischa said before facing Sasha, whispering, "I was gonna toss these out, but now that you know." She pulled arena passes from her pocket. "You might as well have them, bring Dimitri if you want."

"Holy shit!" Sasha swiped them like a greedy child. "He's gonna owe me forever!"

Mischa sharply narrowed her eyes. "Good, it'll keep him in line."

"He's really not that bad." Sasha gave her sister a warm, comforting hug. "Not all men are pigs. Most of them sure, but not all."

"Yeah, they're dogs too." Mischa squeezed tight before stepping away from her sister, walking towards the street with a narrow smile.

"Now scram." Sasha waved with a wink. "Better not get your ass kicked!"

"Will do! Wish me luck!" Mischa ran forward as her familiar, Napa, followed close behind.

"Up up!" She donned her goggles as wind swirled around her, raising her high above the ground. The island shrunk until it resembled a topographical map of factories, apartments and houses, and the streets narrowed into lines crossing the town like spiderwebs.

Mischa excitedly screamed as wind rushed past her ears and through her hair. The speed was exhilarating, nothing matched the freedom she felt above land and sea, a streaking bullet of joy leaving home in the dust. It only took a few minutes to reach Nye at such speeds, and the mainland was beautiful as ever. Mischa found the architecture remarkable; each building contained lattices of massive steel girders, requiring precise, titanic cranes to move. Their spines had to be flexible enough for high winds, segmented at pressure points to allow movement. The base needed to be solid and secure, thick bedrock worked best, and even slight errors led to cracking. Everything had to be perfect; an engineering miracle done by geniuses she idolized.

She was so enamored she nearly smacked a ship ambling through the skyline. The captain shouted, "Watch yourself lassie!" as she spun away from the hull, tracing fingers over the silver trim. The wealthy passengers laughed and snidely remarked about her manners, but Mischa didn't care, flashing a peace sign as she danced with Napa through the sky.

After a few minutes she reached the arena. It was a massive oval glistening in the sunlight, surrounding the storied arena within. "Down we go!" She twirled downwards at breakneck speed, heart pounding as she swiveled past airships, squawking birds and slow moving blimps. Napa melodiously clicked as she reached the battleground first, followed by Mischa who decelerated on a cushion of dense air, landing on her feet inside the arena. She spun around with a wide grin, picturing stands packed with cheering fans. The smell of fresh food wafted through her fantastic fantasy, along with a menacing opponent brandishing a black blade.

But then a voice cut off her daydream. "HEY! What the hell are you doing here!" An attendant rushed the field and confronted her. "You need to leave, NOW!"

"Wait wait! I passed the entry exams."

"What's your name?" The man was short and stubby with soulless brown eyes. "Out with it girl!"

"Mischa."

"Mischa what?"

"Antonov, from Anovo Island."

"Ah I see." The man gestured at the arena's south side. "Was the front door broken when you arrived?"

"Uhh… no."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" He continued babbling about rules and regulations, proper etiquette and manners, but eventually led her to a sparse interview room. Mischa spent the following hour answering questions before walking to locker room #7, where fellow contestants awaited her arrival.

She entered the room with a gust of wind, followed by Napa and the grumpy attendant.

"Try to stay put until the first round." He stormed away before mumbling, "And good luck."

Mischa cleared her throat and looked around the room. She was confronted by two people with opposing airs about them. The first was a giant knight with a serious, stern expression on his meditative face. He looked less charismatic than a punch to the sternum, but judging books by covers was usually a mistake. The other was an antsy woman with scales on her face; Mischa assumed she was fused with a reptilian familiar.

"Heyo!" She smiled at the pair. "I'm Mischa, and this pretty gal over here is Napa." She poked her familiar's head.

"You two look like great friends, I'm jealous," Mischa sat on a bench with a thud. "I'm the best airship engineer in town, go easy on me and I might swing you a discount!" She took note of Ivan's armor as she leaned back against a wall, resting her eyes for a moment. "I can spot a Byzantine man from a mile away! Got loads of family out there, famous eccentrics with more dreams than sense." She paused for a moment, wondering if her family was as famous as they claimed. "Maybe you heard of em, does Antonov's Workshop ring a bell?"

ZackStop EldridSmith Zufaix

 

[Jet]

Optional Short Story​

Xysma was an anomaly among Outland Islands, pairing the smallest size with the biggest population. It was a densely packed slum of condemned apartments, rusty shacks and dark streets lined with rubble. The air was sticky and hot, burning the lungs of emaciated, pale workers marching to factories that burned garbage. It was the island's main industry, and it was dangerous, poorly compensated work. The prisoners commonly suffered acid burns and broken bones, lacerations and other infections, but Nye turned a blind eye to their misery. The workers were undesirables after all, descendants of exiled revolutionaries, protesters, reformers and men sent there as punishment for their sins.

There was only one train servicing the island, and pass holders were the only passengers it carried. Airships were banned from docking on the miserable, polluted island, so there she sat, a floating prison without relief or escape, but somehow there was still hope. The optimistic, indestructible human spirit shone in Nazir's brown eyes, brightly burning as he ran home. He was a young man of fifteen years, and today he had great news for someone very, very special to him, his sister.

He'd found a federal pass on the ground, undoubtedly lost by a government official doing inspections. With the pass she could leave the wretched island and get treatment for black lung, a chronic illness that plagued the islanders. Her condition worsened every day without any hope for recovery, and mom said she wouldn't last a year unless something changed. So this was divine intervention, a once in a lifetime break that would save her life. He excitedly ran down an alleyway, around a corner and up narrow stairs covered with grime. He vaulted over rusty waste barrels and climbed over a fence, bolted through a market and barged through an apartment door. He ran up the stairs and wheeled around to his small, decrepit tenement, widely grinning until he heard a man shout, "Nazir Khouri!"

Nazir worridly stared at two guards and a detective standing at his door. The inspector leaned forward, blowing cigarette smoke in his face. "Give me the pass before this gets ugly." He held out his hand, but Nazir denied, denied and denied the accusation thrice over.

His mother and sister soon wandered into the hallway, shrieking and shouting until the guards backhanded them both. Nazir pushed one of them so they slammed him against a wall, punching his stomach until he coughed blood. He managed to smack the detective across his clean-shaven face, but the man merely laughed and spat his cigarette at him, splashing Nazir's eye with embers. The teen collapsed to the ground and grabbed his burning eye. "Leave me alone! I don't have shit!"

The men kicked him until his mom jumped in to help, but she was weak and frail, a product of poverty and malnutrition. The guards swatted her away as Nazir's sister, Aamira, collapsed to the ground clutching her chest. "You're killing her!" screamed Nszir as the guards relentlessly beat him.

"Then give us the pass you piece of shit!" The detective broke Nazir's arm with a vicious stomp. "We know you stole it!"

Nazir screamed in pain, clutching his arm as tears rolled down his face. He was afraid of dying, afraid of becoming another statistic in the death reports, afraid of leaving his mother alone. He was a damn coward and he knew it.

"Fine! I'll give it to you!" he said between screams. "Just stop! Please stop, it hurts man! You broke my fucking arm!"

The guards stopped beating him and backed away, but the sadistic inspector leaned forward and grabbed his hair, pulling until he groaned. "See, how hard was that?" The detective wiped sweat from his brow and lit another cigarette.

Nazir swallowed his pride and said, "It's in my shoe." He reached for his foot and opened a compartment in his shoe, pulling out the pass with a trembling hand

The detective tipped his cap and snatched the paper. "Much appreciated." He slowly stood. "Do that again and I'll hang you myself." He led his men from the apartment as Nazir crawled to his sister. He nuzzled her head as tears rolled down his face.

"Aamira." He weakly shook her shoulder. "Aamira you okay?"

"I am now," she whispered.

He wept as their mother wrapped them in her arms. Together they cried and cried, sending tears down well traveled roads of deep, endless suffering.

The reason? Because a hundred years ago their great, great grandparents were caught protesting.

As the old saying goes.

"Nye never forgives."

"Nye never forgets."

 

[ManofManyRoles]

𝓜𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓻 '𝓜𝓪𝓿' 𝓑𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓻

Outer edge of Nye, the docks; Mav's Craft

The steady hum of archaic machinery and the heartbeat of forgotten magi-tech that kept it functioning, no different than a human's pulse and how it kept the body from dying..the whisperings of read-outs and alerts that hailed to one each other across the control panel, a chorus of electrical voices that sung out to their partner, who then sang out in refrain of the next line to their song...and the gentle creak and groan of the ship itself as it hung above in the air as if it was one to moan and groan from a hard day's work, the steady humming of hover-tech keeping it aloft in the docking area, just out of reach of curious hands and eyes. All of these sounds worked together in a symphony of the lost and forgotten, the song of a dead world that played on despite the world that passed it by...too old to be understood, but young enough to be manned. No larger than a small mobile housing unit, fit for one to two people at a time, three if a squeeze was considered an acceptable arrangement.

Inside of this time capsule was but a single soul, dressed in surprisingly clean and nice garb despite a humble background. Leaning onto the taller side of things at a 'modest' 6'2 in height, his build looking more akin to a stick-man figure beneath his attire than an actual person. So pale it was like the dead walked once more and that the word 'sunlight' did not exist within his vocabulary, he was certainly an odd sort to behold in such regard. Lanky in nature and with an almost cat-like level of measured grace in the movements he paced to fro, here and there, as if ill appeased with the state of the world around him. Checking little sub-system read-outs and scanning the control board once more before, seemingly pleased with the information he perceived, he made his way to a small working table in the corner of the craft. Though youth populated his features and filled his heart with the willingness to pursue his goals, force of will and the mind itself were far older than it had right to be, the body of an eager recruit to be sent to the front lines and the mind and soul of a man who returned from horrors unimagined, and knowing all the better how to work the world in his favor for it.

The lad of eighteen hunched over a mortar and pestle, mumbling softly to himself in a soft and monotonous tone, a set of goggles resting on his forehead, the gentle glow of artificial light reflecting across the smooth glassy surface as he grabbed a small vial and a dried and brittle root system, dropping them into the mortar and starting to grind. "Expose five drops of the venom of the cloud-viper to the root of the mortician's rose, and grind finely...allow the mixture to settle and cease to foam before...," a hand reached over, clad in a leather glove as it grabbed a pinch of toxically green-colored dust, dropping it into the mixture once the reaction had settled before returning to his grinding, "Finish the mixture with pollen from weeping lily. Grind to dust..." Slowly he continued to grind as he muttered his work to himself, not that it was truly necessary. It was simply a habit that he had picked up from an older alchemist back home, who recited his recipes like scripture or divine truth to himself as he worked. Mavior needed no such scripture recited, the recipe burned into his mind the first time it had been done correctly, and yet the habit persisted. As the powder was finished he removed the pestle from the container, dumping the mix into a thick and proofed wrap, tying it tight shut once and then twice, and then the other way, the small pack of 'harmless' concoction prepared. A pouch on the bandolier was popped open as he slid it inside, snapping it shut with a soft click of the brass button. Leather gloves were removed and discarded upon the alchemist table, their purpose served.

Pacing his way towards the front of the craft he leaned forward to study the clockwork figures before him, giving a nod...as expected, he had finished within acceptable time frames and would be capable of leaving and arriving at the arena with little to no time deviation from expected projections. Reaching for the goggles atop his skull he slowly shifted them until they covered sapphire blue from the oppressive light of the world outside. He paused to pat himself once again before giving a nod, seemingly satisfied with everything. Where one may have found nerves or anxieties, the young man found nothing but certainty and understanding. Here stood a chance to better himself, knowledge of the world well within arms reach in any direction he should go, and the chance to return to pull book upon book from shelves if she should do well enough. Where one may have found doubt, there was only acceptance. He would either do well and press onward or find himself matched against a better and return to his home, none the worse for wear if all should go well. Pausing at a table he grabbed a small tin, popping the tin as a heavy aromatic scent filled his nostrils, like a flowered perfume. His fingers dipped into the thick papyrus-colored paste as he worked it into his hands before applying it to all of his visible features...hands and arms, his face and neck, ears and anything in between. What did not get a very liberal appliance of the cream was wrapped in thick but lightweight layers of simple cloth, upper arms trailing into his chest, his legs, up to the base of the neck...It was almost as if someone had prepared to mummify him, but heard the tea kettle at the last moment before they could finish, and had walked off to tend to it.

Quickly the papyrus color tone faded away after exposure to flesh and air, leaving Mav once again pale like the grave. A slow flex of the fingers before he nodded, grabbing a small device on his way out the door and stowing it away into the satchel at his hip. The mechanical groan and hiss of the airlock could be heard as it cycled at Mavior's demand, a complex series of switches and codes having to be recited into the correct panels before it would even grant him the freedom to the outside world. Stepping out into the heat of sunlight he paused on the precipice of his 'front door', turning about-face to enter that esoteric information back into the panels, the groan and creak of the door behind him slamming shut with a luck. With that done it was but a simple descent from precipice to dock floor, a fall that may have otherwise caused a sprained ankle if not for a last-minute upwards and controlled gust of wind beneath himself to cushion the landing.

Mavior was careful to stay clear of interaction with any and all face that may take notice of him, not because he was anti-social...okay, perhaps due to some anti-social tendencies, but rooted deeper beyond that. He was a stranger in a strange land, and trust was nothing something to be given lightly, and often the most dangerous predators are the ones that greeted you with a smile and honeyed words. Measured trust is what he may supply, should it be earned, and friendship being one of the finest luxuries that could only be mutually exchanged if all went well with another soul. Mav seamlessly drifted through crowds and individuals, movements deft and measured as he ducked and weaved through the streets. If one should listen carefully they could hear him mutter softly to himself, a pleasant distraction from the background noises around him...
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;"

A sharp turn to the right, then a dog leg left...the excited chatter of women, men, and children of the upcoming games, chatting about what contestant they hoped to see win or who they desired to see lose. Some of this chatter would stumble as Mavior passed with his mumbled little words. "Mommy, mommy! That boy's really pale!" "Shush, don't stare..."

"Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,"

A merchant could be heard selling wares, a humble upstart selling memorabilia and merchandise, no doubt a sponsor or something of such nature. Mavior's mind idly wandered to the interview he'd had upon arrival of his goals in the game...he wasn't sure what he'd said or what he'd done...had he been rude? Had he broken some social taboo he wasn't aware of? He had answered each question honestly. Admittedly, he had been a touch lazy in refrain, but still, he did feel bad he'd unnerved the woman who met him so...


"And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back."

Sharp left, and then head up the right street here...he didn't even register the strange looks he'd managed to acquire by now, the confusion doubled as the young man smelled like a flower-garden from that papyrus-hued paste. And yet such floral notes were hampered by other scents...oil and grease, a scent that was permanently ingrained into his goggles and his clothes by now, minty tones from his bathing supplies. Fortunately, the scent was hard to notice unless you were actively searching for it or walked by him and brushed against him, and if he really desired to he could have hidden it by tweaking the air around him, but such effort was inconsequential and not necessary at the moment...

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

A road less traveled...a road to the arena none from his blood had traveled before. And whether he find what he sought here and was led to Arcadia, or would find only bramble and thorn to impair him, he would not falter now that he was right here... Staring at the entrance for a moment as if he hesitated, he in truth only sought to take note of it, as if the simplistic architecture fascinated him before he headed inside, natural light replaced with a more comforting artificial hum and glow...

Locker Room

Mav could no doubt be considered a late and strange arrival perhaps, but by his own regard for timekeeping, he arrived exactly as he planned. After all, Mavior never arrived late nor early, but precisely when he meant to. A neutral and begoggled face regarded the sights before he made his way to a small bench and sat upon it, folding his hands in his lap in silence. From his own point of view, there was nothing amiss with what he'd done...from an outside perspective, however, one would bear witness, to a young man in goggles waltz in, studying everything for exactly a minute and a half, before seating himself nearby in total and staunch silence, not even a 'hello, how do you do'...truly, a man with gold tier first impressions.

ZackStop Anne Boolean Fred Colon​

 

[EldridSmith]

Ivan heard the approach of the others but continued to kneel as he was seemingly ignored by the first to arrive, who threw her items around... though he didn't inquire. They seemed cold from what he could tell after the sound of a zipper, it seemed they were from a warmer climate than he was as it felt a tad warm to him in the room. Noises continued and they seemed perhaps impatient or nervous due to the tapping of their foot and what seemed to be a swishing sound. Ivan finished his prayer and stood up to look around as a third person entered the room with excitement.

Ivan started taking off his outer priestly vestments before pulling out his armor for combat while small talk started as Mischa introduced herself. "Nice to meet you Mischa, I am Ivan and this here is Asja." He declares with a wide smile as he pats his mammoth companion. It was currently in it's miniature form... lest it destroy the room from it's size. Ivan, unsure whether she meant himself and Asja or the stranger across the room smiles at his companion. "Well little Asja here has been with me for a very long time." He says happily as the mammoth trumpeted happily.

"Ah good to hear, though I must admit I am less informed on the mechanical side of things so I will take your word for it." He says jovially. "We are hard to miss, size, accent, mannerisms." He remarks with a rumbling chuckle. "Oh? I've heard of the name but know little of it..." He says scratching his chin before giving up on trying to recall it. "All of my family is from Byzantine... but a house divided, for my father's side is of the Rebellion and my mothers of the church... ah forgive me, I bore you with such things. What brings someone of your age to fight in the colosseum?" He inquires before turning to the other person in the room. "If you're willing to share, I'm curious of your tale as well."
Jet ZackStop Zufaix

 

[Lost Echo]

Anya jerked as she felt the little hairs on her body rise. She was acutely sensitive to the tingle of static before a zap, and this wasn’t coming from her. She knew Nye was the type to test them early on. Moving to stand, as Kallos raised to his full height, she realized Ava absorbed the shock without any issues. She tensed as the figure stepped around Ava’s bulk only to see: “Wiiiilll.” She groaned as the imp calmly walked over and opened a locker. Raising a hand to calm her crane, she covered her face with the other.

Of course, in a deadly tournament, with nerves (especially hers!) high, both of her friends thought that shocking people (literally! Bohr’s Balls Wil) was a good idea. Don’t they know this was serious? No, because you haven't told them. Cradling her head in her hands, as she trusted Kallos to watch her back, she wished for peace as she listened to Wil’s latest victim (weirdly politely) threaten…or something the girl--no, rat fit when she was like this, not to repeat it.

She looked over to Mark, her eyes mid-roll. He’d obviously escaped via slime as he was brushing it off. Maybe Ava just strongarmed (bodied?) her way into hugs. How were the two of them related? She’d half expected Mark to (actually) threaten Wilzemi for her prank: he was always weirdly protective of those he considered his. Instead, his beast of a cousin (who had to be the biggest woman Anya had ever seen--where beanpole was a bit generous in describing Mark’s size; she figured most of it would be from the coat) ended up agreeing with Wilzemi.

Newton, her legs were starting to hurt. They always did when she got introspective like that. She’d already lived a third of her life without them, but her brain still managed to let the ache or go to sleep from inactivity. As walking would help, she stood and stretched, using the movement to *examine* the ceiling. Her eyes caught the refracting light as she moved: two cameras were above her, one on each side. They did not surprise her, of course. Mark had even spoken of them, but she wasn’t sure she wanted them so close.

With a mental shrug, Mark claiming her was enough, for now, she started walking away from the three; Kallos keeping an eye on them for her. Immediately, she began to *investigate* the lockers as she passed. Each was empty, but it was hard to miss the strong sterile smell that worsened the further down the row she went. It caused her eyes to water and her nose to burn: it must have been as strong as Mark could make it when he was working on her fleshy legs. Her mind flashed back to that time of helplessness as she stood staring into the final locker. The pain, yes, but more the resignation of a slow death. Even to this day, she doubts anyone else could have kept her alive after the infection set in.

Metal digging into her palm as she clutched the door pulled her back to reality. Faraday, she needed to be careful, this was not a safe place for her to get lost in her head. Her other hand was rubbing her thigh and she felt a wave of concern from Kallos. Reassuring her familiar, she forced her attention to the locker she’d been staring at for too long who knows how long. Though the smell was obviously the worst here, she forced herself to look inside for any hint of its source.

Instead, all she could find was the logo, Atmos Industries. It was a name out of thousands to her. Just another company searching for cheap materials. She knew it best for its waste pond three miles north of her usual haunt. It was typically purple with an oily sheen. That odor mixed with others in the area and could sometimes be smelled miles out.

With a scowl, which she caught and eased into a sigh (don’t show how much you hate Nye-don’t show how much you hate Nye-don’t…) she turned back to the trio. “You know, I’d have thought there’d be sweaty feet smell here that gyms are supposed to have.” Not that she’d been to one, “Not this hospital smell.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, clearing them of the tears that had formed to ease the burning.

EldridSmith Huntertabbysandshark3 SoloShottie

 

[Fred Colon]

“Not from anywhere, really. Born in Albion, but lived most of my life in the seas and skies!” Kilderkin said, grinning at Nihal. “Spent a fair amount of time in Zuanshi these past few years, though. Was where I picked up my boy Hao Yu. Joined the games to, I don’t know, prove I can do it. I’m a good fighter, lots of practice, and figured I’d give things a shot. If I win or get sponsored, maybe buy myself a fancy trading ship, hire a captain that will treat my folks right, and hire on my old crew for a cushy, safe gig.” She nodded at Ren. “Attunement 3 at your age? Well damn. I think I was a struggling level one, maybe two on a good day at… 16? 17 are ya? I’ve got a good gut feeling about your chances in the tournament! If a gut feeling from some random sailor means anything to you.” Kilderkin laughed. “And I’m interested in sightseeing too! You’re more than welcome to join me and my pals, when we go.”

She turned to Nihal. “How about you, Mr.--- err, Nihal. Got some goals? Some reasons for why you’re here? You’re pretty famous already! I bet the crowd is going to go nuts over you out there. You’re welcome to join us, too.”

After she asked the questions, Kilderkin noticed another individual sidle quietly in behind Nihal. He said nothing, and simply observed the bustle of the locker-room. Kilderkin briefly considered not interacting with him. She had a gut feeling that he would be an odd one, and wasn’t sure if she was interested in dealing with that at the moment. But she’d made eye contact, and who knew what the cameras would catch? She had to stay in character.
“Heya. You! Over there! We’re all making friends, come on over and join us. No need to hang out alone, we don’t bite!” She waved at the newcomer, grinning widely. “I’m Kilderkin, this is Ren and Nihal!”

ManofManyRoles ZackStop Anne Boolean

 

[Goliath]

Elriel gave a slight chuckle behind a raised hand hearing Adamaris turn to address the two strangers who had chimed into the situation. It really was like nothing had changed..Adamaris had always been the more vocal one of the pair ever since they were children. When they used to run around Obra in their youth, pockets jingling with change from their parents, they’d stop into little stores or see people on the sidewalk. Elriel wouldn’t speak, just tilting his head and looking at them. Or nodding his head to simple questions. But not Ada. No, their friend would just speak to them happily without a care in the world. Adamaris had been the person to pull him out of his shell back then. And now with crowds of 100,000 or more happy onlookers watching him perform, he had no apprehension.

“I’m Elriel Whitlock” He spoke not elaborating with titles, his lavender eyes looking between the strangers in the locker room. His facial features were soft and relaxed despite the fact that in a short time he would be putting his life on the line to fight in the Arena. ‘What are other locker rooms like? Are they friendly and conversing, are they tenser, or somewhere in between like we are here? Also, I wonder, did they put the returning members in rooms with new people, or are they all together?’ His mind went through a barrage of curiosity-filled thoughts. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how friendly or not they were, everyone here was competition. Elriel had his own pride, his own ambitions, and most of all his family's honor riding atop his shoulders. Beside him his familiar stood alert flipping her tail every so often, looking almost as intently as he did.

When Adrian shot back an insult regarding his own ice powers he gave a smirk. He wouldn’t dispute the fact. But he raised an eyebrow as the red-headed male continued. “If neither of us yields?” He gestured between himself and Ada. “Adrian was it? I’m not sure that’s a thing that should concern you, is it? Or are you worried for us?” He questioned gently teasing the other.

“As for the permanent injuries I’m well aware, on average 10% get killed a year and 20% get injured significantly. Last year was a high death year with 8 people sadly passing.” He listed off the statistics.

“Though you are correct this is my first year competing, so we will see if my attitude changes as I step into the arena for my first round.”

Elriel followed Ada, leaning against the locker as well. “Do any of you know how long it’s going to take before they bring us out? I can’t say anyone told me that during the entrance check-in,” he asked. If Elriel was being honest he was slightly more distracted with talking to Ada and his father after this than he was for the first round. He felt especially motivated, wanting to finish his opponent quickly, a hand resting on one of the fans slightly sticking out from his belt. But Elriel kept them hidden, not pulling them out. He didn’t want to flash his weapons around like the others.

Jet Arcanist Emphoa

 

[Anne Boolean]

Nihal "Nyaall" Laal​

Well, based on his response, Ren seemed like the typical bright-eyed and bushy-tailed newbie. It was somewhat of a surprise to Nihal that the guy had been watching the Games since an early age and still had such an attitude, though. Surely he had seen the death and carnage that took place? Perhaps he just felt that such a fate would never befall him. Oh, the joys of youth, Nihal wanted to say, but the boy didn't look all that much younger than him. It was just as surprising how a few years could make someone so jaded, and perhaps a little disappointing as well.

The guy's fanship for Caged Viper reminded him of seeing some of his own fans. Truthfully, that was probably the only thing about his set up that he really still enjoyed: the joy he saw in people's eyes, whether it was brought about from his performances, shaking a hand, or scribbling his name down on something. Knowing that despite what they were going through, he could make someone's day at least a little bit better... well, under different circumstances maybe his responses in the entrance interview would have been genuine.

"Ah, Gem City," Nihal commented. "It's a nice place. I've visited there a few times on tour." Well, it was nice compared to Kartika, at least.

He nodded as the boy continued to speak. While he understood the wanderlust, he certainly had to disagree about this being the right destination. He felt the other's optimism was horribly misplaced, but he hoped for the best for him nonetheless. "I'll be rooting for you," he said. "Perhaps I can show you my favorite spots between matches."

Then it was Kilderkin's turn to answer. From what he heard, she had lead a very interesting life so far. Therefore, her motivations for joining, like Ren's, also came as a surprise. Was showing you were capable of something really worth risking your life for? Maybe hubris wasn't something just for the youthful. Money, though... that made more sense. Perhaps she wasn't as well-off as she was trying to appear. Then again, even in the squalid conditions he lived in before, if he knew the truth about Outland Idol, Nihal wasn't sure he would have joined.

"Impressive, indeed," he commented when the topic of attunements came up. His own attunement was trained and honed from even before his career. Early on, around his debut, he had taken a test to find that it was a 5. It probably wouldn't be worth mentioning while considering context though, as making illusions for a stage show was certainly different than using magic to fight.

"Ah. I just want to be able to give back to the world," he responded when Kilderkin posed the same question to him. "I was very lucky, and I want to help those who aren't as fortunate," he said, regurgitating the same talking points he was instructed to give during the entrance interview. At least this time he didn't need to pose. "And I would be happy to join you as you explore Nye." He gave a small smile and nod. Hopefully his management would let him. Maybe he could spin it as displaying comradery for the press.

As for the fourth addition to their group, Nihal had seen him from the corner of his eye. The goggled boy reminded him of some of his shyer fans when they were around, although this one's gaze looked to be more... scrutinizing than in awe. He had planned on paying him no mind either, but then Kilderkin invited him to join. He had no apprehensions about including the newcomer to the conversation though, and simply gave a smile and wave when the woman introduced him. "Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Fred Colon ZackStop ManofManyRoles

 

[Emphoa]

Adamaris' eyes flitted back to Adrian, first, when he spoke up- and they couldn't help the light chuckle that escaped them. Truly, of course, they were no fool. They knew the risks of being here in the games and it truly wasn't something that they feared much at all. The engineer sighed out, stretching out their arms and their eyes twinkling as they fixated back on the three individuals they had around their locker room- a small smirk on their expression a moment after.

"Of course- you'd be a fool to not be aware of the true dangers and possibilities that can lay ahead for you coming into these games." They spoke up, waving a hand and giving a gentle shake of their head, their eyes flitting back to Elriel with a softer expression. "Aye- sounds like he may be- already growing a soft spot for your locker mates?" They were light hearted in their teasing, looking back to the red head with a little smirk on their expression. Before finally they dipped their head to both Adrian and to Brynwyr. "It is a pleasure to meet either of you- we will see if we come across one another as opponents in the arena, no?" They chuckled once more, and straightened up their posture after a moment with their hands lightly resting on their hips. They would be lying if they said they wouldn't hesitate to yield for Elriel- and only for Elriel. They were not afraid to fight to the bitter end if the situation had come to it... But they knew this was important for their friend. Their eyes snapped up as they heard Adrian and Brynwyr speak, a slight frown marring their expression.

"Come now- no need to poke fun at others, especially with such ignorant statements." They finally spoke up, eyes settling on Adrian, briefly, from his comment to the knight and they looked back to Elriel soon after with a light hum escaping them. They imagined it took just a bit of time- considering the amount of individuals, but not too long as to not give the audiences good entertainment. They shut their eyes for just a moment, and Nueto lowered down onto their arm. "Mmm. Nueto I agree." They finally puffed out, opening their eyes and looking back to their old friend. "I imagine it takes a little bit of time- depending on what is happening in the locker rooms, whether or not it is entertaining as well. It makes sense." They gave a little shake of their head and they straightened up. "They're spinning their stories and they feast off of the dramatics of others."

They glanced around the room a little bit, eyes scanning over the walls and lockers. It was interesting to think that even now they were being watched- that others were waiting for their stories, the drama, to be entertained and it was something most individuals watched. They sighed out a little bit at the thought, before finally holding their arm up as Nueto crawls onto their forearm, getting a better look at the individuals around them. "Why not lighten up a bit? We'll all be here for a little while, ideally. What sort of familiars do each of you have?" Their eyes lightly twinkled, and obviously their own and Elriel's were at their sides, but they hadn't seen the others' own.

Goliath Jet Arcanist

 

[Jet]

​

Adrian sheathed his swords and carefully examined the knight. She wasn't a rude foreigner with poison in her words, nor a prissy kid with arrogance in her tone. Just a well composed, thoroughly entertaining lass with a sharp tongue, a possible friend under different circumstances. He much preferred a room filled with entitled, arrogant bastards, mental cases and bloodthirsty fiends. People he could easily hate without a problem. Not a girl who made him narrowly smile and amusedly shake his head. "The ones about Albion are hardly the worst." He intently leaned forward. "You heard about Byzantine knights and choir boys?"

He fondly remembered the salacious rumors about knights from other nations. Zuanshis were known for extreme greed, trading their children for weapons and armor. Valencians were either drinking or sleeping, carrying wine pouches wherever they went, and battlefields were no exception to the rule. Byzantines were nonces of course, not to mention more uptight than a nun's upper lip, and then there were the mighty goats of Albion. Adrian wondered what people said about knights from the DMZ; he assumed they were called uncultured and uneducated; mere simpletons banging their chests like barbarians.

His thoughts were interrupted when he made eye contact with the pair, flashing the same bemused smirk as before. They posed the same problem as Brynwyr, with their charismatic charm digging below his skin. Their banter was a pleasant reminder of home. How the halls roared when a good joke was told, especially when a friend was the punchline. "A soft spot?" He grunted like an old man. "What can I say? I'm a humanitarian, always been known for my bleeding heart." He leaned back against the locker behind his bench. "But it seems you're both aware of the risks, just don't expect preferential treatment from me. I'm winning the tournament even if I have to kill you both." He glanced at Elriel. "Not that I'll be worth a damn if this wait keeps up, my legs are stiff enough from the flight over."

He looked at Adamaris and then his familiar, a black and white hawk with narrow, watchful eyes. "Never named him." He expected a raised brow or three, so to explain he said, "Naming him would be like naming my leg, but in a pinch I call him Bird." His familiar puffed his chest and strutted across the bench, glaring at other familiars with orange eyes of pure flame.

Arcanist Goliath Emphoa

 

[SoloShottie]

Wilzemi wasnt used to being picked up.


Granted it seemed a deserved reaction from the living contradiction of gender roles, whom she had only briefly met. Stereotypes from Macragge portrayed the people as quick to violence, defensive or otherwise. "Fascinating..." she commented with an inquisitively satisfied smile on her face. Being from an island, Wil had only met a small subset of people, and discovering the reality of others always intrigued her.

She knew that look Anya was wearing. Existentially staring into the void isnt exactly a subtle one to catch, but Wil always wanted to put some effort in comforting her. After all, she only had so many friends, and that's what friends did, right? Still figuring that one out. Anyways, she made her way over to join her at the locker, readjusting her patted hat. Shurley was not far behind, landing next to Kallos and ruffling his own feathers with his beak.

Wilzemi took a look into the locker with Anya. Atmos Industries, a name she was only somewhat familiar with. A cruel company based off a single island, though rumors didnt always prove to be wholly true. Despite her initial motivation for coming over, she wasnt sure what to say, and so only put a hand on her shoulder. Something about the wall caught Wil's peripherals. Craning her head sideways as a bird, she observed the wall, noticing a defect in the paint, like a hastily covered hole in the wall. It didnt seem important, so she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3 EldridSmith

 

[Emphoa]

The games were never much of a thing the boy was interested in- yet, here he was standing at the very games he didn't have much of a care for. He walked along, scrunching his nose after having a quick interview sessions he was pulled along for with one of his guardians, and then he was set out on his own. Not that he wanted to have a shadow to his every movement anyway, the breath of fresh air was a relieving thing. He snorted out as he felt the tickle of Remy's whiskers against his forehead and his brown eyes flitted up towards the rat familiar with a little smirk on his expression. "Don't tickle me too much- you're going to get me distracted." He puffed out, a coy smile on the boy's expression as he arrived to his assigned locker room.

From the sound of muffled voices- the other contestants were likely already inside. He adjusted his gear, briefly, and prepared himself for whatever individuals he would be meeting before being thrust into the action. He stepped inside, eyes snapping up to have a good look at the small crew gathered inside. First one he noticed, was a man in armor, something that he wasn't extremely familiar with but a brief glint of pure curiosity overtaking his expression. He was clearly older- older than the other two from what he could tell. He was definitely one for brawns. He would have to keep an eye out if it was someone he would be put up against.

His eyes then flitted towards the two younger women, he'd say maybe not far from his own age. He couldn't gauge much from them from looks alone- but at least the red head seemed to be the more talkative individual and his eyes flitted back towards her. It seemed he came in just at the midst of conversation, listening to the man speak before he snorted out a little bit with a grin- and stepped over to one of the benches in the room- letting Remy down and explore a bit before he would have his fun with the conversation.

"Yeesh, you speak so formally- the air is dry in here." The boy finally puffed out, brushing his hair back as he looked to the other's with a playful gleam in his gaze. "Seems like such a collection of characters in this room- they really know how to put people together, eh?" The boy snorted at the thought, before his eyes flitted to the lockers, fumbled with his claim of one while Remy continued to sniff about to his heart's content. "Can't help but overhear your conversation coming in- nice to meet each of ya- name's Rat." He stated, giving a little grin as he looked back to the two individuals talking. "The rat there is Remy- don't get too confused." He gave a little wink, holding out a hand as Remy hopped into it and he let the rodent back onto the top of his head.

Jet EldridSmith ZackStop

 

[Jet]

​

Mischa leaned forward when Ivan mentioned the revolution, flashing a smirk when he apologized for boring her. She didn't blame him for assuming that. Most found politics blandly drab and duller than cardboard, but she'd seen the world. She knew how important the revolution was, how crumbling empires changed the global power balance. It wasn't her forte of course, but she read the papers nonetheless.

"Nah don't apologize!" She reassuringly smiled. "Most of my folks are there too. They hate the empire more than cracked gears and leaky engines, but they wont move out no matter what!" Her face tightened for a brief, fleeting moment. "So stupid of em, like we wouldn't take em in!" Her words carried a hint of annoyance, like she'd tasted spoiled milk in her cereal. "I've been watching the war cause of those loons, wanna see if Sigmund can knock off those blood sucking Bishops."

Mischa stopped to think about the imposing knight. There was a chance he supported the empire and despised rebels, doubly so considering his traditional, rigid impression. He'd be a formidable opponent without any added motivation, with heavy armor and his massive frame towering over her. She didn't want to face him to begin with, let alone after pissing him off.

That said, momma didn't raise a bitch. Mischa would espouse her opinion even if the knight wanted her dead. "Never liked how they go around burning and killing people for god, like the big man upstairs wants us murdering each other!" Her mouth pursed at the thought. "No bones about it, I hope Sigmund buries them in their castles." She crossed her arms and prepared for a vicious debate, but her tension ebbed when a man walked in. He was young with tan skin and a rat on his head, a strange animal for a tournament setting. Apparently his name was Rat while his Rat's name was Remy… bloody confusing that was.

"Heyo Rem— she awkwardly paused for a moment. "Rat not Remy, gotta pound that into my skull… good thing it's catchy!" She snickered and returned his cheerful grin. "Name's Mischa, also known as the best airship engineer in town." She looked over at Ivan. "Gonna become a Centurion and find my family's workshop out west, shouldn't be too hard eh?"

She laughed before looking at Rat once again. "I'm glad you brought a warm smile with ya, cause we're talking about the civil war in Byzantine, gritty stuff ya know?"

Emphoa EldridSmith ZackStop

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
interaction: EldridSmith SoloShottie Lost Echo​

“Fascinating? Eh not really besides no point in getting worked out about it now probobly be hitting ya in the face later anyway so it all evens out“ Ava commented with a chuckle spinning around to look at the others focusing on Anya. if she recalled mark had a bit of a crush on the girl ava could see why they where cute, though they did bring up a good point. “Ya know your not even wrong it probably because they don’t use em often enough or its to keep the place looking nice for the views, anyway, if ya wondering yes cousins, and the looks? My dads side of the family everyone ends up absolutely RIPPED“ she’d say with a small laugh exaggerating the last part hoping she could clear that up without giving away too much, she didn’t wanna ruin marks image totally by making it clear besides it gave their “adoring“ audience something to “chew” on so to speak. “Did I introduce myself probably but names Ava“ once she said that she’d ruffle the hair of Wilzemi, going back to her bag and pulled out a rather large lazy-looking lizard it perched itsefl on her shoulder just vibing there..

 

[ZackStop]

He began to feel a little bashful from the sailor woman's praises, even expressing her belief in his ability. Ren began feeling a little red. "Ah well thank you. I will certainly do my best!" Ren began to come down from the mild shyness as Nihal chipped in with his own vote of confidence. He even offered to show him around the city, and Ren was pleased with the fact that the musician was so willing to help. Being a celebrity certainly meant he would know all the best spots, he couldn't have met a better tour guide. Even Kilderkin offered to have him tag along with her own group. Perhaps all of them could find a place to dine in when there was time.

It was then that he noticed the other two directing their attention to someone in the distance. Ren looked over and spotted a kid around his age who looked hopelessly lost in this world of strong men and killers. At least he didn't appear intimidated, overwhelmed if anything. Ren also tried to appear friendly to the new arrival. He knew when he first got here, he wasn't expecting to find such kind strangers. He expected to have to put on a tough expression and brace himself for anyone who approached, but now he was bouncing that energy back, and it was the first time in awhile that he had a decent conversation with people outside of his clients. Almost always it was talks of bolts and gears, cogs and the occasional turbine. It gave a good sense of excitement.


Fred Colon Anne Boolean ManofManyRoles

 

[ZackStop]

There she sat, minding her own business when others arrived. Ilana did her best to just ignore them, it was better that way, lest she lose focus. She had to keep her eye on her goal no matter what, and the only way she felt she could do that is if she saved up her energy and kept her mind cleansed with the thought of crushing her first opponent. If she could show them all her ferocity and determination out the gate, she could secure a level of intimidation. that was crucial in her eyes.

It was nothing personal, she didn't know anyone here, but she knew there would be no pushovers. She needed every advantage and fear would be one of them. She put all her focus on that to push out any distractions from the loud ones, yet still, her leg bounced impatiently. She wanted nothing more than to let out this beast inside her, the time ticked slowly which was driving her nuts, but she was steadfast to contain it. This only became more challenging when another came through those doors to the left of her, and she could tell right away that his attitude would drive her too.

As soon as he stepped forward and began with his sarcastic remarks, her leg bouncing stopped cold. She took only a moment to glance over the knuckles pushed up against her cheek, before seeing all that she needed to. She looked back at the lockers in front of her before closing her eyes and began her nervous fidget once more. After all, she didn't want to break her concentration, but this only became more difficult for her in time.

"Damn it... Why are they talking so much...?" She thought to herself. She couldn't see how they could even be competitive with how chummy they were being. "They just don't get it." She scoffed to herself. "They must be privileged..." She recounted her life for a moment, her hardships. She wanted to blow up, desperately, but she knew it would be a waste of energy, and she wanted to save that exclusively for the ring. As much is it bothered her, she had to find her focus again.

Her eyes were shut as they had been, letting her visualize a swirling pool of crimson, one that swayed with the patient roaming of a monster just below the surface. This helped her stay on task and let her resonate with the pure bloodlust of her familiar. This will help her stay ruthless and that much more deadly. Her tail's increase in speed had been the result of her previous irritation, but now it swayed at a steady pace once more.

EldridSmith Jet Emphoa

 

[Arcanist]

Brynwyr Protheroe


Mentions: Goliath Emphoa Jet ​

Adamaris and Elriel’s words summed up the spectacle of this whole event. Nye was full of vultures picking at the scraps of their dramas and sob stories. It would be easy to lay the meat of herself and her life bare to them all, but she would not do so in a manner where people would pity her. It was the last thing she wanted to do in a tournament where she meant to prove herself, where they would learn of her before anything else.

Adrian, to her surprise, did not speak with an embittered tone or lash out at her comment. It was refreshing, she would admit, to see a man take an incredulous comment on the chin after he dished out his own incredulous comments. She was wrong to be prejudiced about him, but she realised the dangers in letting her guard down when it came to being surprised. Things would be different on the field. Some of them might even die with Elriel pointing out the previous casualties.

Brynwyr did raise her brow at the mention of Byzantine knights and choir boys. She was not, though, it was not hard to see where that thought would take her. Very little surprised her. Though, before she could answer, Adamaris called for a truce and a cease of such ignorant comments, and so she relented. Best not to pry further into such things anyway.

Talk turned to their familiars, and Brynwyr scoffed, bemused by Adrian’s beliefs and naming of his familiar. “Bird,” she repeated, eyeing the bird. What a name. She could not imagine calling her familiar ‘Lion’. “A part of you, yes, but still an entity worthy of a name. They’re your partner after all.” She had always seen Cleonard as her partner, an entity with its own persona. Perhaps that was her weakness in believing so, and not believing they were a weapon to lord over others. The others here had named theirs, let them roam proudly around their shoulders and feet.

“Cleonard is my familiar. A lion,” Brynwyr explained, though made no move to bring him forth. “He rests often and doesn’t take kindly to strangers. You will see him soon enough when the games begin. Perhaps you may even be lucky to meet him in the flesh first rather than on a screen.” What better way than to make an entrance with him into these games? Just as they all held back an aspect of themselves, she would do the same. She could not reveal all her cards.

 

[Lost Echo]

As Wil came closer, Anya tried to give her a smile, but the effort felt forced. Partially because Ava reminded her they’d likely have to fight unless someone was hurt earlier. Anya was well aware of the death toll in this stupid tournament. Still, when her friend laid her hand on her shoulder, she reached up and squeezed it in reassurance. She might live a totally different life than her (Anya couldn’t even imagine having parents) but she was a good friend. Her experimental mind was an asset in testing possibilities for her legs. If only she could take everything seriously. Like why was her head tilted like that? She’d merged with Shirley too long. Still, Anya turned her head to follow her gaze and blinked in surprise.

That was strange. The paint was obviously a different color. Well, white enough that she’d walk by it easily, but now that she was looking… She admitted Ava’s explanation for the smell was possible. These were likely only used for the games. After they were over, they were likely left for the next year. But then why wasn’t the whole place smelling sterilized? Walking over to the wall, she kicked it gently, *investigating* it to see if it sounded hollow. A piece of paint chipped off causing her to frown. Yes her feet were metal, but surely they primed before painting? It should not be that easy. What was Nye hiding here? She knew they were watching, so she had to hurry. She heard Ava’s speak of her and Mark’s relationship, Kallos nodding for her as she knelt down. She pulled out a flat headed screwdriver and chipped off the paint, which really hadn’t adhered well at all. Soon scorch marks and burned hair was clearly revealed. Anya wrinkled her nose, giving a minute to be thankful her familiar never influenced her sense of smell. Kallos, went behind Mark and nudged him forward as the girl called, “Any idea what caused this?” Remembering her audience, “I wasn’t expecting the mystery to lead to something so gross.” She wanted Mark to see: he had more experience with deaths, but that was what she was fearing this was.

Hearing Ava reintroduce herself, she considered doing the same, but was fairly sure everyone knew her name. If the large woman did not, then she’d tell her later. There was likely a time limit on her mystery. She doubted it had anything to do with hers, but if she built up a record of curiosity, then they might not question as hard why she was in places she shouldn’t be. Biting her lip, she looked around the floor, spotting a drain that was fairly close. Close enough for her to crawl carefully (her legs did not like the movement) over to *investigate.*

After the burnt hair, part of her was wary to look inside, but the rest needed to follow through. Looking at the screws, she frowned that her phillips screwdriver was too small, but she could fudge it with her flathead. She was used to the motions, so even when the screws resisted, her hands were strong enough to loosen them without help. Using the flathead to pry the drain off, she flipped it to the opposite side of the floor, letting it clatter to a stop.

She peered in and then scrambled back, tangling up her legs as she screamed, “Holy Mother of Newton, tell me that isn’t human!” But she knew. She could lie to herself about the clots of blood or bone chips that clogged the drain, but that hair…it was bright orange and way too long to not be human. She remembered the wall at the last second, throwing herself sideways to avoid hitting the mess there. In the back of her mind she was grateful the horror prevented her from crying. It was a blatant reminder of what this place was and she felt so alone.

EldridSmith Huntertabbysandshark3 SoloShottie

 

[EldridSmith]

As Mark observed, Ava started calling the wizard girl a Rat, which elicited no reaction from Mark as this sort of thing was normal for his cousin. As for gender segregation Nye just had separate stalls and things of the sort, granted there were still perverts... but what happened to them was often brutal... shame he couldn't take what was left of them to send to the island of scientists. Whatever the case that wasn't an issue here... unless a very powerful light user was lurking about and got here before him.

Anya in the meantime was caught up in the interaction between Ava and the wizard girl... Anya seemed to be very sensitive of electricity... which made sense due to her element, but this he didn't notice as much on the ship but made sense... as for threatening the rat as Ava put it... eh she had it covered, had any damage been done to himself or her however... things would not have ended up so peacefully to say the least. However as he scraped the slime off he started collecting it in his hands as he observed the scene... it was a thick mucus with green tints due to it's nature.

He did notice her eyeing the cameras, as he remembered from last time there were four... one for each corner. Seeing as they made her uncomfortable they were to be disposed of... but not quite yet he was still collecting slime... but more importantly she also seemed in pain from her legs. He would help but anesthetics would dull her senses during her match... and he wasn't going to interfere as that could make things even more dangerous than normal. The smell he knew well... cleaning solvents among other things... useful for covering up crime scenes and battles. He knew as he'd used them many times before, after all he wasn't a professional mercenary for nothing. He watches Anya and kept his eyes on her and what she was doing and seeing... burn marks well disguised on the walls, which seemed to cause Anya to pause for some time before remarking of the smell. Mark knew why... but patiently waited to see how the wizard reacted. They went to comfort Anya like he wanted to but at the moment he could not... not while being seen by cameras.

Ava piped up commenting on remarks and possible questions from the wizard and Anya, she was right her father's side was ripped but it was her mother's side of the family which was so tall, which he was descended from. Still he heard and saw enough, and he slung the slime several globs of slime from his hands to cover up the four cameras before his familiar quickly slid out from under his cloak and into his locker coming back with two vials and a pair of tweezers... as he sensed something in the drain in the middle of the room. Hair. It was scorched and orange, similar to that of Nye's Felix Marston if not his. Now that the coast was clear he quickly removed the hair from the drain and put it in the vial before his familiar, Spicy, put it back into a secret pocket in his bag... but he also kept the second vial on himself slipped inside a compartment in the brim his hat to keep it from being destroyed as it would at worst be knocked off. However something was very fishy about Nye, though that wasn't anything new. He wanted to comfort Anya... but the fact they now knew of this posed danger to them if Nye found out. However while the cameras were disabled... the microphones were not so he quietly hissed. "Not a word about this to anyone." He said looking at the wizard... Ava was family he could trust, Anya was someone whose life was in his hands in the past, but she was just someone he had met a few times.

He would have given Anya a comforting look if she could see his face... but he wasn't sure if she was comfortable with his touch, as it had only been out of medical necessity in the past. Mark turned his attention back to his gun which he loaded with his standard mix of acid and poison... very potent on contact the person would often wear out swiftly but the bigger the person the longer the effect... he didn't relish in killing others... but if he didn't know them it meant nothing to him. However his concern with a potential enemy from this discovery had him on edge.
Jet Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3 SoloShottie

 

[Jet]

​

A boy strolled down a corridor in the grand arena, looking for the locker room with his favorite contestants. He loved how big their dreams were; to make the world a better place despite the system, to bring villains to justice! Truly, he was their biggest fan. He wanted to meet them earlier but he was "banned" because it was "dangerous," but why would anyone die? He wasn't a contestant this year anyway? Ah whatever. Adults were so obsessed with dumb stereotypes, but at least he could meet them now.

He brushed his erratic brown hair and straightened his unkempt clothes, whistling Pop Goes The Weasel as he reached locker room #14. He entered without knocking and looked around the room, eyes wide and awestruck, almost shining as he gawked at the contestants. "Ello!" His accent was an exaggerated British cockney, almost like Olliver Twist's. "Me name's Rupert, could you spare an autograph for a poor lad?" He blinked a few times when he realized what they were doing, snooping around it seemed. They'd removed a drain and stood around conspiring, all very hush hush and suspicious. He even noticed the orange hair within Mark's grasp, right before it was stashed inside a vial.

Rupert raised a brow and approached the group, peering up at the mountainous, muscular woman. He was a short lad after all, not that he cared that much about his height, it'd never been a problem before. "You're a real giant eh?" He laughed mischievously before addressing Mark and Anya. "Sorry for stickin me nose where it don't belong, but what's so secret-like?" He glanced at the acid covered cameras. "You don't gotta hide nothin' here Mark! Courts are the fairest in the land!"

He laughed again and looked at Wilzemi, "Even a nutty scientist like you walks free in Nye, so whats the gab eh?"

EldridSmith Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3 SoloShottie

 

[EldridSmith]

Ivan continued to smile as the newcomer arrived, nodding to the boy in place of a polite hello as the conversation had already started and he didn't want to interrupt. Granted he was met with a snort and what many would consider impolite... spare the rod spoil the child as proverbs said. Still different cultures and environments this may have been considered appropriate where the boy was raised. Still even if he was rude he seemed to have no ill intentions. However he planned to talk to the boy after responding to Mischa. Upon hearing Mischa say she hated the empire he gave a mixed look, mostly a mix between a smirk and a frown... well she wasn't wrong about the bishops, at least most of them. As she started talking about burning and killing people he would solemnly nod in agreement... that was not what was written as God's will in the Bible. Though his mix of smirk and frown return as she mentions burning down the castles. She then addressed the boy at which point Ivan spoke up.

"May the Lord bless you and keep you and may his face shine upon you and give you peace." He says with a smile as he looks at the boy before turning back to Mischa. "Gritty... it is, I am a knight of the Byzantine empire however I seek to change it from the inside out. It's not an easy journey but the order I am a part of seeks to root out the corruption and hypocrisy. What they've done is wrong, for it says in 1 Corinthians 5:12 'What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside?' My uncle, a Cardinal leads our order in trying to change the church... but many corrupt bishops and cardinals seek to stop us. As for where I stand on the rebellion... if they win I will join my Aunt, and seek to ensure refuge for those of us who believe. If the rebellion loses I will seek to give them refuge as best I can... I stand in between both trying to meet in the middle but as both sides seem unlikely to budge it is not an easy position to be in." He remarks with a sigh at the scenario he was put in, he was glad he had the same grit as the girl before him willing to say her opinion even in front of someone who could be seen as imposing at himself.

"I want peace and prosperity for all, and I hope people come to know the Lord... but that is for the individual to choose, not have it forced upon them. To be quite honest the reason I joined this event was to become a centurion in hopes of gaining a position of power to do the Lord's work and bring peace and change to the Byzantine empire... it's not been easy, but toils for the good cause are toils well worth it." He says grimacing some at the memories of many brutal days of training with his aunt and extended family before long nights of study with his uncle... to most such a childhood would not be considered one, but he appreciated it as he gained much wisdom and discipline. "Anyways enough of politics, I'm sure the other two are tired of listening to me talk about such things." He sayd looking over at the other girl who seemed to radiate nothing but bloodlust and malice. Lord help her with her struggles for such a person must not have much comfort in their life. "Ah forgive me, I am Ivan Berg, priest and knight of the order of the Ashen Sons, and this is my friend Asja. If you need anything feel free to ask." He says with a wide warm welcoming smile as Asja trumpets happily.
Jet Emphoa ZackStop

 

[Emphoa]

The young boy let out a whistle as Mischa caught him up on the conversation topic of choice, and he couldn't help the snort that escaped him right after. "Wowie, we're head first in the games and you're discussing war. Sounds like a good time." He gave a little smirk at the thought, before placing his hands on his hips and glancing over to the woman from before. She seemed... on edge, and he supposed he could note to keep his distance from her for the time being. Rat's eyes flitted back to the red head and he cocked his head slightly- careful not to just toss Remy off of it with the mere action. "Sounds easy enough to me! Airships huh? I thought those were always rather interesting, never got into them myself, however. Been focused on other things." He gave a playful wink, grinning a little more at the thought. "Maybe we'd have some things to talk about then, sounds like we're relatively like minded people." He chuckled a bit after he spoke up, tapping the side of his head.

Rat then put a finger against his chin and finally returned to look at he armored man of the hour. An eyebrow quirking as he heard the man speak up and wow was this the light of the party. He snorted out a little bit, mulling over the conversation. "Man..." He paused, swaying his head a little bit as Remy let out a discontented huff and moved down to the boy's shoulders instead. "You know I didn't think I would ever meet a person like you face to face- sounds like you need to loosen up a little bit." He snorted a bit at the thought, and perked up when the older man spoke about leaving the politics and he gave a little grin. That was more like it. He didn't like the stuffy air of serious topics, wasn't much of his style, at least.

The boy gave a small bow before he crouched a bit, Remy naturally moving to adjust his position with every movement from the boy as he got a better look at the Mammoth like familiar, his eyes twinkling lightly. "Nice to meet ya Asja, don't think I've seen anyone like you before." He puffed out, and brown eyes flitted back up to the man as he stood back up. "Suppose it's nice to meet you too, mister Berg." He gave a playful wink and leaned back up against the lockers. "Mischa, Ivan... And I don't think she's up for much conversation." He gestured vaguely over to the dark haired woman mulling by herself. "Sounds like quite the group we've got here. And you guys have such nice reasons for joining the games, I'm jealous." He grinned a bit at the thought, and Remy started to make his way back onto his head. "Can't say I've got one of those." He slipped his hands into his pockets, quiet now as he paid attention to the other individuals in the locker room. At least the air wasn't tense while it was more just awkward uncertainty about one another.

Jet EldridSmith ZackStop

 

[SoloShottie]

EldridSmith Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3


Although she hadnt been concerned about the paint defect, she should have been after Anya chipped it off, revealing something awfully putrid, and it only got worse when she followed her curiosity to the drain. although Mark rapidly covered all the cameras, fact of the matter was that Nye saw everything they found, and most definitely heard Anya scream. Wil had no illusion they had avoided the eyes of Nye. She wasnt all too tense before, despite the upcoming fights since they were, by defintion, still to come. But now? They all had a target on their back, in the heart of the city who would be aiming at it.

She turned on a heel to Anya while she was against the wall, offering her a hand with a wink: "it was just a rat, dont worry." Though unlikely, she hoped that statement would stave off any immediate action agaisnt them. After helping her up, Wilzemi nodded to Mark and added in her own whisper, "we should all stick together." Whatever had happened here, it seemed recent, perhaps a few days at most.

And of course, adding to the problem was a potential victim to their groups curiosity, 'Rupert'. She stepped up to block his sight of the drain, then pulled out a pen, grabbing the cap with her teeth to pull it off and place it on the bottom, "I can do that. have a specific something you want signed?" Wil didnt understand the point of autographs, but it gave her an excuse to clear the boy from this dangerous situation before Nye caught wind. She'd hate to know he got 'drained' for their curiosity.


Wilzemi already feared the same for herself and company.

 

[rozukitsune]

She was stealth.

She was the walls, the floor, the flickering shadows of light pattering through the hallway. You could blink and miss her amidst the throngs of curious and excited patrons who yet flowed in through any given entrance and made their way to fill out the stands encircling the circle where the fighting would eventually begin. Some came thirsting for the sight of blood, others to cheer their favorites on to victory. Their agendas and intentions were irrelevant to her. Narzas Ore wasn't here for fun or games or intrigue. She was here to keep everything running smoothly - by any means necessary. No one was going to touch Nye's dignitaries nor were any of the various low-lifes stashed on the separate island or in other parts of the world getting anywhere near enough to cause a fuss. There would be no interruptions of any kind to the festivities today or the Zuànshían assassin would end up stripped of her rank and job and repurposed as something easy to do but detestable like cleaning streets or something. Nothing even remotely as glamorous as bodyguarding the rich.

Narzas was not a damn street cleaner, thank you very much. She did not spend every day of the last 29 years of her life learning how to sneak, how to spot a problem before it became a problem and how to quietly dispatch her prey to throw that all away now.

Sensing her irritation, the nigh-invisible little spider perched on the top of her left earlobe shifted, tickling the side of her head and making her itch a little with the infinitesimal hairs on its eight spindly legs. She slid into a shadow and raised a hand to very gently run the tip of a forefinger along the insect's head and thorax. "Sorry, Sara." She mutters almost entirely under her breath as she pushed a little of the ambient light elsewhere with a thought making the hallway even dimmer than it had been. The spider only chittered softly in response. As though that was some kind of signal, the lights returned to normal and Narzas resumed slipping down halls and through doorways at random. She never took the same path from one place to the next which would get some people turned around so fast they'd need a map just to find their way out again... but Narzas's mind was like a steel trap for such things. She could remember all the places she'd ever been as easily as breathing and was currently in the midst of making her 5th loop around the colosseum. There was just one problem with her stated intention not to fail...

How did anyone tell the difference between the wild and crazy up and comer newbies who were joining the fight for the first time today - chosen from lands far less civilized than Nar was used to; and someone actually plotting something nefarious? It was easier when those up to no good couldn't just blend in with the general populace. Rough and rugged was supposed to be the look of those that needed to die dammit. Why couldn't people just follow the damn rules of society the same way everywhere?! Sighing softly and keeping her concerns to herself, she resumed her random stalking - speaking to no one, stopping for no one except for perhaps another of the security personnel or else someone she'd recognize as being in charge.

 

[Jet]

​

Johan leaned against a wall as a woman walked towards him, carefully watching her from inside his lumen cloak. It was a powerful mirage rendering him invisible from all sides, a wondrous tool for assassins like him. He was a secretive one after all, a venomous thorn among thickets of average men and women, murdering victims in broad daylight. He'd killed hundreds of unsuspecting people that way, but none plagued his conscience. He was merely a weapon for council members and Lord Vincent alike, little more than an object for their immediate use — and eventual disposal.

He wondered if anyone would remember him when he was gone. It was unlikely at best. He'd been too successful and secretive for anyone to know his name. Nobody would mourn him besides his cat Marco, bastard loved clawing him too much to ignore his absence. Maybe the bartender would remember him too — what was his name? Tyson, Tyus, Tiberius? Johan couldn't remember. He went there for drinks not socializing, but maybe the bartender would wonder, "Where's that somber fellow with the dice?" if the council murdered him.

For once he wanted to be seen, if only for a moment. So he lowered his cloak as Narzas approached him, a somber look on his thin, tired face. "Hey." He made sure to maintain eye contact, given her revealing top. "I know you from the security meeting, not that you'd remember me." He withdrew a cigarette from a pack in his pocket, lighting it as he took a deep, satisfied breath. "Council says I should be... well how do I put it?" He paused for a long, thoughtful moment. "The invisible hand, keeping an eye on everything, making sure guards aren't sipping Valencian reds between rounds."

He positioned himself beside her and walked as he talked, scanning the area out of habit. He'd been trained to look for threats no matter how peaceful the environment, good cause for his anxiety and stress disorders. Not that anyone gave a shit. Nye was like a mortician's table; cold and clinical, emotionless and utilitarian. There were no shoulders to cry on in his morbid, sanguine profession, but maybe she'd relate to him? Maybe she could be his friend? Maybe she would remember him when he was gone?

If only for a moment.

"Word of advice, don't talk about yourself, not a word. Half the men here are on someone's payroll... songbirds we call them. The ones who seem trustworthy are usually the worst. Tip your hand and they might learn your calling card, how you kill, might incriminate yourself later." He stared into space with thoughts of dead comrades, members of the secretive Green Cloaks, an order of Centurions who specialized in assassination. Many died because of leaked information and anonymous warnings, chirping birds with lethal songs on their lips. He was the only one left from his generation because of them — how very, very lonely indeed.

rozukitsune