There’s something about the threat of impending violence that’s just kinda hot.
She hasn’t… explicitly told Maen this opinion, but Raika’s pretty sure that she made her enthusiasm for the upcoming tournament very clear. And only partially because she ate her girlfriend out like groceries from every angle she could think of over the last two days. In her own defense, the indulgence was well earned, at least on Maen’s part.
There’s a lot more to this than just joy. There’s a need, burning and bright and desperate, a hunger to move that has pervaded her soul for a while now, and it is only now, outside the palace walls, surrounded on all sides by a screaming crowd and an armed entourage, that Raika feels she can breathe. Strange, considering how incredibly, unbelievably loud everything is, but between her joy and her meditation, the mental blocks hold, and she coasts on a sea of thousands of heartbeats, millions of breaths, and a scent so overwhelming it’s like sticking her nose into static.
She couldn’t be happier.
All around, past the messy sounds and smells of biology, the crowd echoes against great, echoing stone in a beautiful display of the artistry of a city of miners and craftsmen. The arena is a monumental affair, situated on the very edge of the Crag closest to the palace, but people have traveled from the slums and even the distant Crag Sea all the way past the merchant’s and nobles quarters to stream into the structure, packing it to the brim.
The main body of the arena is shaped like a massive domed area atop a plateau, smaller than that of any sect but slightly raised above the ground on massive stone legs rather than a single pillar. While the stone that raises it up matches that of the stone within the crag, a rich orange and brown sandstone, woven throughout it are chains made of limestone and granite, making a beautiful interplay of white and silver juxtaposed against the earthy pillars they weave through. At the base of the pillars, each a few thousand feet wide already, lies a landscape of basalt pillars, organized so that there is a constant sea of islands of altered elevation, with stairs leading to them and hundreds of shops, stalls, and viewing areas for those too unlucky to find a seat in the arena proper. The underbelly of the arena has as much life as its topside, with mosaics and artistic sculptures made by artists of all levels decorating public spaces that allow people to pass beneath the complex and look up at enchanted ceilings, runic formations letting certain areas show the sky above, others beatific illusions, and some the arena from the angles of the spells above.
Properly atop the pillars, the arena is a colosseum, a massive ring of space holding tens of thousands of seats made almost entirely of glowing white marble, limestone, and porphyry in alternating patterns, all surrounding a single central island the size of several city blocks. Surrounding it and facing inwards are the colossal, hundred-foot-tall statues of former champions, arranged in a ring, some of them even used as viewpoints by those with enough rope and courage, staring down at the center of the whole ornate ordeal as if in judgment and joy alike. The Qi flowing off said center is enough to make Raika’s senses roil with static. It shifts before the eyes of the crowd, at times a sea of sandy dunes, then a mess of sharpened flint islands and magma, then an island of stone pillars in a roiling sea, and a hundred other environments besides.
There is yet more detail, yet more facets she could examine, but even if she weren’t halfway overwhelmed, Raika has better things to focus on. She looks, eager and hungry and riding the fine line between overjoyed and overstimulated, towards the sects.
There are two main sects in the city, one in the clear ascendant over the other. The Unearthly Depths Sect and the Stone Divers Sect both stand in proud attendance in their places around the arena, both taking up the largest central vip seating areas on opposite sides to each other. The Unearthly Depths sect stands resplendent in blue, purple, and occasional notes of black as highlights, while the Stone Divers make their colors in steely grey, burning orange and vibrant reds. Their members make up a majority of the tournament’s focus, but are by far not the only ones in attendance. Short notice or not, a tournament of any kind is not an opportunity that battle-minded cultivators care to miss, and in some ways the fact it’s not a recurring event works in the favor of the organizers. By offering a fresh opportunity, one that larger sects or Imperial groups don’t monopolize, Kaena’s machinations and the antics of the nobles and merchants in charge have gathered an eclectic mix of individuals.
It’s hard, even with her improved eyesight, to discern everyone present. Even if she could see without being drowned in light and movement, there’s just too many she doesn’t recognize. The few that she does know in the crowds push things higher for her, though; Soaring Wind sect, Crawling Limbs sect, Final Blossom sect, Endless Decaying Goddess sect, Wandering Cloud sect…
And two that bring special attention.
One for the right reasons, reasons she can enjoy in every way. Not a sect, per se, but a group, a clan, their medallion granting them recognition anywhere they travel in this world. This particular medallion is only copper, denoting a low ranking member, just above an aspirant, but the simple possession of the detail is a gift.
Sword on their hip, glinting and glowing like it emits as much light as it reflects, dressed in simple, monkish robes of white, with heavy prayer beads about their neck. By the look of them, distinct even to her overwhelmed senses, she knows herself to be in the presence of an Aspirant of the Cut.
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Sword wielders, myths in the making, monastic pursuants of power. There is no member of their order that is not able to cut steel with their bare hands, it is said. She’s heard the rumors. They are all mad, they say. They are all divine retribution and holy wrath, it is told. So many legends, so little time. She can’t help but feel a tingle inside at the thought of what this could mean, and at the possibility that she might get to fight the mysterious figure.
There are other orders, famous in their own ways, but Raika’s a battle-junkie, has been for a long time, and it’s too tempting not to fantasize about.
But then there’s the other figure that stands out.
Not someone she’s particularly familiar with. She doesn’t recognize them outright, doesn’t really know who they are or where their talents may lie. They mill about with the other independent cultivators, at the borders of the fields below, eager to prove their mettle and win rewards and contributions to their sects but not outright supported in such a relatively last-minute tournament.
But she recognizes the colors. The pattern. The design.
There is a member here of the Hungering Roots Sect. Her old sect. The one she hasn’t gone back to. Hasn’t heard from.
They didn’t look for her, or if they did, they didn’t look very hard. Nearly three years since she was last in the sect, before she traveled for the tournament in Paleblossom City; not very long at all by the standards of cultivators, but more than enough time to write off a mid-stage Core Formation cultivator who was never of particular renown or of particular use.
She left people behind. Or was left by them. Hard to differentiate, at the end of things. She didn’t exactly reach out either.
The young woman in dark green, brown and red does not see the eyes on her, standing far, far above, surrounded in an Imperial seating area. She does not see the slight tick of the mask overtaking Raika’s face, holding her joy and her enthusiasm as some of it dwindles at the sight.
She wonders, briefly, if she is still thought of. If Hisheng cares at all that she’s gone. Not that she’s thought of him much, but… still.
Mmh. Focus.
All around them the shadows and sunlight dance, the sunrise all around them already turning to day proper as the writhing of the sun settles and the sky begins to once more turn blue and hide the stars. People have been streaming into the arena for hours already, though. A city-wide, sect-competing tournament called by an Imperial unknown is the stuff good entertainment is made of, especially when one has an arena as big as this one, bigger than most villages in circumference alone.
She hears things shifting behind her, and turns to look at Kaena as their heartbeat draws closer and their scent colors the air.
“Hope you’re ready,” they say, dressed in a tasteful mix of scale-pattern armors and long, flowing robes of dark pink and white with gold designs. “I’m still not sure about how you wanted to format this whole thing, but it’s done now.”
Raika smiles and shrugs.
“It’ll be more fun this way,” she says. “And the more they think they know me, the easier it’ll be to play around them.”
Kaena nods, and sighs. “I don’t disagree, junior sister. I just pray you know what you’re doing. Still, entertaining either way, I suppose!”
And then, the voice of the arena calls out, and all goes silent beneath it.
The pressure of a cultivator of the Nascent Soul realm echoes across the arena, clad in the white and gold of Imperial colors as he stands on a dais above where Raika and most of the other Imperial “members” sit, staring out at the crowd with the palace on a hill framed behind them. Everyone, for a moment, goes quiet, and turns to listen.
“Beloved citizens!” roars the announcer, his smile wide and youthful, highlighted by flowing blond hair and a svelte figure. “We stand here today, eager! Ready! Hungry! For today, there has been a challenge lain forth!”
In a practiced move which she’s not sure is rehearsed or just inherent, the soldiers around her step two steps away, the clanking of mechanized power armor of knightly beauty echoing, and a beam of light, seeming to come from nowhere, centers itself on her.
“A newcomer to our fair city, and a member of the Altered Cultivation Division, the esteemed Raika the Unbroken stands before Cragend today, beloved by our masters… but perhaps not by the land she stands in! For she has put forth, beyond all doubt, that she alone could claim victory over not only any challenger, but any Sect in this fair city! And surely we cannot let this stand!”
Raika smiles, stands, tall, and flexes, listening to the boos of the crowd and laughing. She stands alone, the rest of Taurus’ research group further back or already seated, with Maen and Kaena both looking particularly amused at the whole affair, and Jun Vral looking like he is struggling to hold back a laugh. Shapefixit is bundled tight and wearing what look like some kind of ear mufflers, and Taran simply lounges, blocking off the twins from getting too close and entertaining a few of the ranking rich folk that are in the searing platform with them. Meanwhile, Raika lets out a roar, distending her throat and letting her true voice ring out, echoing with animalistic horror and lyrical monstrosity. She towers over most of the soldiers even in their power armor by half a foot, russet skin glowing in the sun, long braids of hair like fire and sunrise of gold and orange and red trailing to her back, rippling muscle and sharpened fangs all highlight by eyes of raw gold and strange pupils. As the world watches, free for the first time in what feels like eons, Raika lets her flesh shift and ripples of Qi flow from her in dripping fire, gold and white and lighting her arms up to audible gasps from some of the cultivators below.
“While such strength is only expected of a member of such an elite Division of our beloved Empire, is it not on the shoulders of the mighty Sects that our world is supported? Is it not by the will of the individual that our strength may grow and blossom? I say to you, one and all, that standing before our challenger is a crowd of challengers in turn! We have cultivators and warriors from around the Eastern ring, come to us to prove their mettle and overcome any challenge set before them! And so, we stand before you, the citizens of Cragend, with a single, burning question:
ARE. YOU. READY. TO. WIITNEEEEEESS?!?!!!”
The answering roar is thunderous.
And so begins the Tournament of Late Summer in Cragend.