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The castle’s spires pulled from the soured dirt trying for that ever-unreachable morning star in the sky. Stone buttresses webbed through gothic ornamentations and stone arches lead towards a single tower that grew from the center of the castle and rose taller than any other structure within the city. The tower carried upon it three massive clocks: their lumbering hands slowly circling around tick by tick calling for a day.
Within that tower, hiding behind the second clock was a small room containing the intricate weave of brass clockwork. The contraption was as small as a human’s hand, its quiet minute movements somehow managing to turn the multi ton behemoth that was the clock’s showpiece. Below this tiny wonder there was a table with cards strewn about it in an amateurish game of poker. At the center of the table, five cards had been flipped: six of hearts, eight of hearts, five of diamonds, nine of spades, king of clubs.
Four players were sat around the table:
Sapphic, an older woman with flaming red hair leaned back confidently in her chair smirking widely at the conundrum of her opponents. She had already folded out of this round so all that was left was to watch the others to crumble under their stresses. Sapphic took a large gulp of her quickly drying bourbon and leaned sideways peering around her hefty stack of chips to watch the game unfold.
To her left was Pan, a large muscular man in his mid-forties who was sipping on his red wine and slowly peeling a ripe orange while leaving an attentive ear for the frustrated player. He had no personal stakes in this round’s results as he too had already folded. He had just recently broken even with his chips and didn’t want to fall under again so quickly.
To his left was Mulct, a shorter gentleman having just reached his thirties with two large maces resting next to him by the table, one black and one white. He ran irritated fingers through his thick hair taking another glance at his cards: an ace of diamonds and ace of clubs. He looked over to his miniscule chips left and then to the stack at the center of the table already many times larger than his own. He then turned back to face the fourth player in the room.
Névé was a young girl who looked even younger than her actual age of nineteen due to her incredibly small frame. Over the past few hours of this game, she was still nursing her first cup of light ale which she had discreetly watered down further with her command over water. Unlike Mulct who was nervously glancing back between her and his cards, she didn’t need a reminder of what her cards were. She kept her cards face down under the protection of her folded hands. Her expression was completely flat, no thoughts or emotions possible to discern. That impossible apathy drove Mulct even more mad as it contrasted against her massive stack of chips being surpassed only by the frankly ridiculous size of Sapphic’s stack.
Mulct grumbled out an exhausted groan. “You have it don’t you? You have a seven. Oh my god it’s so obvious. You’re too easy to read, you have the seven!” Névé remained completely expressionless. “Come on Névé, just tell me. Just tell me that you have the seven. I already know anyways so just say it.” The red-headed Sapphic stifled a laugh at the poor boy’s distress while Névé continued to remain as silent and still as a statue.
Pan shook his head as he spoke “If it’s so obvious then why don’t you just fold already Mulct?”
The young Mulct wagged his fingers exaggeratedly towards the expressionless Névé while he turned to the muscular man. “Because that’s what she wants me to do isn’t it Pan?”
The muscular Pan merely shrugged. “If you say so.” He then threw an orange slice into his mouth and bit down. His serene bliss from the quenching sugars played dissonant against Mulct’s souring intensity.
Mulct took a gulp from the glass of water by his side then turned back towards Névé. “I know why you won’t tell me that you have a seven. Because you don’t. You have nothing don’t you? I bet that you are just terrified that unlike everyone else here I’ve seen through your bluff. You’re trying not to show it, but you’re horrified that I’ll call or worse: raise.” Mulct nodded his head as a mischievous grin took him over. Névé’s expression remained unaffected. “But I see through you Névé, and that is why I am going to…” Mulct suspensefully held his play back focusing intently for any type of visual cue from Névé’s empty face, waiting for anything that he could read but nothing came. “…fold. I can’t fight against that stone wall of yours.”
He pushed his cards into the discard pile causing Sapphic to burst into laughter. “After all that you just fold?!”
Mulct threw his hands up in aggravated exasperation calling back. “She’s unreadable! Come on Névé, show us your cards.”
For the first time since the round started Névé finally showed something on her face, an ever so cheeky grin. She picked her two cards and flipped them over. “Better than the straight, I had a flush!” Névé was emanating an unbound self-satisfaction while Mulct just folded over the table smacking his head against his incredibly small stack of chips.
The muscular Pan raised a single eyebrow. “Well that was unexpected.”
Sapphic moved around her massive stack of chips to get a better view of the table. “Umm Névé, how do you have a flush exactly?”
Névé eagerly pointed to the red cards on the table. “Look there are three reds on the table, and I have two reds in my hand.”
Sapphic burst into another set of laughter. “Oh Névé, A flush is only when you have five of the same suit, not color.”
“Suit?”
“The Shape on the cards.”
Névé’s own smile immediately fell to a thin line. “So what is five of the same color?”
Pan chimed in. “It’s nothing.”
Névé looked down to her ten of hearts and jack of diamonds. “So all this time I only had a-“
“A king high.” Sapphic concluded.
The previously motionless Mulct suddenly jerked up clasping his hands against his head. “How did I lose to her!?”
Névé turned to Sapphic more curious to the game’s rules than to the rounds results. “So did I still win?”
Her apathetic voice seemed to only exhaust the poor Mulct even more. “I just lost so much money.” His quiet voice found hollow in a dispirited acceptance.
“Is this what you lot do with your allowances?” the rough irritation in that foreign voice grated through everyone’s ears, the voice was so harsh it came off as almost inhuman. The group of players all turned to the room’s entrance where they saw a displeased woman buried in dozens of layers of clothing. A thick scarf rose up to hide her nose and a large woolen tuque nearly obscured even her eyes from view with its thick fluffy flaps falling over her small ears. Her boots were terribly tall and heavy, each step of her feet sending out a thunderous thump that could almost manage to eclipse the rapturous thuum of the massive clock hands slipping into their next minute position. The woman was nearly entirely entrapped within her self-built prison of woven cotton. The only parts of her managing to escape were her lush flowing blond hair which fell from her hat reaching all the way down to her waist, and her long scaled pink tail that ended in a sharp barbed spike.
Pan was the first of the players to reply. “Well if it isn’t the mighty Queen Arete in the flesh leaving her post to mingle with some filthy humans!” Queen Arete tsked at Pan’s obvious sarcasm. She had the unbelievable courtesy of letting these humans subsist off of her generosity; she let them sleep in her chambers, eat from her plates, spend her currencies, all while she bore the unrest they caused to her people. She sacrificed so much to keep them here and all they did was play games and mock her burdensome work. She wanted to give them a nagging earful, but truth be told she was more jealous than insulted. Besides, she had lost her rights to play the reprimanding mother.
Arete’s attempt at scolding only helped to humor Sapphic. “Why don’t you join us for the next round? I’m running out of money to steal.”
Arete let out a frustrated groan as she found an empty chair nearby. “You’re already stealing enough of my money; I don’t need you to take anymore.” The comment managed to attract a series of embarrassed laughs from the group.
Névé kept quiet keeping her form as small as possible in her seat. She had always felt uncomfortable with authority figures and Arete was a particularly tense individual. There was something uncomfortably familiar about queen Arete that Névé would rather not confront. Pan however had no qualms with the queen or voicing himself to her. “So then why are you here?”
Arete cocked her head to his question. “I thought you could tell me. Bunny told me to be here for a meeting.”
With the unexpected announcement, the poker game came to an end and it was the group’s turn to be confused. Sapphic questioned. “The witch called for a meeting? I didn’t hear about this.” She turned to the rest of the group assuming she had somehow missed the memo, but they too were all in the same position as her.
Mulct stifled a chuckle as a mischievous thought crossed his mind. “Oh no Sapphic watch out! The white witch is coming.” Mulct teased with an unnaturally high-pitched voice mimicking a faux fear.
Sapphic released an exhausted groan. “Ugh why did she ever tell you all about that? For the last time, it was an emotional time, I was really tired, and my generation was trained well to fear her name.”
Sapphic’s since long memorized explanation fell on deaf ears with Mulct simply enjoying the heated reaction. “Uh-huh whatever you say scaredy cat.”
The lesson that Mulct seemed to never learn was that Sapphic had no qualms in stooping down to match her argumenters and she always had the last word. “How have your rematches with Pan been going?”
Mulct leaned forward in his seat ready to retort but his throat had been caught at a loss for words; Pan suddenly shot forward in his seat as he swallowed an orange slice the wrong way. He lurched a series of pained coughs before speaking. “Whoa, don’t bring me into this.”
Arete quickly interrupted the group before they unleashed back into their usual irresponsible banter. “About this meeting we are supposed to be having-” Arete was then interrupted in turn by the chime of a bell sounding from the center of the poker table. At that place where the sound originated there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus which grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other forms. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with five limbs. One arm was outstretched towards each human present: Sapphic, Pan, Mulct, and Névé; each hand holding on to a separate glowing parchment. The fifth arm pointed towards an empty spot on the poker table; this hand held on to three glowing parchments.
Sapphic was the first to react taking hold of the glowing parchment facing her leading the rest of the humans to follow suit and grab each their own respective parchment.
“Well, I guess we know what the meeting will be about.” Arete voiced out as she stood from her seat to investigate the three unclaimed parchments held in that fifth hand. Arete’s face cycled through a series of emotions as she looked over the three papers starting with confusion and worry before finally ending in embarrassment as she took one of the parchments and returned to her seat.
Once Arete found her seat once more the pink organism left, its body morphing and shifting in the exact opposite order it had entered with until it eventually shrunk out of existence as a small pink rhombus. With no hand to hold them firm, the two remaining parchments slowly fell to the table.
There was a mixed set of reactions to each person reading their own parchments, their invitations. Pan frowned unimpressed, Sapphic grew a satisfied grin, Arete shrunk deeper into the protection of her thick clothes, Névé remained expressionless, and Mulct let out a disappointed groan. It was Mulct’s verbose reaction which peaked Pan’s interest leading him to lean over and catch a glimpse at his invitation.
“Pfft!” Pan’s uncontrolled surprise made him spit the remnant orange juices in his mouth all over Mulct’s face and clothes “Hey everyone! Mulct over here is The Sin-eater!”
Sapphic burst out giggling “The what?”
Pan placed a hand over his stomach as the laughter pulled at his sides. “What on earth is a sin-eater?!”
Mulct atop of being sprayed with a gross half chewed sticky liquid was also now being ridiculed by the very same person, which to say the least, did not help elevate his spirits from the very recent loss of wealth. “Well what’s your name then huh?” Mulct quickly swiped the invitation from Pan’s hands ready for petty vengeance and read it out loud. “The Emulation? What kind of lame name is that? At least my name sounds cool.”
“Does it?” Sapphic interjected.
“Alright then Sapphic, your name is so great then? Let me guess Hotrod? Ginger root? Rosebud!”
“The Fusilier.” Sapphic turned her invitation over as proof to the group and ignored Mulct’s jabs that all fell flat against the truth of her vastly superior Tournament name. “What about you Névé?”
Névé too turned her invitation over unconcerned of any pride or ego. “The Floe.”
Mulct flipped his palms upwards questioningly. “What the heck! Why do the girl’s get the cool names? I want a refund, or a name change… or something.”
Sapphic responded with pure elation in her voice. “Don’t be so melodramatic, it’s just a name.”
Mulct turned over to Arete in hopes of a shared humility. “Come on Arete, you got your invitation in like a group bundle or something. please tell me you’re at least on our side. Your name is some cringey lovey dovy themed trio thing or something.”
Arete didn’t respond immediately shuffling nervously in her seat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Mulct edged to the end of his seat in cathartic excitement. “Oh my goodness it is!”
Arete sternly shut Mulct down. “It isn’t related to the other invitations.” Mulct sulked to her response but still held hope in her unwillingness to share. He opened his mouth but was quickly interrupted by Arete. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What, why not?”
“It can’t be worse than Sin-eater.” Sapphic quickly got up and yanked the invitation out from Arete’s grip. Arete quickly tried to steal it back with a whip of her tail but Sapphic nimbly dodged out of the way of the pink barbs. “You have been invited to The Tournament-” Arete jolted upright and lunged at Sapphic who quickly hopped on to the poker table remaining just barely out of Arete’s reach. “You are The-” Sapphic placed a fist over her mouth in a failing attempt to contain her laughter.
“Don’t say it.” Queen Arete commanded, but she saw that the order bore no power against Sapphic; It was times like this that Arete truly detested hanging around people who weren’t subservient of her royal decrees.
As Arete fearfully suspected, Sapphic entirely ignored the queen’s empty orders. “You are The Curio.”
Mulct leaned back in his chair suddenly feeling much better about himself. “At least we know that the cool names aren’t reserved for the girls.” Even the ever statuesque Névé couldn’t hold back a chuckle, which truly stung Arete’s ego.
Having cycled through their own invitations, Pan’s eyes wandered back towards the two unclaimed invitations. He questioned Arete “Why was your invitation bundled instead of on its own like ours?”
Before Arete could reply, her attention was stolen towards the rooms entrance where two sets of muffled footsteps could be just barely heard in between the loud clicks of the shifting clocktower hands. Entering the room were two women. One was a relatively short middle-aged woman who wore a bright yellow headband over her forehead and carried on her face a revolting pair of blue eyes. The middle-aged woman carried with her a massive leather box balanced on top of which was a stack of many large packets of papers. The other woman was incredibly tall; in fact, all of her proportions seemed uncannily inhuman. The woman was completely bathed in white; from her clothes, to skin, to her impossibly wide brimmed hat, even her eyepatch was the same white color. The only mark of coloration on the woman’s body was her disgusting clouded red eye.
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Even after years of companionship, no one could help but wince at the sight of those two sets of eyes, though they never commented on it.
The white woman was the first to speak. “Good, it appears that everyone has already received their invitations.” The white woman approached the table pausing at the sight of the last two invitations. “Well, this is disconcerting.” She gingerly grabbed the two parchments absentmindedly handing one over to the middle-aged woman. “How about you Khanny? Did you get an invitation?”
Arete nodded pointing over to Sapphic. “Sapphic has my invitation right now…” The white woman’s face fell to a frown at the unwanted news. Arete didn’t like to see her dear friend in such turmoil. “Bunny? Will this affect the plan?”
Mulct stepped in feeling a little lost at pace. “I thought getting invitations was all a part of the plan?”
The white woman looked down over to her invitation. “I had been curious to who The Witch was going to be. Turns out it was me.” The discovery gave her a small chuckle. “Scribe is a very fitting name for you isn’t it Pen?” The white woman’s companion apathetically nodded in agreement. The white woman turned to face Mulct and answer his question. “You all getting invitations was a part of the plan, but Khanny and I have lived through two tournaments without ever receiving an invitation; Pen over here has lived through all five without an invitation. It would appear that we are not the only ones who are spicing things up.”
“What do you mean spicing things up?” Sapphic questioned.
The white woman clarified for the group. “It seems the Chauffer and/or the Tournament corporation finally have a use for us.” A subdued irritation took hold as she concluded her train of thought “Like some harmless tools that are now ripe for exploitation.”
Arete was beginning to feel nervous over the sudden disturbance of their so long prepped strategy. “But this doesn’t change much, right Bunny? If anything, this makes everything easier.”
“Yes Khanny, yes it does.” The Witch quickly dashed away her irritation in place of the usual smile she often carried with her. “If they want to underestimate us then let them. Karma will gut them in time.” Swiftly moving on, the Witch gestured to her companion to walk forward. “Before we continue on this subject, I think everyone would appreciate it if we take a short detour first.” The Witch doubled the size of her smile and outstretched her arms like a grandiose unveiling. The Witch announced out with what seemed like a much practiced and anticipated speech. “Today is an auspicious day. It seems that everything has come together at the right time. Your masks have finally arrived.”
The previously silent audience all let out a collective sigh of relief. “Finally.”
Pan rubbed his chest with an awkward discomfort. “Thank goodness, I have been aching really bad recently.”
Mulct couldn’t help but throw in a snide remark. “Sucker.”
Pan was ready to retaliate but the Witch continued on without consideration for the banter. “Yes, it had taken quite a while, but I hope that none of you are disappointed. Pen, if you may.” Pen bowed to the Witch and placed the large leather case on the poker table. She let the parchments of paper slide to one side and unlatched the strings locking the case’s lid in place. Pen opened the case to reveal within seven porcelain mask each securely gripped on to foam face molds. Pen removed the first mask from its unorthodox harness and handed it to Sapphic. The Witch continued with her speech “For Sapphic we have the mask of the marked.”
As soon as the mask came into her possession, Sapphic immediately wore it like a child trying on a new gift. The mask was made of a smooth white porcelain making its expressionless appearance and unnatural facial features awfully uncanny. The porcelain was completely uncolored except for the small red reticle around the right eye socket. The mask itself didn’t have any straps or methods for which to hold it against her head, but Sapphic had already been expecting for such.
“The next mask is for Pan, the mask of the sacrificed.” Pen handed the next mask over to Pan. His mask had the same uncanny white porcelain face, but its small coloration of paint came in the form of a red sword that plunged down onto the left eye socket and then dripped along both of the eye’s tear ducts.
“Pen, you can grab your own mask.” Pen unceremoniously grabbed her own mask and placed it on her face. Without any discernable means the mask stayed glued to her face. “The mask of the blinded.” Pen wore a white porcelain mask with a red band running across its forehead and a large red circle at the very center of that band.
“Continuing on. For Arete, the mask of the silenced.” Pen handed the next mask over to Arete who curiously looked over its craftsmanship. Her mask was of white porcelain with a red x painted over the mask’s mouth.
“For Mulct, the half mask” Mulct’s mask had the entire left side of the mask painted red. “Now Mulct, as previously discussed your mask may take a little bit longer to acclimate to due to the circumstances of its creation. The Whittler tried his best to accommodate you, but this is uncharted territory even for him.” Mulct didn’t respond directly instead just nodding in affirmation.
The Witch did not idle on any of them admiring their new mask and moved on turning to face Névé “To Névé, the mask of the drowned.” Névé took the mask into her hands. It too was a pure white porcelain face painted with red. Her paint drew a red wave washing over the right eye socket of the mask.
“And lastly for me…” The witch took hold of her own mask, finally after so much waiting she was able to admire the completed artistry. “The mask of the unborn mother.” Unlike the rest of the masks, this one only had one eye socket where the right eye should be. The left eye socket instead was filled and colored in red paint. She put the mask on and finally her face was as unexpressive as one would expect from the historically villainous white witch.
Save for Pen, everyone took off their mask to carefully analyze each minute detail and imprint of their masks, determining every swathe of paint, every stroke of the chisel, every reflection of themselves. When satisfied, the Witch clapped her hands together to gather everyone’s attention back to the meeting. “But the masks aren’t the main event today are they? Pen and I have just finished… ‘visiting’ the Tournament corporation, and Pen if you could.”
Pen made her way around the table once more handing out large packets of paper to everyone present.
The paper read:
“The Tournament’s first bracket”
Arena of Dionysus:
Flare Vs. Band
Game Vs. Topiary
Animal vs. Curio
Apprentice Vs. Vampire
Arena of Yu:
Dragon Vs. Monster
Umbra Vs. Antecedent
Bulwark Vs. Sin-eater
Hero Vs. Hyperborean
Arena of Thrones:
River Vs. Spear
Flower Vs. Weapon
Loner Vs. Illusionist
Noumenon Vs. Ascetic
Arena of Empedocles:
Archeologist Vs. Sailor
Toil Vs. Toxophilite
Chosen Vs. Fusilier
Reliquary Vs. Anlace
Arena of Utnapishtim:
Child Vs. Cockatrice
Lead Vs. Divine-warden
Ghost Vs. Mire
Witch Vs. Ardent
Arena of Damocles:
Sage Vs. Fairy
Commander Vs. Friend
Bounty Vs. Amaranthine
Nimbus Vs. Craven
Arena of Tantalus:
Pith Vs. Bud
Repudiate Vs. Golem
Bolide Vs. Angel
Knight Vs. Emulation
Arena of Shapur II:
Phoenix Vs. Hunter
Floe Vs. Obstacle
Scribe Vs. Asset
Mother Vs. Song
“What the heck! There are tons of cool names in here. Why did I have to get the weird one!?” The continuous streams of insults today kept cumulating and Mulct could do nothing but toss his packet of papers onto the table in exasperation.
Pan chuckled to Mulct’s distress. “At least you didn’t get Loner or Child. I wonder what poor saps got those names?”
“Or Curio.” The Witch teased playfully sticking her tongue out at Arete who shrunk further in her chair.
Sapphic had no time for banter as her eyes hurriedly scanned through the list of candidates until finally, she found what she was looking for. Sapphic leaped into the air causing her chair to clatter against the floor startling Arete who was sat next to her. “Yes!! She made it!”
Arete scooted her chair a little distance further away from the animated Sapphic. “Who did?”
Despite Arete’s attempt to make distance, her question only called Sapphic closer. Sapphic quickly pressed against the back of Arete’s chair leaning uncomfortably close over her shoulder to browse the same list. Sapphic pointed to a single name on the list. “There! The Toxophilite at the Arena of Thrones; that’s my girl Biddy!”
Arete tried to wiggle herself away from the invasive Sapphic. “How can you be so sure?”
“Oh, come on, some of the names on this list are soooo obvious. There is no way anyone else would have gotten the Toxophilite title unless it was me, which it wasn’t.” Sapphic’s excitement finally subsided enough for her to see the discomfort she was causing Arete; embarrassed by her unconstrained joy, she shuffled a few steps back, much to Arete’s pleasure. Sapphic made her way back towards her seat righting it off the ground and grabbing her own packet once more. “Surely you can recognize some of the names on here.”
Arete looked back at the list with a more critical eye. “Well I guess Bulwark and Hero are obviously those Savior guys; Jocund and Doyen.”
Sapphic looked back at her own given list and added. “And the Dragon must be the three-armed-dragon.”
Pan not wanting to be left out of the Tournament gossip chimed in. “It can’t be the three-armed-dragon.”
Sapphic tilted her head in confusion. “Why not?”
Arete answered in Pan’s stead. “You can’t be invited to the Tournament more than once.”
Sapphic thought over it for a few seconds. “So it would the one-armed dragon then?”
“Or the blood dragon.” Mulct added.
Pan less interested in dragon fanaticism tried to gear the conversation back towards the Saviors. “If two of the Savior members were invited, wouldn’t the rest of the team be as well. They also had a princess and a wizard, right?”
Arete raised an eyebrow in suspicion, she knew well that Pan was fully aware of the Saviors team dynamic. Rather than question him she simply answered the question instead. “The wizard was at the last Tournament so he can’t be invited again, and I don’t think the princess will be either.”
Mulct choked on the water he had been drinking, causing an unglamorous spout of spray to trickle down his chin. “What the heck! How old is that wizard? That means he’s well over a hundred years old!”
Arete nodded. “Yes, he’s a hundred and twelve years old. He was only twelve when he was invited to the last Tournament.”
Mulct wiped his chin of the water. “Jeez, I knew he was powerful, but I didn’t realize he was that scary.”
While the rest of the group were discussing Ken Ream the wizard, Pan was still mulling over what Arete had said about the princess and didn’t know how to feel about it. Arete’s simple answer sent a swirl of positive and negative emotions to inconclusively tumble around in his stomach. “Why not?” The group threw a set of confused glances and Pan realizing the conversation must have moved on without him had to clarify. “Why don’t you think the princess will be at The Tournament?”
Arete responded as if reiterating from a report sheet for the thousandth time. “She hasn’t aged as gracefully as the rest of the team. But the real reason is just that her fighting style doesn’t lend itself to one-on-one combat. The Tournament is a little bit unfair like that. Now can we talk about somebody else, I’m sick and tired of reporting to you every single thing about that family.”
Pan stiffened by the sudden annoyance in Arete. “It was just a question.”
Arete rubbed the bridge of her nose in exhaustion. “I know I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been buried in countless reports in every direction every time one of those ‘Saviors’ do so much as sneeze.”
“And we appreciate the effort you put in Khanny.” The Witch alleviated with a smile.
Mulct kept his face buried in the bracket list ignoring the conversation until he finally found his own name. “Sorry Arete, I know you want to move on from the Saviors, but I just have one more question. Will I be fighting Jocund the Wall in round one of The Tournament, as well as be alone in the arena with both him and the hero Doyen!?” Mulct questioned with a little concern but also that uncontrollable excitement he got upon unfavorable matchups.
Everyone turned back to the list to more specifically read over that arena grouping. Arete’s eyebrows raised as she realized the stakes involved. “It looks like the Dragon is the only one there that won’t want to kill you on the spot by mere association with the white witch.”
“And that won’t be for long.” The Witch included with an entertained chuckle.
Though Mulct was interested in hearing more details about that comment, the rest of the group was still interested in identifying as many Tournament invitees as possible. Sapphic asked out. “Can anyone else recognize any names? What about you Mulct, any clotted mercenaries on here?”
Mulct quickly forgot about his worrisome arena grouping as the thought of any of his old comrades being invited came. Mulct burst into a stunted fit of chuckles. “There definitely won’t be any clotted mercenaries here. But there is someone here I’ll recognize: Ad Rem.”
Pan asked his companion. “The Murugan squad leader?”
There was a buried rage within Mulct, but the primary emotion he felt was eagerness for a rematch, “Yeah, I bet he’s either The Commander or The Knight. If it is the Knight, can you do me a favor Pan and make his death insufferable? I’d rather kill him myself but if you come across him first then there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Sapphic spoke. “You know if what the white witch says is true-“
“Which it is.” The Witch quickly clarified.
Sapphic continued. “Since what the white witch says is true,” She made sure to give the Witch a stare as if sassily seeing if the Witch approved of her new word choice. The Witch smiled and Sapphic resumed. “doesn’t that mean that Filch isn’t dead and you don’t need to take any vengeance?”
Mulct clenched his fist around his glass of water sending shattering spines to run along the cracking edge. “It’s the thought that counts.”
Uncaring of petty human squabbles Arete moved on. “If the Murugan leader is The Knight then general Zeal is probably The Commander. I hope that we will never be at the same arena. What a mess.” Arete rubbed her temples with her knuckles as she was reminded that The Tournament was just yet another complication to add to her massive list of responsibilities. Just a few seconds ago she was silently admonishing the humans for their petty squabbles, but she was just as much an offender in the end wasn’t she? It was just that her squabbles involved massive armies and frightening conflicts of historical proportions.
The Witch too was eager to join the gossip. “If we’re talking about familiar faces, we can all look forward to seeing our little princess and her attendant.”
A profound pride filled Arete but was immediately squelched with regret. “Vow will definitely be there.”
Sapphic was a little confused as the Witch’s and Sapphic’s certainty seemed oddly dissonant to the image Sapphic held of this person. “Do you mean that little kid that was around when I first came here? How would she be at The Tournament?”
Arete would not stand, or rather sit, someone doubting her princess’s abilities and was quick to brag of Vow’s talents. “First of all she’s not a kid she’s twenty-“
“Technically she’s much older.” The Witch added with mischievous pleasure.
“That doesn’t count, she is twenty. You know it’s because you kept giving her these ideas that she-“ Arete took a deep breath calming herself. “Besides, age doesn’t matter; and you shouldn’t underestimate her Sapphic. If you two fought you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Mulct was thinking back to his few interactions with the princess back during the brief period they both resided within the castle. “I look forward to seeing her again, I liked her. What do you think her and her weird attendant’s Tournament names are?”
The Witch and Arete both scanned through the list of names with a critical eye before Arete answered. “Weapon would be fitting for the guard, but I have no idea what Vow would be called.”
Pan gave a mischievous grin to Névé.“The River is probably your fiancé right Névé?”
“ex-fiancé.” Névé made sure to clarify, not finding any of the humor that Pan did in the teasing.
Once more, this list of Tournament candidates seemed to just endlessly frustrate Arete and she let out a grunt as she recognized another name. “Ugh, I think we all know who the Vampire is going to be.”
The Witch scanned through finding the name and burst into laughter. “haha, have fun with that one Khanny. And you thought you were lucky being in a different arena as Zeal.”
It looked as if everyone had run out of names that they could decipher the origins of. Well, except for Névé who stayed silent through most of the conversation. Mulct questioned her. “What about you Névé, do you recognize anyone?”
Névé had no interest for any grouping other than those at the same arena as her. She looked over all the names and felt a strange something she hadn’t felt for a while. Névé answered Pan’s question. “No, no one of note.”
“Well, this discussion of who has been invited to the tournament is a great segue into what we actually want to talk about. If you all flip to the next page of your documents you’ll see a detailed plan for what we are wanting to do.” Mulct and Sapphic both interrupted The Witch’s presentation with tired groans. “Of course, we have spoken about all of this many times before and I’m sure you have all intimately memorized every aspect of the plan.”
Sapphic and Mulct both straightened, their faces red with embarrassment. “That’s fair.”
“That’s what I thought. And that’s why I made these reports for you. Now you only really need to be concerned with the sections pertaining to your specific arenas, but I still suggest you read through the whole thing. There are still plenty of non-arena factors that are unaccounted for, and if everyone knows everything it will be easier to adapt. One of these unaccounted-for factors that I would like to highlight is we still don’t know which Tournament name is tied to our precious little Wish. So whichever one of you finds him will be responsible for ensuring his safety.”
“You want us to interfere in The Tournament?”
The Witch shook her head. “Not necessarily, he doesn’t have to win his fight; but if his life is in danger then yes, we cannot allow him to die at any cost.” The Witch cleared her throat, it was beginning to feel dry with all her talking. “As for what we do know, Mulct you will have the most difficult task. Your grouping was very unlucky, and you will have to juggle many hostile forces. Atop of that, you have the Dragon and the director Yu. Your priority should be on The Dragon as we don’t know when it might be killed in a Tournament fight. You have to collect its blood and hide it before Ménage the blood dragon arrives for it. If you somehow get an easy opportunity to deal with Director Yu then take it of course but don’t worry about that plan too much. You’ll be busy with The Dragon and remember, once you get the blood, you have to get out of there as fast as possible before Ménage the blood dragon finds you. Unless of course Ménage is The Dragon. Thankfully I don’t think any of the names in your arena would belong to Wish.”
Mulct took a large empty gulp as the exact challenge he was previously joking about made itself bare. That fear, it felt energizing.
“Pan you don’t have anything to do at your arena but do keep your eye out for Wish or any problematic individuals.” Pan felt a little disappointment in how little responsibilities he had while Mulct could claim all the glory, and more importantly face Doyen.
“Sapphic you’ll be responsible for Empedocles, if Mulct doesn’t have the time to deal with Yu which he most likely won’t, then it will be on you. It would be nice for Empedocles to be dealt with even if Mulct succeeds against Yu, but it is only vital if he doesn’t.” Sapphic nodded in affirmation. She needed to get as much of this plan accomplished before she met Biddy.
“None of us are at the arena of thrones in this bracket, which is a bit of a shame, but we can deal with that in the later rounds.”
“Our luckiest result thus far is that there will be two of us at the Arena of Shapur II. Névé and Pen you two will have the most important task. You must capture Shapur II.” Névé and Pen silently nodded in understanding.
“And what about you?” Mulct asked.
The white witch looked back down at the Tournament matchups with the new knowledge that she was in fact the Witch. “Well, it looks like I’ll be going on vacation but don’t worry. I’ll bring back a souvenir.”
Pan scanned through the rest of the parchment at a little loss for where their meeting was going now. “So now what?”
“Now, The Tournament begins.”