Across the boiling lake at the edge of the town of Ark, a shivering man huddled near a small campfire, his makeshift twig tent barely protecting him from the rain. His red frock coat was downright soaked, and water pooled around his porcelain mask, slipping in the eyelets and collecting at the mask’s bottom by his chin. His cold quivering hands were raised before his right eye holding a spyglass as he watched just above the arena.
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Tort and Livy found themselves in a library. It was a small library, but it was the cutest, most beautiful thing to Tort. It was within one of the tangential ‘leaves’ of the greenhouse hidden within an alcove of cattails.This library was a wondrous thing to someone like Tort, who could only read whatever torn scraps were left behind by adventurers who tried to invade her and Livy’s home. The selection was less than optimal what with every book being about botany in some form or another; it wasn’t the most riveting of subjects, but Tort was simply content to have something new to read. After all, most invading adventurers didn’t bring any reading material along for their onslaughts.
Livy had never been much of a reader. Ever since their youth, she had an in-explainable aversion to the act; she was a much more hands-on individual. Even if the library was the last place one would expect Livy to willfully visit of her own free will, She would also never allow Tort to be alone in what Livy deemed a far too dangerous place. Besides, it wasn’t like Tort could get around much on her own anyway.
Tort lay on her oversized reclined chair, reading through a particularly dry book on the pharmaceutical properties of daisies. Beside her, Livy was slowly reading through a massive encyclopedia on edible plants grown by the ancient civilization. Though perhaps reading wasn’t the correct term, Tort was reasonably certain that Livy was only looking at the drawings.
Livy was almost thankful to be pulled away from ‘reading’ when a potential enemy entered the library. Livy glared as she watched the bored invader walk right past the two and ignored Livy’s growling. The woman stood on the short side, but her ample muscles clearly demonstrated that she was a fighter, not a scholar. Not usually someone to be found in libraries. The bored woman approached one of the bookshelves and, without even a passing glance at the title, took a random book. Even Tort was distracted from her reading to watch what this person was doing. It was beyond evident that she was not personally interested in reading anything on offer here.
The woman approached a nearby wall and shoved a stack of cattails out of the way to reveal the glass wall of the greenhouse. Livy and Tort took a sudden jolt back as they saw a downright leviathan sight on the other side of the glass structure. Two titanic pink eyes which put Livy’s to shame stared into the building with expectant excitement. The bored woman then raised the book she held to the glass and opened the first page. Those two massive eyes outside the greenhouse walls slowly glided sideways and then jumped back and lowered slightly as they scanned through the book before them. The two sisters didn’t move an inch. How were they to react to this? Were they even supposed to? Would it be rude?
After about a minute of the two being entranced by the rolling of those eyes larger than even themselves, the lips on that head parted slightly, revealing a terrible maw of sharp fangs. Livy prepared for a fight, but instead, the bored woman simply turned the page of her book.
As if those horrible teeth had broken a binding charm on her, Tort was freed from her petrification. If she were to ignore the gargantuan deity outside the window, then there was just a short, muscular girl holding a book out to the sky. Tort was far from capable of judging people on their reading companions. She tried to start a conversation with the woman, “Hello there, I am Tort. And who may you be?”
As if only now realizing that there was more than only his glorified bookstand on the other side of the window, the giant head turned its gaze to Tort.
The bored woman huffed out a bothered sigh as she curtly responded, “Maitre d’.”
As if confirming the truth behind her words, the massive head on the other side of the wall began to speak, “Maitre d’, who are these people?” The voice came out like the rumbling cries of the earth, its base so heavy that Tort and Livy more felt the voice in their chests rather than heard it with their ears. The massive head squinted, focusing on the two of them and upon a realization, his eyes bulged wide. “Those two are human. But they look odd and are clearly much older than any other human I have met.”
Livy quickly repositioned herself in between the giant head and her sister. Livy didn’t like how observant this creature was. She didn’t know how it could instantly tell of the two’s origins, but it meant that the opponent was dangerous.
The giant head completely ignored the battle-ready Monster and faced Maitre d’, “Maitre d’, save my page in that book. I have found something far more interesting to explore now.” Livy definitely did not like having her or her sister identified as an ‘interesting’ explorative opportunity.
“Old humans!” The head’s voice boomed. “Share your knowledge with me!” The head demanded.
Tort was about to oblige out of fear of the head’s wrath, but Livy hurriedly shoved her taloned feet over Tort’s mouth and shrieked back to the enemy.
The Dragon glared briefly, but only for a moment before coming to a realization. “Bird human!” Once again, the voice was so powerful that it rattled the glass walls of the building, and some of the frailer cattails began to shed parts of their long puffy flowers. “You are a bird now but were once a normal human.” Livy flinched but soon collected herself and nodded, confirming the head’s theory. “Yes, I can sense it in your soul. I propose a wager then. It wouldn’t be fair for me to demand something from you without potentially offering something in return.”
Livy ruffled her feathers trying to appear larger, but the show of force fell flat against the undeniable grandness of the head. “I am the Dragon. And you are the Monster, correct?”
Livy only growled, leaving Tort to respond having curiosity overcome her fear, “That’s right.”
The Dragon smiled, but it only helped to bare his fangs to the two, “Then we are assigned for battle within the Tournament. If I win this fight, then you are contracted to share your knowledge with me. If you are to win this fight, then I will correspond with my brethren; there are a few of them who may be able to revert your corruption.”
The animosity immediately left Livy as the very concept of what the Dragon said stunned her. Tort, too, found herself completely frozen in shock. “I do not mean to offer you a gamble veiled in lies. I cannot guarantee that your forms be returned, only that the possibility be explored.”
Tort immediately nodded with dizzying violence, “That is more than we could ever ask for. We accept your wager!” Livy threw her sister a sidelong glare, unhappy that she so readily accepted the deal without consulting her.
The Dragon made another one of his off-putting smiles before speaking, “Then, upon the moon’s crowning, we shall let fate and fang fly.”
Tort suddenly found herself a little more apprehensive about the deal. “What about the Tournament match?”
The Dragon scoffed dismissively. “What is a show of humans to the rulers of land and life as us. Let us act upon our whims as we see fit. Those of the Tournament may respond however they please, but I will not wait a second longer than absolutely necessary when knowledge is on the line. Now do you accept or-“
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The Dragon was suddenly interrupted by the aggravated yells of a woman, “Oi! What are you doing?” The woman carrying the strange multi-tentacled slug stormed into the library with a rage unexpected of the usually expressionless botanist. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care if you’re a Tournament contestant! Get away from my library; your voice is damaging the plants!” The rain around the Dragon started to contort unnaturally and whip harshly against his face. “Shoo! shoo!”
The Dragon backed away from the window growling at the attacker, “Fine, you pestilent woman. There is no need for violence.” The Dragon’s retaliatory bark vibrated roughly against the window, causing a small crack to form.
Everyone went silent as the woman stared wide-eyed at the crack. The rest of the patrons slowly backed away from the terrifying woman. Even the slug in her arms began to writhe as she subconsciously squeezed it too tightly. “I think it’s about time for me to go.” The Dragon quickly flew off before anything else could be said.
The woman turned her burning ire away from the crack and towards Maitre d’, “Don’t look at me. I’m just the servant.”
All was silent for a few tense seconds as everyone waited to see how the botanist’s barely contained furor would manifest. The botanist took a deep meditative sigh lightening her death grip on the poor slug. “Control your pet or damned with the Tournament, I will.”
Maitre d’ meekly opened her mouth to speak, “He’s not my-“but quickly shut it in response to the botanist’s scathing glare. Maitre d’ simply amended. “Yes, ma’am.”
After a few more calming breaths, the botanist’s addressed her three guests with a defeated calmness. “Please just leave. I need to address my poor children.”
Livy obediently dragged Tort and her chair away, with Maitre d’ following suit. As soon as they walked past the strange maybe director, Maitre d’ whispered over. “Are they actually her children?”
Tort whispered loudly back with bewildered confusion, “I don’t know!” Maitre d’ quickly shut up her response at the burning glare of the botanist, and the three silently made their way through the many pebbled pathways of the greenhouse.
Once they had made significant enough distance from their irate host, Maître d’ turned to the two sisters. “Jeez, what’s her deal?”
Tort let out an amused snort. “I have no idea. Directors are a weird sort,” then her brows furrowed in unsure contemplation. “…or director adjacents? Honestly, I have no clue what is going on with that girl and the slug.”
Maitre d’ lightly chuckled in agreement, and with no words to follow, the three stewed in silence, smiles slowly fading into consternation. Maitre d’ glanced between the sisters catching upon their visage a mix of hope, anxiety, doubt, but most painfully, fatigue. She couldn’t help but feel like she was invading upon something personal, yet still, she had to ask. “So, are you going to accept his offer?”
Tort opened her mouth, but her body was faster than her mind, and no answer formed. It was clear on her face, a deep desire, she knew the answer she wanted to give, but there was a heavy weight that held her back. Tort turned her head to stare straight into the massive moon eyes of her sister. Tort’s eyes watered, but she didn’t allow anything to come of it. “No, I don’t think you should accept it. He’s a dragon, a principal dragon even. Without the Tournament’s protection, it’s too dangerous. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”
Maitre d’ frowned at the tragic sight; she couldn’t help but feel like she was forcefully aligned with the wrong side of this conflict. “Even with the Tournament, it’s still dangerous. That Apprentice kid died.”
Tort’s face quickly dipped in memory of the youthful tragedy. “It’s safer…, and that’s without considering how the Tournament corporation will react to fighting outside legislated times.”
Before any more comments could fill the sombre atmosphere, a muffled commotion down some ways stole the three’s attention. Simply eager to escape the awkwardness, Maitre d’ jumped at the opportunity presented. “We should probably check that out.”
Making their way through a gate of overhanging plants, the three arrived at the noise to find the rest of the contestants gathered around a fifth person, which they did not recognize. However, the Tournament invitation gripped in his hands gave everyone a good indication of who it might be.
Doyen, who seemed to have already been in the midst of a conversation with this new person, spoke. “Bulwark? You don’t look like much of a Bulwark. I would’ve sworn Jocund would have gotten that invitation.”
The statement seemed to have stung this new person, sending a paralyzing jolt through their body before soon receding to a quiet grief. “…he was.”
A worried suspicion rapidly marred Doyen’s face as he responded. “What do you mean?”
The new visitor gulped loudly, barely able to look Doyen in the face in an odd mélange of awe and remorse. “This is his invitation. You see, I was training under Sir. Jocund’s tutelage in his estate when we were suddenly attacked! The attacker, they-“the man choked slightly, unwanting to give voice to his next statement. “The attacker killed Jocund!”
Paralytic shock rushed through the group. Not only was one of the greatest, most powerful, and most loved warriors of history killed but this warrior was even famed for only ever having suffered one injury in all his years of combat. Even more important than that, he was a friend, one of Doyen’s closest and only friends. A cold rage seeped through Doyen’s veins, but Jocund’s apprentice didn’t notice as he continued to recount his story. “Jocund was distracted when the chauffeur spawned to give out two invitations. I don’t know how, but the Sin-Eater somehow found out who their opponent would be and hunted him down when he wasn’t ready.” Jocund’s apprentice stopped, the trauma of such a horrid event clearly rerunning through his mind, but he washed the thoughts away and continued. “Once the Sin-Eater got what they wanted, they took their invitation and just left. I thought, I don’t know, I guess I thought if I took Sir. Jocund’s invitation, I could get revenge. But if master couldn’t beat them, then how could I?” The man chuckled grimly to himself. “At least I was able to stop him from skipping the first round. Even if it will most likely cost my life.”
Doyen’s face furrowed into a deep wrathful determination. “No.”
Jocund’s apprentice looked at the Hero in confusion. “What do you mean no?”
“I won’t let you die; I’m going to kill that Sin-Eater myself.”
Errant nodded as well and gave the apprentice an encouraging smile. “That’s right, I don’t care how strong this Sin-Eater is; there’s no way they can kill one of the Saviors without being punished.” Errant placed his arm over Doyen’s tensed shoulder. “We’ll take him together.” That simple gesture sent a warm wave of relief through Doyen; his friend was still dead, and his rage still boundless; but he knew with the hand on his shoulder, he wasn’t alone, not yet.
Tort interjected to the conversation, her soft worried voice an angelic caress soothing the heated tension. “What about the Tournament?”
Hiemal stepped up, pulling his shoulders back and standing tall despite his freezing body desiring to be as huddled tight as possible. “I-i-if the Sin-Eater can cheat, s-so can we. It’s not j-just a game anymore. This is a matter of g-good and evil.”
The teenage Radix looked to the rest of the group steadfastly standing by each other. “I don’t really know this Jocund guy, but you lot have easily been the nicest, most helpful people since I was summoned to this world, so I’m in.”
Jocund’s apprentice looked over to the rest of the Tournament contestants in absolute awe and worship. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. Just stand by and wait for that monster to show their face and we’ll see how clever they think their idea was then.”
Livy scoffed at the emotional humans in what came out as more of a squawk, then left them, dragging Tort along much to her protest. The rest of the day continued in mostly peace. Doyen and his group discussed strategies against their united foe, Livy and Tort relaxed in their chamber, Maitre d’ returned to her master, and the botanist worried over her library plants. Eventually, the night settled in, and everyone fell asleep. Nearly everyone.
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Outside, the rain ploughed down in an unprecedented maelstrom, and the now-empty streets turned into ankle-deep rivers. Next to the Tournament arena and boiling lake, the Dragon stared into two large moon eyes. “So you accept.”
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Across the boiling lake, a campfire was snuffed out, and a man donned a porcelain mask, its left half wholly white and the right wholly red.
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Within the arena, in one of the contestant’s private chambers: an assassin smiled.