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by **Remæus** on Thu May 29, 2008 12:30 pm

Introduction and Registration:
Every two years, the Grand Tournament is held to establish the dominance of distinct fighters in the realm of martial combat. Combatants from all corners of existence are summoned by an instantaneous beacon, which signals the opening of the gateway to the GT Dimension. This rare opportunity allows those privy enough to have received the message to be whisked away in an instant, and pulled into the realm of trials by fire, blood, and glory.

With the acceptance of attendance, fighters enter the GT Dimension to participate in the Grand Tournament.

A smooth marble pathway greets those who do accept this invitational beacon, immediately wrenching their consciousness from where it sat previously. A pristine grass lawn expands outward at the border of the walk - glowing with a supernatural veridian hue as it lay uninterrupted across the entire campus. Emerging from the eloquently groomed landscape are several ornately adorned marble buildings, matching the white entrance approach in their color and decoration.

The series of steps that rose up upon the approach to the first building is offset by the large marble figure on either side, towering many yards into the air with their imposing stature. The poses, slightly gladiatorial, set the tone for the Grand Tournament; reverent, elegant, and voraciously competitive. These enormous models of the competitors that would pass them were minuscule compared to the grandeur in this first building - it was certainly soon to house some massive conglomeration of powers, abilities, and philosophies.

Upon the entrance of the building, a large room is found - centered by a large marble block and backed by a desk at the far end of the room. Two stone staircases arched out to the sides an upward into the multi-story cavern of a room, each secured by slightly smaller imitations of the statues that were found outside. Red velvet carpet cascaded its way back down these staircases to flow unhindered into this main lobby, meeting in front of the desk at the back only to split once again and arc outward around the marble block and meet the visitors at the front door, where they again converged.

It was on this large marble block that the name of this spectacular event was etched, carved in immaculate script by some steady hand - or force. Below was a smooth tapestry of equally perfect quality, which detailed and outlined the brackets and structure of the Tournament which was presumed to begin shortly.

The Grand Tournament

And below it was a simple set of directions that were to be followed by all of those who entered.

"Welcome to the Grand Tournament. Please proceed to the desk in the back of the lobby to fill out your registration and profile information. After this has been done, you may proceed up the stairs on either side to pick a room for the duration of your stay. Please note that all parties are permitted to leave at any time through the portal at the front of the courtyard, but will not be granted access in return. Again, our welcome is extended - please enjoy your stay, and to all of you we wish Good Luck."

And so it began: the single most comprehensive and decisive fighting tournament ever to be held.

OOC Notes and Information:
This topic is in character. Please make an effort to put all of your posts in some sort of cohesion with other players' actions. You are required to fill out the following form for the character you will be using, and then you may leave, or continue to interact with other characters in this thread.

Yes. Post your profile and in character introduction in this thread. It will be edited and moved out (into the official list of GT2008 fighters) when it has been approved.

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by **ConvolutedMusings** on Thu May 29, 2008 2:09 pm

And then, the large man placed the proportionately as large quiver upon the desk, turning around, to walk confidently towards the stairs, where he stood before a door, unsure if he should enter or not. It had been a stark change, being inside Tel'Aran'Rhiod, he had been outside of real existence, outside of the Pattern. Now, back in a reality, he felt much more alive, in comparison to his solitude in Tel'Aran'Rhiod, away from anything sentient.

This would be an interesting event, that was for sure; for so long the silver haired behemoth had been searching for an opponent worthy of his power, and given the sensations of strength filling this place, it was more than obvious he would find just what he had spent many years looking for.

As he looked at the door, and the statue next to it, a smirk fell upon his visage. Would Destiny, that oh so fickle lady, remember him now he was back, and the arrangement that had been made so long ago? As the smirk widened to a full smile, he knew there was only one way to find out.

Soon, it would begin, and for the first time in nearly a thousand years, Saladin felt anticipation filling him.

by **Kouketsu** on Thu May 29, 2008 3:38 pm

The tranquil silence which hung over the registration facilities was broken by the careful, cautious strides of a man thoroughly determined and equally as confident that he was pacing his way to absolute victory and glory beyond compare. His features once again assumed the audacious auburn-tinted glare that had stared down hordes of competitors in previous encounters and contests, completely and utterly unyielding. In all truth, the man held not the lust for combat that so many others who would eventually tread along that marble route would possess, no, far from it. What Geldyn Rynhart III craved was challenge.

From the masterful orchestral compositions he developed at the Sparsian Academy to the poems and dramas he penned, everything had to be done with perfection in mind if competition was involved. Outside of such realms, places where naught but personal satisfaction was at stake, he could truly care less and his nearly every effort showed it. The would-be Lord Baron of the country of Ghale, the lost heir to the throne, the criminal, the warrior, the authentic polymath and purveyor of the arts. Despite adorning so many titles and facades throughout his shaky and still rather short lifetime, a lifeless and tepid apathy characterized his daily living; and even on the battlefield, if he had no glory or notice at stake, it would be deemed futile and promptly ignored. Such a truth however would make his reason for attending that competition all the more sensible.

Heaving something of a restless sigh, soon the lord baron's glare caught sight of the entrance sign, the words inscribed upon it receiving only a passing glance as he continued in unbroken steps towards the desk until at last pausing before it. Within a moment the sound of a pen dropping back to the table would be the only audible sound, his registration completed - penning it under the alias "Dusk" - as he found himself alone in his arrival there.

Am I truly the first to arrive? Perhaps this is fitting, although surely more competitors must be on their way..

Finished with the only matter of even the slightest bit of significance until the actual combat would begin, Dusk hastily set about ascending one of the two staircases, each dual blade fastened across his back rendering an audible 'chhnk!' with every step. The entirety of his arrival and registration would go without incident and nearly unnoticed completely, for he would keep himself completely locked away in that chamber - giving himself up to repose- - until finally beckoned forth by tournament officials once more.

by **Hellias** on Thu May 29, 2008 4:05 pm

Oleander drifted through the decorated marble pathway that the sculptors and architects have created. They have been granted the honor to create this gathering of all that is powerful as like Oleander who was invited to participate in this event. Of all the vampires, he was the one with the most knowledge of the Dark Arts as well as the one most well - studied.

He reached the registry and promptly wrote his name down. As he passed, he could feel all sorts of aura and power in the place, mostly domineering. He could, however, feel some that tried to hide... trying to mask their presence as a form of pretense. Different people, different strategies... There was so many things to learn. He couldn't help but smile at that thought.

He wasn't here to win; he was here to study... But he sure damned well knew the opponent would get a hell of a fight from him before going down, if they were good enough.

by **Alucroas** on Thu May 29, 2008 6:13 pm

A pitch black portal opened up, pouring a dark transparent liquid all over the desk, followed by the arrival of the abomination, leaping out and producing an audible clicking sound as his claws touched the marble surface, never ceasing in their tappings as Alucroas paid little to no heed to anyone who may have been watching him. Instead, he simply snorted and whipped his tail against the ground, proceeding up the stairs to where he assumed would be his home for the time being.

Make sure you save some of these miscreants for me..

by **Skallagrim** on Thu May 29, 2008 6:24 pm

The dreamer had stirred, in her fitful slumber a call rang out through the holons, a gathering of champions, a new reality, new sensations and experiences. Releasing the grasp upon her Sluagh, the Sleeping Queen allowed one to awaken, to be summoned to this realm, to this holon of existence.

Through the dream-guarded gateways of slumber the solitary figure know as Skallagrim Cughtagh strode until with a deft touch the shadow mount emerged from the dreams, a skeletal charger with a whorl of amethyst illuminating its eye-sockets. After mounting the creature of dream substance, the dream worlds fell away as the patterns of reality emerged, a strong resonance thrumming through the various holons, calling forth the awakened dreamer, Skallagrim was traversing the myriad of existences until finally an archway emerged. Slowing, and finally halting in front of the archway, Skallagrim dismounted and passed through the vast arch and emerged into the holon of the Gateway.

Seeing a slew of competitors already here, Skallagrim allowed his gaze to cross the room, landing on the massive 14’tall figure besides a statue, clearly a being of great power and strength. The miasmic whorl of amethyst energies flowed and streamed from the eye sockets, landing on two other apparent competitors that had clearly just arrived before him. Silently, Skallagrim nodded to all three in a subdued sign of respect, then made his way to the registration table.

After a moment of studying the patterns of the holon, Skallagrim was able to fill out the required paper in the proper language. Turning slowly, the glowing-eyed explorer moved away from the table, seeking a place to merely watch and observe the champions, warriors and artisans of martial skill that had been called forth for this Grand Tournament.

by **Heat** on Thu May 29, 2008 9:11 pm

With that Heat read over what he had written down on the peice of parchment. Maybe it was the sake he was drinking, but for some reason he had wrote in the third person. Either way, it did not matter, feeling satisfied with his work. Heat elected to go up the stairs and chose a room to allow himself solitude to drink his sake.

by **wandering-random** on Fri May 30, 2008 1:10 am

OOC Profile cleared, in character post pending.

by **Rize** on Fri May 30, 2008 10:44 am

The stones of the great hall seemed to tremble as his scarred and faded black boots touched the ground. For an instant it felt as if the world around the assembled warriors squirmed in agitation, almost as if it were pulling away from the newest arrival even as the fluttering, ragged edges of the gash through which he had arrived strained to seal themselves shut. A simple smirk twitched across his lips as he slowly began moving forward, the blood red leather of his coat hanging loosely against the backs of his thighs as his hands tapped lightly against their fronts.

As he slowed to a halt in front of the desk, he quickly swept a gleaming metal hand through his short, deathly white hair, removing the stray straggly locks from before his eyes where they had fallen. And what eyes they were. Blazing silver bore down upon the receptionist, like twin stars held trapped within God's hands. with an idle gesture he swept his power across the forms, filling in the information without truly paying attention to it before moving off to the side and leaning heavily against a weathered collossus of an ancient gladiator. Briefly he flicked some bit of dirt from the front of his black, cotton shirt before addressing those assembled.

"So tell me, any bets on who will be the first to die?"

by **ConvolutedMusings** on Fri May 30, 2008 11:05 am

As he stood, in silent contemplation, weighing up the options before him, if he should resign himself to further solitude, or mingle with the other competitors, he noticed a few other appear in succession. All seemed to be strong enough to be worthy of such a competition, and Saladin's hopes of finding that which he had been looking for had increased greatly.

The strange beast, he took little notice of, despite the creature's grandiose entrance, his temperament showed itself to be far from savoury. Saladin remained stood with the poise of a man of royalty, elegance pouring from him, despite his massive frame. It was with others of a similar manner he would converse with, if he so made the decision.

Then, the strange man, who had looked up at him, caught his attention, but for only a moment; Saladin returned the gaze with a cold expression as he noted the drunken man walking up the stairs. For what reason had that man taken especial notice of Saladin? Perhaps the curiosity caused by the other man's. It was strange to see one of the undead in a place like this, like the monsters of nightmares being sent to Tel'Aran'Rhiod did that one fellow seem.

Saladin's attention was really caught by the one who entered with an attempt, or so it seemed, to perturb the fighters. The fourteen foot Kelantan was neither perturbed, nor was he impressed. As the arrogant showman walked away from the reception, Saladin caught his words. A chuckle escaped the man's lips, tenor and smooth, just as his voice would be. Choosing not to satiate this male's need for attention, Saladin kept his own thoughts to himself.

If Saladin had his own way, it would be the newest of the entrants who would die first. But, he would keep all combat to the arenas.

For now, he turned and placed his back against the wall to the side of the door. Closing his eyes, he maintained his observations of the power of the entrants. He knew preparation was the key, and prepare he would.

by **Ryand-Smith** on Fri May 30, 2008 11:55 am

OOC: In character post pending.

by **Skallagrim** on Fri May 30, 2008 1:26 pm

Observe, note and examine. Such is the purpose of the Sluagh, called dreams or nightmares, angels or daemons; they have walked along the myriad of existences merely watching the many forms reality has taken in the various holons that comprised the multiverse. Skallagrim continued that singular aspect of the Sluagh; he was watching the many contestants as they strode forth into the hall to register their presence. Some came in with arrogance, some with dignity, yet all the contestants were supremely confidant of their skills and abilities, believing it would allow them to crush their enemies and claim the prize.

The whorls of energy flared and illuminated casting an eerie amethyst glow from the hooded figure that had assumed a seat near the far wall of the foyer. Across stood the large being, betwixt them one who appeared…what was the term? After a moment of searching, the word materialized, drunken. Slowly they began materializing, combatants signing in, some seemed to not notice or perhaps were ignoring the large figure that claimed the area near the statues as if he were some lord or king. Aloof, demanding, dangerous.

One who entered spoke with a tone that resonated and thrummed, power was strong in this one, the voice carried a hint of…sarcasm? Perhaps disdain? Skallagrim focused on the being, studying it, observing and noting it, the metallic hand that seemed to shimmer and scintillate as the lights danced along its form, when suddenly a form intersected his vision, it was a female.

Looking upon the lithe figure, Skallagrim’s energy whorls seemed to narrow, the tendrils of power streamed and swirled around the cowl, before drifting off as the movements of the larger contestants created a sudden disturbance along the patterns of air. The female seemed to exude power, but not in the overt way some of the other warriors had, interesting…observe and note.

Skallagrim tapped the rune inscribed steel hilt of Keefe, and the weight of the darkly pulsating Rhiannon upon his hip gave him some small measure of comfort, there were indeed many beings of power, beings of incalculable strength. The contest of arms would be one of education and understanding, a test that indeed begged the question the metallic handed man had asked, "Who would be the first to die?

by **Rize** on Fri May 30, 2008 3:47 pm

He was being watched...

Vega's starlight eyes moved to regard the cloaked figure of the watcher, the strangely blurry creature who seemed intent on studying and seeing everything about him. For a moment his view was interupted by a woman, an event which brought a faint expression of irritance to the sliver's face. It passed quickly enough, however, the Glutton's mercurial temperament giving way to the burgeoning sense of impending entertainment from the sheer gathered might of the arriving warriors.

Too much testosterone in one place generally leads to bad things.

Vega straightened, pushing himself away from the statue he had been leaning against. His smile had returned, brushing away the last of his vague annoyance as he began to move in the watcher's direction. His voice was quiet, yet it took only a slight nudging of his psychokinetic abilities to ensure that his words - those hooked and barbed things that spilled from an acid tongue - reached the cloaked observer.

"Find something to your liking, friend?"

by **ConvolutedMusings** on Fri May 30, 2008 4:10 pm

As he stood against the wall, Saladin sensed the new arrival, and dismissed the figure for now, that signature of energy stored into his mind, to study at a later date. Of course, once the brackets were published, he would be able to know exactly whom to focus on. It was something else that piques his interest now. A distinct hostility.

And, it came as no surprise to realise that the hostility was coming from the arrogant man who had tried to impose upon the rest of the combatants as though he was somehow better than them. Again, a smirk appeared on the face of Saladin as he once again opened his eyes, the azure glow slightly more luminescent that it previously was, a barely noticeable change, but a change nonetheless. He had grasped Saidin, and was about to utilise a skill he rarely used in battle, as it served no real purpose. It would be good, however, to play with this man with.

As the arrogant one made his way towards the hooded figure, the same who had looked directly at Saladin, a figure would suddenly appear. It was the former appearance of Saladin. A man of six foot six inches in height, with hair of black, a golden hilted sword at his hip, and black cape and general attire. Sapphiric eyes made direct contact with the eyes of the showman, just as he spoke.

"Perhaps, friend, it would be more pertinent to leave all hostilities to the battlefield."

The image that had been projected using Saidin was as real as it could be, and Saladin made his voice carry so as to seem it was emitting from the throat of the apparition. This was just one example of the control he had over his body, even his voice was entirely under his direction. As the apparition spoke, Saladin bore his piercingly cold eyes into the face of the nightmarish one, so that, hopefully, he would feel the stare, and know that Saladin was the source of this suddenly appearing fellow.

As to the reaction of the other, Saladin could only speculate. Yet, he was sure he would not like it. Once more, Saladin chuckled under his breath, slightly amused at the events coming to pass.

by **Skallagrim** on Fri May 30, 2008 4:29 pm

Skallagrim had noted the others who had entered, but none seemed to take notice of him as he sat quietly on a bench, the dusky cloak trimmed with the same color as that which coalesced where eyes should be. Quite unsure of the protocol of such a gathering, Skallagrim just watched, simply drifting his gaze from one of the summoned champions to another, noting their builds, their visible weapons, and their distinct patterns that seemed to ooze forth, clearly each and every one of them was deadly and skilled. Each had faced and survived dangers, opponents and situations that would fill eons of slumber to understand.

The unexpected words reached Skallagrim, cocking his head slightly, the swirling lights focused on the being that had spoke to him, slowly the long unused vocal chords warbled, and a horrific croak emerged. Shaking his head, Skallagrim reached out with the Darshan and inflated and filled the instruments that would allow him to speak. The miasmic energies that filled the eye sockets flared and incandesced, radiating brilliantly, as the power he exerted became momentarily visible.

The pattern of power that materializes the image startled Skallagrim a moment as he focused on it; slowly he studied it, and realized it was an aspect of the large man he had made quick eye-contact with earlier. This was indeed a powerful being, the whorls of light flared again, the tendrils wisped up and swirled around his cloaked head, only to dissipate into nothingness, this tall being was someone to be studied for further dreamers.

Attempting to speak again Skallagrim said, “Liking?” For a moment the Xindhi glanced around the room, slowly he raised his hand and sweeping it around said in a low, strained voice, “I am merely observing the fighters. I do not like nor dislike, I merely observe my surroundings.”

Returning the amethyst glow towards the being that had spoke, Skallagrim whispered in the strained voice, “And you warrior, do you find things to your…liking?”

by **Rize** on Fri May 30, 2008 4:48 pm

Vega paused in midstep, slowly lowering his foot to the ground as he peered up into the gaze of this suddenly there man. Anger roiled within, threatening to erupt from the void of the beast's soul, yearning to burst free in a tempest of bood, flame, and death. A deep frown slowly creased his features as the light bled from his eyes, revealing deepest black where once had been naught but light. Yet for the time being it would be held in check, for there were rules here, and at this moment in time the Ravenous felt the need to follow them.

Yet there was something else as well, something odd in this projection. Vega's senses went beyond the merely physical, those five basics given to most every creature. In this case, it was his stolen mental gift that alerted him to the strangeness, to the absence of that which he sought. Or rather, the misplacement of it. Abruptly the frown was gone, replaced by a lightning quick smirk of impetuosity. To that strangely misplaced psyche that was responsible for the projection, Vega sent a short message, a brief brushing of minds to relay his words.

And perhaps friend you would do well to leave your assumptions behind at the door before I tear them out through your gullet.

With that he was past the projection, brushing to its left in a quick few steps that would carry him closer to the cloaked man. The being's obvious discomfort and physical decrepitude amused the sliver somewhat, enough so that the arrogant prick with his illusion were lost in the chaotic jumble of thoughts.

"That I like? Certainly I do! I see blood and death before me, Watcher! I see rivulets of pain and torrents of agony in the near future. And that is to my liking, indeed..."

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