Faas Kulaan's Story

The day had finally come.

As the contestants continued their uneventful or adventurous lives, a single portal appeared before them. Scorching heat, like a furnace, leeched from the swirling orange and black mass. The portal beckoned them like a sinful lover. It was time. it was time for them to venture where no mortal had traversed for eons. It was time for them to compete against their fellow champions of the Universe - for fame, glory, power, and fortune. It was time for blood to spill in the most violent city in Creation.

A dark ruined city, long lost by time and swallowed by the demonic plain, was laid out before them. Sulfuric clouds gripped the city like a dense fog. Fallen angels soared through the half-ruined Gothic spires that burned in eternal inferno. The city was illuminated by the crimson glow of bonfires and hellish energy that resonated from the felbricks that formed the scorched streets.

Numerous creatures of living darkness walked the streets. They looked like jackals, or lions, but stood on their hind legs as would a man. Cloaks of black flames caressed their mangy flesh and hides. Black scalding plate covered them from paw to neck as their "hands" gripped great scimitars, shields, spears, and broadswords. They snarled and growled at the strange beings that intruded their domain.

Other creatures were scattered amongst the jackal beings. Some resembled great vultures and birds of prey, but stood on two muscular taloned legs. Their toned arms doubled as dark feathered wings. Clenched in the beasts’ clawed hands were javelins crafted from a dark metallic material. Several similar weapons rested in a sack on their backside and others wielded bow and quiver. Sickly squawks croaked from their black beaks while glowing red eyes glared at the contestants, unblinking.

Living shadows, born and crafted from suffering, sorrow, hatred, and rage, shifted through the crowd. They simultaneously remained chained to the earth. Long arms, with enormous claws protruding from them, dangled at the sides of their shimmering black bodies. In the distance echoes the screams of a hundred thousand souls writhing in eternal fire.

So was the City of Dis - The City of the Damned.

The demonic entities filed passed the newly arrived contestants, who had materialized on an enormous stone bridge. A bottomless abyss, filled with eternal darkness, lurked beneath the railingless construct. Two glowing red metallic gates laid ahead of them. Wicked barbs and razor sharp spikes protrude outward from the doors. Surrounded by iron walls of stockades, the large structure had the appearance of a massive fortress. The only thing that betrayed this impression was the dense packs of fallen angels, demons, and other creatures that funneled into the building.

"What in the name of Hoarcrux is this nonsense!" Bigsby shouted as he looked upon the denizens of Hell with little to no concern for their being or as to why he was coaxed away from a rather wonderful cup of tea and the company of a rather small Halfling named Jesmer. The elderly wizard with gnarled hands holding onto his staff simply glared at the others present from beneath his magnificently mammoth hat as if they were the reason to blame only to then look up to the orb that he carried just to frown and shake his head.

"Hells Bells I do hate interruptions....very well I suppose that the extraction of our little friend will just have to wait." It was nothing that could not wait a bit longer and now that Bigsby was thinking about it there was a tournament that offered rather uninteresting prizes and a chance to show the world once again what a true wizard could achieve with the right amount of time and study. So with little to do now the wizard simply began to walk forward towards the gates with one hand upon his staff which he used to aid in this short journey and his other simply resting on his spellbook.

"Well what are we waiting on! Lets get this party started. Do you think they have some kind of service before the start of all this as I am rather famished and thirsty." Bigsby began to laugh a bit while thinking about the meal he was going to partake in while with the Halfling. "Also do you think if at all possible there will be a chance to get some reading done? I hear Hell has a rather wicked library set up down here."

This world smelled like his prison. This was not something the Dragon Prince took lightly. A realm of pain, flame, and the vile scents of the damned. He'd left all this, been freed of all this by a descendant of his kind no more than mere weeks ago. However...this was not his prison. He had not returned to the abyssal holding box outside of reality, the accursed Shell Eternal that had held draconic demi-god for eons. No...this was somewhere far more...hospitable...for the Demon of his Kind.

In truth, Faas had no need for the tournament, nor its prizes. However, this would prove to be a quint exercise. With the demonic beings surrounding him pushed aside of course, it was obvious that the others who had been transported here with him were at least beings of sufficient power enough to serve the Prince of Fear admirably. That would be enough. Recruitment, and exercise, to stretch his long neglected body, mind, and malice. A chance to prove to himself that his power had not, and would not, be a relic of the past.

...So many things had happened to his beloved and hated Terra in the ages he had slept. The way of the sword, while still used by many, was all but forgotten, and the art of magic was constantly being pushed aside by 'technology'. People traversed the stars, and beings from the stars warred constantly with each other, his world being caught in the crossfire time and time again. He'd observed it all, through his own eyes, scrying, and through combing at the memories of others who dared to impede his progress. The history of his world had progressed much further than Kulaan could've ever predicted. Still...this place would serve a function...would serve a cause...

Each step Faas Kulaan took towards the gates, his did so in silence...

Out of one of the portals came a gust of air. Rishu stepped out and was faced with what surely must be hell. The place was dark with an eerie fiery glow lava and shadows seemed to envelope the city. He walked out as if the sights did not perturb him. He wanted to win this.

He had been banished from his home he was an exile but this was only the beginning of a new chapter. He didn't care about all of the lesser prizes he wanted to win. He needed that wish, once he got it he would be a force to be reckoned with.

He was the killer of Demons, perhaps even of gods. Ibn had seen and done it all in the immaterium. He could kill a man with a thought. So could his friends.

"Danger Ibn Saud-"

"Shut up." Ibn cut off the floating skull servitor mid-sentence. A swirling orange and black portal appeared in front of the assembled men from Psyker Team Gamma and Special Circumstances. Ibn felt the blast of heat on his face.

"Go right after me," he said to the servitor, and walked right into hell. Ibn's reality slipped away and a new one appeared around him.

"Smells like rotten eggs." He said after taking his first breath of stale air. Ibn pulled down the visor on his Atlas powered armor and locked down the airtight, watertight. The crystal visor quickly adapted to the low light, changing from dark silver to bright orange in a wave of color. "Flush." The Atlas powered armor cycled the atmosphere in Ibn's helmet, getting of the awful sulfur smell. He hoped the clouds would abate during their stay.

"Fuck, you'd think the Lord of Dis could do better." Ibn's armorer agreed. Without a fancy helmet, he resorted to covering his face with the top of his shirt. The rest of Ibn's entourage followed him. A Technocratic Armored Forces Medic accompanied the armorer. Two of the Psyker Team Gamma had come along for moral support. They nearly stood on Ibn's level. A shadowy man from Special Circumstances had tagged along. He didn't talk as much. Finally, the servitor floated behind them, hauling their small train of luggage - armor, arms, equipment, and food.

Ibn and his entourage approached the gates.

[Altitude: 500 Metra]

The Varden are known in many parts of the universe as elite soldiers, peacekeepers of Ayenee and Eden. They are not known for their huge battle fleets or their vast numbers. They are recognized for their skill and the technology they wield, technology that required tens of thousand of years to develop, equipment that resulted from the culmination of five distinct galactic empires, and the archeological relics of civilizations far advanced and long since vanished into the cold dark void. Among their members are those of a smaller and even more elite company of men and women. This company, this group is known as Core Concord, the Varden Core.

Those that train the cadets are known as helldivers. They are so named because the training grounds upon which they shape their students reside within the lower planes of existence. The members of the core train in the most hellish of environments imaginable. Many come close to breaking under such duress, some do, and madness infects their minds. Those that survive are hardened of mind, toughened of body, and reinforced of spirit to a degree un-measurable by the mortal scales of man. Those that live and remain whole are stripped of the blue, gold, and white. Those that live are pinned with the red badge, the badge of Core Concord.

Helldivers do not stroll lightly into the abyss. Helldivers fall and like a helldiver, Aaric fell. He fell as the wretched souls of the damned did but among them he was the only one who was not naked to the inferno and among them he was the only one armed.

[Altitude: 400 Metra] 'Detecting dangerous atmospheric chemicals; phosgene, chlorine, sulfur, methane, coal gas, fluorine, arsine, etc. in hazardous but non-lethal concentrations. Self-contained and adaptive filtration system coming online.', EGO relayed to him. The PDS cleared the contents of his helmet and pumped a mix off cool clean atmospheric gasses across his face.

EGO, Enviromental Guardian Online is symbiotic neuro-muscular bionetic implant. Most Varden had this advanced artificial intelligence hardwired into their heads. Among other things it acted as an assistant and normally kept a user connected to a shared net via broad and cycling out-of-band faster-than-light communications.

[Altitude: 300 Metra] EGO targeted a safe touch down location. Aaric had to tilt forward and guide himself with outstretch hands to get into position. 'Connection to central hub, Inaya lost. Attempting to reconnect.', EGO relayed. Aaric just grumbled. 'Subspace or transplanar relay not found. Connection to central hub, Inaya failed.', EGO finished. 'Search local based on current observed data.', Aaric replied in his head as he continued to fall. 'City of Dis - The City of the Damned. No city plan in local memory. The fortress of the sixth circle of hell and encompassing the sixth through the nine circles of the nine circles of hell. A city of heretics, murderers, suicides, blasphemers...', EGO would have continued but was interrupted by Aaric.

[Altitude: 200 Metra] 'Skip current fact and continue.', he thought simply. 'Quote - We moved toward the city, secure in our holy cause, and beheld such a fortress. And on every hand I saw a great plain of woe and cruel torment. Bitter tombs were scattered with flame made to glow all over, hotter than iron need be for any craft. And such dire laments issued forth as come only from those who are truly wretched, suffering and forever lost! - Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy.', EGO ended her communication. Aaric just chuckled at the quote.

[Altitude: 100 Metra] Aaric would make the bridge just outside the great gates. He had guided himself as he fell through the thick, nearly poisonous air to avoid the pits of molten rock, liquid iron, boiling blood, spikes, pikes, and serrated wire that spread nearly endlessly across the landscape below him. 'Warning! Deploy inertial dampeners. Warning!', EGO and the alarm chirped in his mind as his HUD flashed red. He just tucked his chin, crossed his arms, and brought his legs and feet under his body. The suit he wore was then engulfed in crackling energy. His speed seemed to remain the same and when he hit the ground outside the door it should have surely shattered the bridge but he and the ground upon which he landed were no worse for the impact.

He stood from a crouch and tilted his head to his left and then right, identifying some who were not native to this place. Behind the visor plate of the PDS, Aegis VP102 his identity was hidden. It was his assumption that not all of the combatants had arrived and that those that had already made their presence known would be made to wait for a few stranglers.

metra - approximately one meter, 9 metra = 10 meters.

Striding through the portal with his typical swagger, Zachariah Grimm flipped tossed a single use cell off the bridge just to watch it sink out of sight. Shrugging, he ignored his fellow contestants for a time, studying the surroundings with a smirk. Eyeballing the locals, he waggled his fingers, then turned a single particular digit up, laughing. The man himself seemed out of place, compared to his fellows. Standing over six feet, his powerful build was clearly bared by his lack of shirt, save for a layer of chain mesh over his stomach. Heavy gauntlets covered his forearms, more of the mesh continuing to mid biceps on either arm. Simple, billowed leggings covered his legs, leading to sandals on his feet.

He looked no more than a martial artist, save the odd features of his face. His one visible eye was inverted in color, the schlera black while the pupil was white. His other eye could not be discerned, hidden behind an eyepatch. Yet from him radiated an unsettling presence, a feel of primal fear. After several minutes, he finally regarded the rest of the contestants, and despite whether they stood taller or smaller than himself, he gave the impression he was looking down on them.

Zach muttered. "What a rag-tag bunch." Shaking his head, he glanced around once again. "Wonder if they're planning on letting us fight here. If so, this place is so gonna get trashed."

Arrogant as ever, the man simply crossed his arms, waiting impatiently.

There was initially a festering, swirling mass of multicolored energies. These energies swirled menacingly in the hellish skies, before they dropped a swirling vortex of energy and fire on the ground directly in the center of the group. There was a clap of thunder and a shock-wave emanating out in all directions.

There was a brief silence, a disgusting, hulking mass standing there in silence. This beast could be described as man and machine, flesh and organs crudely riveted and welded to metal and cybernetic plates.

On the creature's right shoulder, was a large magnetic acceleration cannon, a railgun hard-wired directly into the creature's powered armor and body. Resting on the creature's left shoulder was a slender, attractive woman in a rather revealing outfit. The only startling difference was half of her face seemed to be comprised of cybernetics and machinery, and her eyes were a shimmering blood red.

With a delicate jump, she landed on the ground and brought her gaze up to the other contestants.

As she landed, she took sight of her surroundings, as text scrolled across her field of vision. "Dis, City of the damned, home once more." She said, extending her hand, and forming an inky black crystal from nothing.

She smiled, and brought her gaze directly on Zach. "Then shall the maidens rejoice at the dance." She said, before she stepped forward, the disgusting mass of flesh and machine taking a step forward as well.

"You will all soon be mine, the wages of defeat is assimilation... resistance is futile."

The elderly wizard turned around to look at all that arrived thus far. It was apparent though at first that the competition was going to be, in the words of a stranger, a rather royal pain in the ass. From what Bigsby could tell thus far that due to a physical confrontation with this lot there would be several occasions that the wizard would be punched and eviscerated all in due time and it would also be safe to assume from the constructs that might as well been Warforged psion sorcerers for all he knew.

'What a rather lovely bunch." Bigsby murmured only to then glance up at the orb that sat atop of his staff and shook his head in disagreement for a second. "And what if I do decimate the playing field?!?! Most of these poor sods are going to want my head!!"

The elderly wizard seemed rather strange as he was yelling in tongues at his staff he carried only to then turn to the rest of the group for a second allowing his crystal blue orbs for eyes scan over the entire group as if inspecting them like a piece of meat. It was possible that Bigsby had just simply lost it over the years but something else drove the wizard and this tournament would either provide the catalyst he had been seeking or the journey he had been longing for ages ago.

Zanthas stepped along the bridge, paying no mind to where he was or what was around him, he never had before. His thoughts were filled of that girl, of the way her hands had wrapped around him, of how she had felt. He snapped his eyes open to see the other contestants around him, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered, not so long as he could finally close his eyes. He wouldn't be going quietly though, he would beat him senseless if he did that.

"Children and infants with no reason to exist, why are you here? Why do you push yourselves into this pointlessness? Just calm yourselves, and die." His eyes filled with an emptiness that showed fullness beyond the understanding of demons, angels, or even gods. Whatever this man, this thing was, it wasn't supposed to be here, and it's presence meant that nothing would go as it should.

He didn't bother with the group, only set onward towards the gates and the arena, the sooner blood could be spilt, the better it would be.

A figure cloaked in strange, alien, black robes emerged from one of the portals. His face was concealed in complete darkness by a gray hood. Metallic plates cascaded down his torso and ended at his pelvis. He gripped a long staff that resonated with unnatural energy with a gloved hand. His stride was soundless as he ventured across the bridge. The figure's intelligent gaze observed the other contestants intently as he approached the Colosseum. Those that attempted to catch the figure in their gaze would find their eyes strangely diverted from his form, as if their minds saw something that their eyes did not.

Gal'mok Fireblade narrowed his gaze on each of the contestants that had arrived. First was the eccentric wizard. The warlock could sense a great amount of power flowing from the man. His mind was a labyrinth of ages. He would make interesting competition. There were several more contestants, all equally fascinating to the alien warlock. Most were at a disadvantage, however.

This was his territory.

The Naacani were an ancient race. Eons ago they had formed a great empire that expanded across a thousand galaxies. Then, like all civilizations, it crumbled against the erosion of time. Now, what remnants remained were wandering nomads among the stars. They had mastered the secrets of the universe - had broken the walls between the physical and astral planes. Some had chosen to master the simple arcane, others the elements. Gal'mok, however, fell deep into demonic sorcery. He knew the mind and soul like a textbook, and could name and mind almost any demon in the Pit.

He was Gal'mok Fireblade - The Hellfire Saint.

A swirling mass of shadow materialized beneath the arch of the massive iron gates. The figure was clad in a tattered cloak blacker than the darkest night. His face was shrouded in the same darkness by a black hood, revealing only two ghostly gray eyes that observed the contestants.

The figure strode towards the group of contestants. A dark aura of cosmic power and divine authority surrounded the man. As he approached them, the dense crowd of demons and the damned parted with a wide birth. Imps and fallen angels alike bowed their heads and diverted their gaze in both fear and reverence to the figure.

"Welcome, brave champions!" he exclaimed as he threw his arms into the air. His voice was smooth and invoking, like spiced honey. There was an air of authority around him - a charisma and confidence. "Welcome, brave champions of Creation! Welcome, Berthas Hoarercrux of the White Tower, Faas Kulaan - Lord of Unnamed Dragons, Rishu the Exile, Captain Saudaken, Aaric Arlan the Warden, Zachariah the Dragon, Aiyanna, Zanthas - that which should not be, and last but not least - Gal'mok Fireblade, the Hellfire Saint! Welcome! Welcome, one and all!"

"I am Baelin Alshadow," he continued, "Prophet of the Lord of Dis. I am His servant, His herald, and your guide in this glorious city! Welcome to the Hellfire Colosseum. If you will come with me, we can sign you in and assign you a room."

"That which should not be.... Thats familiar." Zanthas muttered aloud, but otherwise he followed Baelin soundlessly. He paid no heed to those around him, they were unimportant. They were nothing, and nothingness was not worth his attention, not like she had been.

It was not as if Bigsby did not notice the newcomer before the arrival of the Baelin Alshadow, a supposed prophet, but it was the fact that the crystal blue orbs that replaced the ancient wizard's eyes long ago. Gal'mok Fireblade was well known in many tales that spoke of dastardly deeds and nefarious summonings but then again all stories provided some kind of embellishment here and there. It was when the prophet began to speak that Bigsby simply moved his attention elsewhere for a split second as his eyes seemed to rest upon the orb that sat atop his staff.

"No, you bumbling idiot, have you not the common sense as to sit still and keep that flaming maw of yours silent?!" Bigsby seemed rather irate at this point as he lowered his staff a bit only to take hold of the orb and held it low to his stomach as he looked down at the thing. "Yes I know he said my name but that does not mean......" Bigsby found a lack of words as the orb began to shimmer a bit in response as if interrupting the old man before he could even find the words to defend himself. "You have not the slightest clue as to the events of what will come. I will have you know I..." Again the orb began to shimmer in response cutting off the wizard who now appeared more confused than angry.

It was when Baelin offered to show the group the way to get signed in and a place to stay that the blue crystal orbs that Bigsby used for eyes seemed to examine the supposed "Prophet of Dis," as if inspecting him like a piece of meat. "Now that sounds accommodating. Will there be time for a cup of tea, or brandy, depending on the tastes of these fine ladies and gentlemen...oh and construct." We mustn't forget about the monstrosity who had carried Aiyanna-A to the scene.

Rishu listened with a stone face, he took the information in though he listened and knew the basic tongue it took time for him to process what was said and then come up with a response. "A room yes that would be nice. When do I fight though?" He asked with a look of fire in his eyes. He was yearning for combat, and he wasn't sure he could take this standing around and waiting bit for too much longer.

He looked over the contestants briefly, though he was confident that he would fare well against most of the contestants some of them he knew were beyond his powers. It would take all of his cunning and ingenuity along with drive to win this competition. He wasn't about to die and that was what he knew would push him past his physical limits.

Aaric had no reason to interact with the others, Baelin Alshadow included. He need not give any other information about his capabilities and most if not all the question he had would be asked by the other combatants. He only needed to wait and his questions would be answered.

[Connected] 'Connection to central hub, Inaya re-established. APD has entered local area.', EGO relayed. An APD or all purpose drone measures about one meter in diameter. An APDs main function is to act as a camera drone but they also had a myriad of other uses which included acting as a subspace or transplanar relay for the Varden's communication network, relying on broad and cycling out-of-band faster-than-light transmissions.

The APD came with speed down from a height similar to that which Aaric had fallen from and hovered at his left side, at his shoulder. The drone turned slowly, taking in the images of each and everyone of the other combatants and then back to Aaric as if it were awaiting his orders. He did not issue an order and simply waited, following the group to their destination when they did move from the gates.

The cloaked figure, Baelin Alshadow, led the contestants through the gates and into the entry hall. It was a large antechamber adorned with ebony banners depicting an open bone-white hand. A crimson inverted runic triangle was etched across the palm, red as blood. Several gargoyles, with their stone maws snarling, stood guard at the two opposing doors at the sides of the room. At the contestants' left was a sign labeled "CONTESTANT DORMS", and at their right was an archway designating the Dining Hall.

"Welcome to the Entry Hall." Baelin said as he turned to face the contestants. "If you would please, sign in at the desks behind me so we can take a roll call. After which you will be given a room key. Feel free to get settled in before reporting to the dining hall. There will be food, drink, and entertainment provided for your leisure."

Gal'mok glanced about the room, taking in the sights. Many of the creatures he saw here seemed new - foreign - to him. They were similar, yet alien, to the Cursed Realm. The warlock approached one of the counters where he was greeted by an imp with quill in hand. After a brief exchange of bureaucratic jargon, the sorcerer was presented with a small amulet that resonated with a strange energy.

The warlock placed the object in a pouch and walked towards the dormitory.

By the Nine Hells and the Enigma of Zalather herself this group was a bit much for the elderly wizard to handle. Every single contestant who seemed to speak so far was either far to into themselves or were in hopes searching for death in hopes that their time would be put to an end. The master wizard was about to say something to that Zanthas fellow but it would have to wait as the entry hall fell into sight. Baelin Alshadow had no idea what would be running through the wizards mind as the elderly man peered out from beneath the shadows of his massive wizards hat at everything that was present and then back at the contestants.

Without any hesitation Bigsby moved over to one of the imps who were taking names at the registration area only to raise a quizzical eyebrow at the thing when he looked at him awaiting for a name to sign. "Hand me that list you blasted infernal rat!" Bigsby shouted as he took the sheet from the poor imp and looked it over for a second before producing a pair of strange crystal glasses from his sleeve so that he may inspect the paper more closely in hopes of finding some binding spells or curses, after all it was Hell and the wizard was not just going to sign his name freely here. Removing the glasses and with a slight flick of the wrist they would vanish from sight and from his robe he would produce a rather eccentric looking pen just to jot down his signature and get his goods for doing so.

"I expect many things Alshadow, some of which I doubt even I will get to see, but the one thing I do hope for is that there will be fine drink in these halls while I wait to test my newest spells." With that said Bigsby nodded to the other contestants and made for his own room just to deign if it needed any changes before he would feel the least bit comfortable here.

Zanthas simple approched the counter and signed his name. It mattered not if there were binding spells upon the parchment or pen, his nature prevented things like that from even including him among their works.
For a signature, because he knew his name would not write upon the paper, he simply bit a finger off and gave it to the imp, as though the digit was little more than a hindrince. "There, that is as good a signature as will come of me." He said, taking the amulet and proceeding to the dorms forth with.

Warden Aaric had remained with the group, near the back. The drone that accompanied him drifted soundlessly through the air at his side. When it came his turn he reviewed the names signed before him and signed his own given name. He returned the sheet and received his key, the amulet and left to venture to his own room without a single word, the drone close behind him.

Ibn and his entourage walked through the Hellfire Gates. In a hustle Ibn signed his name on the rooster, which looked like looping squiggles, and took his own amulet. The group quickly retired to their rooms to unpack and discuss the competition.

Striding to the counter with a swagger, Zacariah looked at the imp with disdain, flashing a fanged grin at the little creature. Taking the piece of parchment, he lay his forefinger on the surface. A strange blurring, and then acrid smoke as what seemed to be a talon etched his name with what appeared to be acid. The markings were clear enough, if not uniform in color.

Let there be bindings and the like all there were, the man didn't care. Allies he had aplenty, and hell was no stranger of his. For a moment, the thought of seeing Leviathan brought a cruel smirk to his face.

Flicking the parchment back at the imp, he collected an amulet and key, heading to his own room. As he walked, Zach stretched his fingers through the air, breathing deeply the potent energies pervading the air. Useable, if noxious. Damned powerful too, but then unlike those I dominated, I don't give a damn for subtly.

Aiyanna definitely threw a wrench in the works, but then the plan had included flexibility. Shaking his head, the man ran through various lists Jegun had thrown at him, wondering thoughtfully. The laws of Hell were mutuable, just like those on the surface. It just took thought, cunning, and willingness to be a bold bastard to twist them to one's favor.

A short time later, he entered his room for a brief moment before heading to the dining hall.

Rishu walked up to the counter gazing at the other contestants as he did so. He filled out the papers silently before he was handed they key and amulet. After reading the parchment a final time he handed the paper back to the imp. With everything in hand he walked down the hall to his dorm in silence stopping at his door and opening it swiftly.

You only need to win through round five... after that all bets are off.He thought in his native tongue. He didn't care about the other prizes not at the moment he had his eye set on that wish and maybe a hell fire weapon at best. He placed his bag of gear down on the bed and changed from his regular clothes into a more formal armored attire. Then he exited his dorm and made his way to the dining hall.

Walking into the hall was amazing to say the least.
but It was all lost on Leer. for he had seen so much more beauty and destroyed it by his own hand . why else would he be here?

He looked around as he approached the counter, to sign in his name. He saw the other Fighters briefely, and there power was immense. He had no doubts about him losing, but all he had to do was get the prize of round three, and he could right all the wrongs he made.

as he wrote his name down he noted the Succubi behind the counter, and was panged by a sudden sadness.
He shook it off, He didn't need any more guilt then he had, and if he won..well. sadness wouldn't have been needed.

after he finished signing in, he went to go find the dorm room assigned to him, briefly changing his clothing into something less of his shorts and tee shirt. into the cermonial robes donned on him when he promoted to high mage..
and the sadness was back..but this one he shook it off agian.
he pulled looked at the mirror necklace he wore, and smiled.

and with that he made his way to the dining hall, as he saw the others do.

Faas cared little what the other thought of him, however, he was studying each and everyone of the others with an intense, burning curiosity. Each one could have easily earned the title of Lieutenant in his army of ages past, though that wasn't saying much. There were a few who had especially caught his eye, such as the warlock, and wizard with the extremely large hat, and even more extremely flammable facial hair...

Yes...This would prove worth while after all...

He would sign his name, the Dragon Prince of the Damned, before strolling past the rest of the competition. He cared not for the promised food, however, it would at least pose a chance for social interaction...

A shadowy portal appeared as a tall figure walked out, "Hey sorry I am late, books and all." Zekil remarked a small smile on his face, as usual he seemed carefree...odd for a demon, but then again he was an odd demon. His wings flapped behind him as the portal shut, "Also had a wee bit of trouble finding the right realm...but I am sure you don't wanna hear the borrowing details. Suffice to say I am here now and am ready." Zekil remarked with a light chuckle as he walked forward, his slightly curled boots softly tapping on the ground, getting to the registration desk as he signed his name on the list, well the name he goes by now. "Anyway is there food here?" he asked no one in particular.