Flags and streamers crisscrossed over Horsa’s city rooves dyeing the glimmering rays of the day star as it illuminated the clamorous civilians below. The city was filled with a ubiquitous cheer, paint drawn across the face of children and adults alike. The skin and smiles of humans from all over Trammel mingled and danced and played down the streets and around the parks.

Outside of Horsa, a tent town of caravans and foreigners rapidly grew; with the tourists came odd goods and new trades. Further out through Aegis, the farms remained silent, crops untouched, and animals untended. It was a day of absence, there would be no work done for everyone stopped to see: The Tournament.

Picayune kept his head low, eyes averted from the kaleidoscopic vibrance of the festivities while he internally mulled over his runes for the umpteenth time. He anxiously toyed with the Tournament invitation in his pocket; it had become his new nervous tick.

His gaze was pulled away from the ground as two hands were placed on his cheeks and guiding his head up to see Belabor’s questioning face. “Did you hear anything I even said?” His grim expression and empty eyes were enough of an answer for her. She put on a stern face and scolded her melancholic boyfriend “Picay, you need to relax a little! If you do nothing but work nonstop, you’re going to burn out, and I can guarantee you that that’ll help nobody. Well, nobody except for maybe the Vampire who you’re fighting against, but I don’t think that’s our goal now is it?”

Picayune tried to avert his eyes but Belabor kept her hands firmly against his cheeks locking him in position. Eventually he relented against her glare and gave in. “…No, it’s not.” Belabor immediately switched back to that beautiful grand smile of hers and Picayune could already feel his spirits lifting. She eagerly locked one of her arms against his and with nearly a skip began guiding him deeper into the open street festival. “Great! Because I found this really neat looking restaurant the other day and I was hoping we could stop by for dinner.”

Picayune pulled back against her guidance shaking his head. “We can’t. Sorry I forgot to mention but Director Dionysus invited all the Tournament contestants for a dinner today.”

Belabor put on a puzzled expression. “I didn’t think you’d want to go to that. It seemed like all you ever want to do now days is stay holed up away from all the other contestants for as long as possible.”

Picayune released a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t avoiding anyone. I was just making preparations for my fight. But I should at least see everyone ahead of time once, so I know who or what I’m dealing with… and this dinner is sort of mandatory.”

Belabor’s hummed in understanding finding the truth hidden between her boyfriend’s words. Regardless of her foiling plans, Belabor swiftly returned to her usual jovialness. “Well that’s great! I was really looking forward to getting a chance to meet Poetaster.”

Picayune grimaced. “Um, actually this dinner is only for the contestants.”

Belabor put on a faux pout but it was obvious that she wasn’t actually bothered. If anything, she was happy that Picayune was finally leaving his room without her having to drag him out. “Alright, but after you win your fight you’ll have to treat me to dinner at that restaurant I wanted to show you.”

“Don’t jinx my chances!... And why should I be the one doing the treating if it’s my celebration?”

“Because you’re a gentleman.” She teased back. Picayune could not help but falter against her warm smile.

After that Picayune managed to relax if only slightly and the two enjoyed as much of the celebrations as they could before they had to go their separate ways leading Picayune back to the arena of Dionysus. Having been his home for the past couple of weeks he managed to navigate through its labyrinthian halls quite easily finally ending before the doors to the dining room. He could hear the muffled cheers and voices from the other side even through the doors’ thick wooden frames. Picayune choked back his fears and pulled the doors open.

The dining hall was much more intimate than one would expect from such a grand structure. It was a small room with a tight round table that could only just about fit the nine chairs present comfortably. Picayune looked over at the odd ensemble of characters and also noticed that there were only two empty chairs left. He comforted himself with the knowledge that at least he wasn’t the latest person to arrive, though his comfort immediately vanished when he realized that the other empty chair meant that the last contestant had finally arrived.

The other seven chairs were occupied however. Seated closest to the entrance a strange seven eyed fox creature obediently sat on its haunches silently chewing on a thick pile of bones that rested on its plate. The creature’s ludicrously long tail coiled around and under its own chair trying but mostly failing to keep out of the way of the passing servant’s lane behind it. Next to the Animal sat the Game, a short but fit man who was locked in conversation with his other seating partner: the host of the dinner, Dionysus himself. From toe to shoulder Dionysus was a normal if not thick and pudgy man. Not so normal about the man was the empty gap above his shoulders where one would usually have a neck. His head seemed to float above detached from his body. The head itself was by no means normal either, it contained no eyes, nose, ears, nor hair and instead sported many different mouths all around its spherical shape. Dionysus was using one of his mouths to play word games with the Game while using another to drink some wine from a bejeweled goblet and yet another to eat his meal.

On the other side of Dionysus, the chair had been pulled away from the table so that it faced out a nearby window. On the chair, Palmer the Topiary sat basking in the light of the day star. The Topiary was a strange man, he was very quiet and always carried with him a large basket of strange fruits. Even now, he kept the basket at his side, one hand protectively resting over it.

Next over at the table was the Vampire, the mokoi that Picayune would have to defeat in the Tournament to come. That creature truly terrified Picayune, he was incredibly tall and just barely human looking enough to wring that uncanny revulsion in his brain. Worst still was that the Vampire exuded confidence from every pore of his body; whenever in company he acted like it was simply fact that he was the most dangerous person present, and Picayune had a very awful feeling that he was probably right. The only thing stopping Picayune from running away and everyone else trying to kill the Vampire was the assurance that with Dionysus’s presence, no harm would come to any of the contestants: and not even a mokoi such as the Vampire would have the foolishness to go against the laws of the Tournament.

Picayune couldn’t even understand why the Vampire was at this dinner, he didn’t even have a meal in front of him! The Vampire noticed Picayune’s gaze, his nose scrunching bitterly as he stuck his tongue out in disgust. Picayune quickly moved on looking at the last two people.

Liederkranz the Band and Poetaster the Flare were both sitting next to each other, as they always did, exploding into fits of giggles. Picayune could not understand those two. They were enemies! They were meant to fight against each other in the very first round of the Tournament, yet they had somehow become fast friends before even arriving in the city.

Currently, Liederkranz was recounting the time that she had challenged Doyen the Hero and Jocund the Bulwark to a drinking competition. She recounted her story without any pride or hubris which just reminded Picayune of the caliber of opponent he was dealing with now. “Doyen? Nooo. He wasn’t even able to last a full three mugs. The guys a total lightweight! Jocund, now he was a real challenge, and I tell you when he finally passed out leaving me the only one left everyone was floored… some literally because of the alcohol. I can tell you though, captain Rem was not impressed with me that night.”

Poetaster guffawed dramatically. “You outdrank Jocund!? How much can you hold girl?”

A wry smile grew across Liederkranz’s face. “More than you.”

The Game quickly whipped his head away from his conversation with Dionysus to interject giddily on Liederkranz “Do you want to make a bet?”

While all this was going on Picayune found his seat in between Poetaster and the final empty chair. Poetaster gave him a perfunctory greeting but otherwise returned to what they were doing beforehand. He felt out of place in this room of legends and twiddled with his thumbs unsure how to join in on the conversation, or if he was even supposed to. Thankfully, he didn’t have to count ceiling tiles for too long before a servant came with his meal. Picayune looked down to his plate to see a meticulously crafted beef stroganoff; he didn’t know how the Tournament corporation knew what his favorite meal was, but there it was.

Picayune was looking forward to hiding his insecurities to the back of his mind and simply enjoy his mouth-watering meal when he heard the creak of a door echo from behind him and suddenly, all the conversations in the room went silent as they stared at the entrance behind him. Picayune turned to see the last contestant of the arena.

In the doorway’s entrance stood a slender figure hidden behind a large dark burgundy frock coat closed with seven blue marble buttons in the shape of eyes. The seated contestants couldn’t restrain the shivers from coursing down their spines at the sight of the grotesque eyes. Atop the figure’s head was a thick woolen tuque whose tie straps were tightly knotted around their chin forcing the hat as closed as it would possibly allow. Under their coat were thick black pants further hidden under tall knee-high leather boots. The contestant wore a large purple scarf that wrapped around their neck multiple times. And finally, their face was hidden under a white porcelain mask, a red x crossing its mouth.

The Vampire wrinkled his nose in confusion while Poetaster broke the silence being the ever perfect diplomat. “You must be the Curio, it is wonderful to mee-“

Poetaster was then interrupted by the Vampire’s sudden exclamation. “I recognize zat zmell! Arete iz zat you?”

Arete clenched her gloved hand and spoke through gritted teeth. “It is queen Arete now.”

Everyone was shocked silent, except for the Vampire of course that simply burst into laughter. “Ah how zey grow zo fazt. I vemember vhen you ztill teethed off ze teat of a young Allons-y. She told me zat you had a voracious appetite as a babe.”

Palmer stood from his chair; his hand clasped around his empty purple sheathe growling back “Queen?” Everyone except for the Vampire tensed, readying for a potential fight.

The expressionless porcelain face of queen Arete turned to face Palmer. “Stand down human, perhaps the khan would have blindly attacked, but I am not he. The mokoi are not interested in instigating another war at this time. I am here for the Tournament, and the Tournament alone.”

Palmer wasn’t convinced, nor most of the people present who chose to all hold onto a tense silence, each of their hands hovering near to a weapon. Finally, Dionysus cut the tension with a clasp of his hands. “Well I am always happy to hear of the rising success of one of my contestants! Come have a seat, drink, relax!” Arete didn’t respond until the Game gave her a warm smile and started pouring her a glass. Arete cautiously moved towards the last empty chair next to Picayune holding a calculating eye to her potential enemies. Liederkranz and Poetaster slowly returned to their conversation keeping faith in Dionysus’s silent promise of peace. Picayune totally froze, worried that any sudden movement would enrage the mokoi adjacent and sending her into a murderous rampage. Arete’s other elbow partner was much friendlier, letting out a gleeful yip and licking the side of her mask. The licking was less than appreciated by Arete but did wonders for alleviating the room’s anxiety.

It didn’t take long after her seating for a servant to arrive with her meal, presenting her with what Picayune saw as a surprisingly palatable salad. Without comment, Arete removed her mask gently placing it between her and the Animal before grabbing a fork and eating her salad. There was a lull in Liederkranz’s and Poetaster’s conversation as they warily eyed the queen’s actions. Picayune was taken aback to see that behind that mask was not the grotesque malformation of a typical mokoi, but instead was the young face of a woman of captivating beauty unblemished by marks of any kind. A few strands of her long blond hair managed to loop out and back in from the seams of her tightly bound tuque. As she continued to eat her salad, Picayune caught himself staring but struggled to pull his eyes from her allure.

The room had almost managed to return to its familiar emotional calm much to everyone’s delight. Everyone except for the Vampire of course, who in complete disregard for the wants of the others around him could not contain his own curiosity. “So, did Ardor appoint you as heir, or vas it more of a virst tyrant to zteal the throne type thing?”

Picayune choked on his beef stroganoff in surprise and Liederkranz dropped her fork in shock letting it clatter noisily against her plate. Arete returned a disdainful glare towards the Vampire. “I deserve that throne just as much as the Khan did!” She clenched tightly to her fork and Palmer kept his hand by his purple sheathe just in case.

The Vampire’s smile only grew wider with the room’s increased discomfort. “I’m zure you do. Zay, you didn’t happen to keep zome of Ardor’s blood for me did you? It vould be zuch a mizzed opportunity to let zuch an interesting specimen go untazted.” The Vampire leaned forward chin planted on his hands eager for Arete’s response.

Arete’s face attempted and failed to hold back her abhorring rage and Picayune felt as if he could see the steam bellow from her ears. She slammed her hand onto the table making both Palmer and Liederkranz jump at the ready. She looked about to scream at the top of her lungs, but instead spoke with a calmness Picayune found much more intimidating. “And why would I ever want to save anything for you?”

The Vampire’s lips dropped to a frown a little hurt and also puzzled by the girl’s hate. “A gift for an old friend?”

Picayune could hear the grinding of teeth as Arete spat towards the Vampire, “You are not a friend, you’re not even an acquaintance! You’re a dirty disgusting traitor, as far as I’m concerned, I have more bad blood with you than I do with any of these filthy humans!”

The Game managed a meek disapproval “Filthy?” But the Vampire quirked his head genuinely confused by Arete’s statement morphing his expression into puzzlement.

“But vhy?”

Arete’s face flushed to a tomato red, her quivering fists turning her knuckles white, she gave a glance to the discerning Dionysus and decided rather than attack to merely gnash out through gritted teeth. “We needed you. The mokoi needed you. We could have won the war if only you had joined us on the rain theatre. But no!” She burst out a shout quickly standing and rattling her plate; but a glare from Dionysus brought her voice back to that boiling calm and she sat back down. “You already had what you wanted so you turned your back to your people. So many mokoi died for nothing and the war ended up a waste!”

The Vampire was still confused not understanding what she was referring too. “Vhat do you mean? Ve did vin the var. I captured a whole two new islandz for my Pleurothallidinae.”

Arete’s pink scaled tail shot out from under her coat holding a long red whip with a broken blade wrapped around its tip. Before Arete could strike the Vampire, Dionysus rose from his seat. “Now this is supposed to be a pleasant dinner.” He spoke calmly hardly raising his voice above his norm, but under that disarming veneer was the curdling warning of a director: of a god. “I will not tolerate any violence or combat outside of your allotted matches. If you want to fight each other then win your bouts until you can face each other officially within the confines of the arena.”

A tense emptiness pervaded the room as Arete decided whether it was worth attacking or not. Finally, she let out an unsatisfied huff and tucked her tail back under her clothes; seeing the mokoi queen stand down let Picayune’s wavering heart begin to beat again. He was sat right next to the mokoi queen, and he could practically feel the destructiveness that radiated from that whip, there was a palpable threat of the nothingness that ran Picayune’s blood cold. He had never been so terrified in his entire life. For the first time ever, he was thankful that he was fighting against the Vampire, because that at least meant he wouldn’t have to face her.

Arete sat back down and returned to eating her salad without another word, everyone watched for a bit but once the Animal returned to its meal, so did everyone else relax once more.

For a brief while only the clanking of cutlery against plates illuminated the room’s soundscape, no one daring to try speaking through the unease. Once again, an unease that existed for all but one. The Vampire leaned forward opening his mouth to speak once more when Dionysus quickly spoke up saving from another incident. “Now that everyone is here, and we’ve all had time to enjoy our meals.”

The Vampire interrupted, “I haven’t”

“We apologize Vampire, but we cannot meet your nutritional demands.”

“You have two armz.”

Dionysus simply ignored that comment and moved on making the Vampire childishly pout. “Now that everyone is here, I can commence with the itinerary of the month. Things are going to be a little different this century. I understand that for most of you that means nothing as you’ve only known one century, and for that I give you my condolences.” The Game grimaced with befuddlement, first he was called filthy and now his lifespan was being slighted. This was why the Game was never fond of non-humans, always so rude.

Dionysus continued on unconcerned of his insult to the Game, “This time for the first time, the Tournament will be filmed using the brand-new incalescent technology from the TOIL initiative. This means that everyone from across the continent will be able to watch your fights. This is a truly amazing time we live in. That being said, the Tournament Corporation does not want to be suddenly responsible for a drought because the world neglected its work for a year. Fear not! For the Tournament Corporation has come with a solution. We have worked together with nobles from all across Trammel and have come up with a miraculous invention to solve this problem.” Dionysus paused to let the anticipation build but most of the contestants were just bored waiting to see how any of this involved them.

“Were calling this invention: the holiday! Once a week, people will be relieved from their duties to spend as they wish. It is on these days that we will have our matches. That way everyone will be able to watch your amazing fights and the supply chain can continue to move on. Isn’t that amazing!”

The group of nobles, leaders, and legends all glanced around at each other a little confused. The Vampire was the first to speak and this time in tune with the others’ thoughts rather than against. “People vork?”

Dionysus slouched in exasperation, “…I see I have tuned myself to the wrong audience. Regardless, my point is that each of your battles will be separated by a week, after which another week will pass, and the next arena will start. So on and so on until all arenas are complete, a month will pass, the Tournament matchups will be reshuffled, and we’ll start anew. Rinse, repeat, winner, hooray!”

“And…” Dionysus made sure to give a firm glare to the Vampire, “Given the Tournament’s broader reach this century, the Tournament corporation would like me to emphasize the fact that the Tournament is not a battle to the death and never has been.” Dionysus continued in a mumble, “Something all too many of you tend to forget.” Returning to his more spokesmen like volume Dionysus resumed. “So I would like to let everyone here know that you do have the option to yield with the only consequence being eternal shame.” Picayune stiffened at that last comment.

“But you all don’t need to dwell on those sorts of things now. Rest, eat some more, and enjoy each other’s company!” With that Dionysus finally sat back down quenching one of his tired mouths with some wine.

Poetaster turned to Liederkranz eager to resume their previous conversation, “You know Liederkranz, I was thinking that perhaps before the Tournament starts, we could do some sort of performance in celebration of such a great event. You could play a song and I can develop a dance for it.”

Liederkranz’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Really!? It would be an honor to play on the same stage as you Poetaster. How about we do it right before our match!?”

“That’s a great idea!” Poetaster started running through the planning in its head quickly calculating the required preparations. “I’ll need to find a wizard in the city somewhere to prepare the necessary rune work if we want to do this right.”

Picayune thought back to Belabor and how she told him that stressing would only hinder him by this point. He needed to relax, work on a short simple project with far lower stakes. Picayune tapped Poetaster’s shoulder before speaking. “I could probably set up anything you need pretty easily. From your play last month, the spell work didn’t look too complicated. If you want I could even spice things up a little for you.”

Poetaster let out an entertained chuckle at Picayune’s accidental insult. “Oh? My teams spell designs were just simple?”

Picayune reddened realizing his blunder “That’s not what I meant. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

Poetaster placed its hand placatingly over Picayune’s shoulder. “It is fine Picayune, I would love to upgrade my staff to have the spell work of a Tournament contestant” Picayune preened at the fact that the great Poetaster had actually known his name.

Dionysus made sure to add in caution “You can draw whatever spell work you want Picayune, but you must accept that I have my own staff look over your runes to ensure there is nothing which could affect the match itself.”

Picayune nodded his head respectfully. “Yes of course Mr. Dionysus sir.”

Unable to wait any longer on their preparations Poetaster spoke “Quick! Let us move to my chambers where we can brainstorm the specifics of our show.”

Picayune had barely touched his stroganoff at this point, he scanned across the room to see the Vampire happily smiling at him and Arete angrily stabbing her salad and suddenly the idea of leaving this room as soon as possible sounded absolutely wonderful.

As Picayune and the group left, the Vampire’s smile broadened, and he spoke out absently. “Vhat a sweet boy.”

The bell chimed at the store entrance signifying that a potential customer had arrived. Unfortunately for the Game, the store clerk was nowhere to be seen. He chose to simply browse around for a bit while waiting to be attended to.

It was a small store, homely wooden paneling made up the single room store front, there was a door behind a counter at the back of the room, presumably for staff and storage, but the door was currently closed making it impossible to truly tell. The wood paneling helped slightly to soak the cacophonous sound of the room.

Each second a chorus of clicks and knocks and ticks and tocks and thuds and thumps sonically lit the room to life as the hundreds upon hundreds of clocks adorning the walls and shelves of the place announced their presence.

The Game made his way over to a small shelf in the corner of the room where a certain small clock caught his eye. It was a tiny fist sized grandfather clock whose dense brass pendulum swung left forty degrees before disappearing and reappearing as multiple pendulums on top of the clock in a circle, forming a sort of crown that grew until reaching its apogee. The crowning pendulum would then swing back inwards reappearing within the clock and swinging to the right, disappearing at forty degrees and forming another crown repeating the process endlessly.

Right next to the tiny royal grandfather was another octahedral clock who’s one-dimensional clockface stretched and squashed with the passing seconds. The Game found his eyes lost scanning over the otherworldly machinations around him until every clock struck to the hour. The crowded room ruptured into a blinding mess of conflicting notes all bellowing to their own tune counting the number of hours until finally every clock synchronously hit their final bell blasting out a climactic final tone each layering upon one another to form an illusory bassy lower tone emanating from a nonexistent clock at the center of the room. The divine gong rumbled across the room for a full minute as all of the clocks returned to their usual ticking. Once the reverberations of the non-existent clock finally came to a rest, the back-room door swung ajar. Walking through the doorway was a lithe woman with a warm beaming smile and the Game thought he could see behind her a short child made of brass fiddling with some cogs, but he couldn’t have been sure before the door swung close again.

“Hello sir, how may I help you?” The woman spoke with the eager chipperness of a proper salesperson, a fact which brought a predatory grin to the Game’s ear, this was exactly his type of person.

“I had heard that you sold things other than clocks here?” Deep within the woman’s heart a frown was conjured, no one ever came for her clocks. On the surface her smile remained as steadfast as ever.

“You must be here about the Tournament then?”

The Game nodded in agreement to her “Yes, I wanted to put a bet on the results of the upcoming match tomorrow between the Flare and the Band.”

The saleswoman reached under the counter before her and pulled out a ginormous booklet packed with strange sticky colored squares, loose sheets, counters, bookmarks, and other appendices, placing it on the counter. She opened the booklet to what to the untrained eye appeared as a random page and began silently reading through it letting out the occasional hmm of concentration. She finally seemed to come to a conclusion and pulled her nose away from the book. “Yes, the Flare versus the Band, their odds are six to seven. How much were you planning on betting sir?”

The Game cocked an eyebrow being quite surprised at those odds. He had seen a reshowing of Poetaster’s latest play on the incalescent firebox and was quite impressed by the power on display. “Really? The Flare is the underdog?”

The saleswoman chuckled in response. “Everyone seems to have the same response, how time seems to dull the impact of one’s deeds. While yes, Poetaster has quite the raw power at their disposable, Liederkranz was a member of the murugan squad, her experience in combat is nearly unparalleled. Having fought through the second human-mokoi war she has long since become accustomed to battling those with greater raw strength than herself. Of course, at the end of the day strength is strength which is why they are so closely matched.” The Game nodded at her explanation in understanding. “So do you know who you want to bet on?”

The Game smiled “Of course.”