Inception

After about four weeks, I've finally completed this first chapter. However, it is simply an introduction. I feel it's as good as it's going to become, and it is complete. I'm trying something abnormal for me with this, and so these chapters may very well all takes several weeks to complete in a satisfactory way. I hope that you find enjoyment in my work. (Otherwise, I may as well just keep it for myself.)

All reviews and feedback appreciated. (Yes, even the pointlessly positive/negative ones.)


It is quiet here.

The noise of the crowd is distant now. But only for the moment.

Soon it will fill my ears again, however. It always gives me a rush, as though their cheers supply my will to go on, whether it is for me or my opposition. It's a wonderful feeling of adrenaline.

I don't know if I could win without them.

No, I could. I wouldn't have been talked into this if I thought I would just be injured for no reason.

This has been great to be a part of. Maybe, in fifty years, I'll come back to watch the next one. Or maybe I'll be dead. It doesn't really matter.

I'm still here. I've done better than fourteen others, so I must deserve to be here. I'd hope. Though, it could have just been luck. If so, I guess I'm about to find out.

They're at the door now. Looks like it's time for my last fight, win or lose. I can't wait.

[}[]{]

"Welcome, one and all, to the naming ceremony! Those standing here have proven their mettle simply by signing up for this competition. Of the twenty who put forth interest, these sixteen have been selected."

Faer glanced back. From here, in front of the temporary stage, she could see the edge of the giant cone poised at its front, but not the dragon giving the announcement. But she already knew what he had to say. She would be participating. The crowd ahead of her fell silent. Their attention was on them, on her.

"As many of you should know, today we come simply to acknowledge each participant, and to lay down the rules in public. And so, I will humbly turn this over to our sponsor, and the source of this tournament, Spyro."

"Um, yes, thank you. I would like to say a few words before acknowledging our participants. In these past fifty-three years, we have been fortunate to avoid conflict. We have not had any sort of major war. However, this world is not perfect," Spyro paused, gazing silently over the crowd, "Fifty years ago, I suggested this- a tournament aimed at preserving our ability to fight. Of course, it's also for the enjoyment of everyone involved. In this, our second tournament, I will not be participating. For those who are, I offer you my gratitude. Now, I give you the contestants!"

The crowd broke into cheers. Some called the names of those they knew, either in support or in jest. Among them, however, Faer didn't hear her name. Not any different from her expectation, all the important people she associated with were in the tournament.

"Please step forward as you're called," Spyro started, "First, in no particular order, Sol."

Faer looked up and down the line. For a moment, nobody moved. But then, at the end of the line, a dark-hued, orange dragon stepped forward. He held his head high, and seemed to be making eye contact with someone in the crowd, by the way it was turned. He stopped two paces out.

"Second, Proletariat."

Faer turned her eyes on Proletariat, who stood about four down from her. She met his eyes, and he smiled. She'd wondered at his coloration ever since she first met him. He always told her that his being brown wasn't quite as bad as the gold-leaf her father called scales. She thought otherwise, but wouldn't refute it in front of him. He too stepped forward, turning his head to look at and acknowledge Sol politely.

"Third, Bayne."

Faer grinned and immediately turned to her left. Sighing, Bayne stepped forward. But Faer knew better. He had been defensive at Raymond's suggestion of entering the tournament, and this was still just a show. Bayne had been purely ecstatic the night before. He couldn't even lay down without shifting back and forth, over and over. She should know; she'd been beside him all night, almost as excited, but much less expressive about it.

"You'll be fine," she whispered, "No one here could ever beat you!"

She could imagine him rolling his eyes, though he didn't turn back to do it in her direction. It was what he always did when she tried to complement him, whether she joked about it or not.

"Fourth, Ryoth."

The dragon immediately to her right stepped forward.

"Fifth, Faer."

Her turn, finally! She couldn't help but grin as she stepped forward, and took her place close to Bayne.

To her right, Ryoth muttered, "Stupid females in a male's competition..."

With a short gasp, she looked at him.

"Yes, you. You and any others, as I'm sure there are more. If you're trying to be male, you're going about it wrong," he sneered.

Faer began to retort, but stopped when Bayne put his tail onto her side.

"If you would, leave my mate alone," Bayne mused, "You're here for a fight, but you're not getting one until this starts."

Ryoth turned away, laughing. "No wonder she's entered, with such a pussy for a mate."

Fear growled and lashed her tail. He was not getting away with insulting both of them. But, Bayne was right. The fighting would have to wait.

"Sixth, Erd," Spyro's voice rang out, pulling Faer's attention away from Ryoth and toward the next dragon.

He stood off to her left, on shaky feet. He certainly looked afraid, and out of place. Only his red scales kept his face from outwardly betraying his embarrassment.

She tried to catch his eye, to give him some sort of friendly encouragement, but his attention was on his feet. He wouldn't look at the crowd.

"Seventh, ah..." Spyro paused, "Il'saar."

The dragon strode forward, giving a brief glance to his right and left. From the look of him, Faer wouldn't be surprised if he was sizing up the competition, and thinking them all worthless. Even with six others between them, Faer could practically hear the sharpness of his claws against the street. With a front riddled with scars, he was an intimidating sight.

Of course, she'd met others with deceiving appearances.

"Eighth, Rayde."

Speak of the devil, there came one now.

This dragoness was the best friend Faer had, and as she would expect, Faer found Rayde to be smiling as she came up. No doubt she'd been being encouraged by Raymond; but she didn't need it. It would have been for his benefit.

Rayde could be...different sometimes. Nothing could be expected from her, because it would easily be subverted. Whether it was just her, or something else, Faer was unsure. But no matter what happened, Faer couldn't help but have a high opinion of Rayde. If only Bayne was as consistent.

Rayde had suggested their entering this tournament in the first place. She thought it would be fun. Faer hoped she was right.

"Ninth, Maul."

The dragon on the opposite end from Sol stepped carefully forward. He placed his feet with a strong sureness, and nodded in a wide arc when he stopped. He looked her direction, and caught her eye. He smiled, until Bayne stuck his head out in front of her.

Faer chuckled, and lay her tail onto Bayne's. "He couldn't get me away from you if he and you wanted me to go."

"I want no one getting any ideas," Bayne growled softly, "About either of us!"

"It's doubtful-"

"Tenth, Bourgeoisie," Spyro called.

Bayne and Faer both turned their heads.

"There's your dad," Bayne whispered.

"Yes," Faer laughed, "I know who he is."

It had been surprising to find out that her parents were going to participate, but it did no good to worry about them. If she did, how much more should they be worried about her?

And, well, her father certainly looked like he could put up a fight. He was the biggest dragon in the competition.

"Eleventh, Staub."

To her right, the dragon on Ryoth's other side went up. His head was held high. And yet, something about him stood out. His mouth was definitely moving, though whatever he was saying she could not hear. It looked like he was repeating something, over and over.

"Odd," Faer muttered.

"What's that?" Bayne asked her.

"Him over there. Staub, I think Spyro said."

"What about him? Oh, he's mouthing something. Is that it?"

"Yes," she responded, "That's a bit odd."

"Or he could have a mantra, or a shopping list." Bayne laughed. "It shouldn't matter to us."

"Sure, whatever you say..."

"Twelfth, Gin."

Faer glanced back and forth, but no one seemed to move along the line.

And then, between Rayde's partitioned front legs, Faer saw a small spot of blue scales. She watch Rayde turn her head, and caught a glimpse of the dragon's head, topping out just above Rayde's shoulder.

"Ha, Bayne, you're not the smallest of us," she remarked.

Bayne grumbled incoherently, turn his face toward the ground.

"Thirteenth, Raymond."

Here he was, finally. Now all four of them were in front- herself, and the three she felt most close to. Raymond was Rayde's mate, but he knew Faer enough that he could easily have been her own. Well, maybe if he wasn't her...half-uncle.

Faer laughed aloud. It was hard to think of him that way but, yet, he was.

"Fourteenth, Tor'keth," Spyro said confidently.

To no surprise, another dragon who looked somewhat battle-worn came forward. Faer remembered seeing both of their names together on the lists posted around the city. Tor'keth. Il'saar. However, of the two of them, Tor'keth looked more friendly. At least his scowl was light-hearted, as much as one could be, anyway. He also looked to be younger, though she couldn't really tell for sure.

"Fifteenth, Kaja."

If there was any sort of order to this, she hoped that being at the end was not a bad thing. She didn't want her mother being put down from the start.

Whether the crowd knew it or not, she was probably the smartest one out there. Her mother had spent years training to learn about medicine. She deserved respect, especially after taking on so much despite her own problems.

And yet, Faer didn't really have any sort of major aspiration like her mother had once had. She didn't want all that. If there was anything she envied, it was that bright blue chest. It looked so much better than her own plain yellow. But Bayne didn't seem to understand. Whenever she brought it up, he could only say that she was 'perfect the way she was.'

"Sixteenth, Agalia."

Last of all, her aunt, Agalia.

It was odd. This member of her family, she hardly knew. Growing up, Agalia had been there all the time. She and Proletariat were around whenever her parents needed them to be, especially Agalia. But now, this was the first Faer had seen of her in nearly four years.

Proletariat would come to visit; Agalia would be sick.

Plans were made to get family and friends together; Agalia would be busy.

They went to visit them; Agalia acted cold and silent, nothing like how she had always been.

Perhaps, somehow, this tournament would tie them together again. Yet, even now, Agalia stared straight forward. Surely she was evading the eyes of those around her, no matter how much they looked at her.

"Again, a sincere thank you to all this year's participants. To close for today, I will state clearly the rules surrounding this tournament. First, there will be no killing blows. This is not a life or death competition. Any attempts, successful or failed, on another's life will result...in immediate execution." Spyro stared out across the line of dragons in front of him, most of whom now faced him. "Second, the match-ups in this tournament will be completely at random; those participating will not know who their opponent is until the moment the step out to begin. Third, in regards to the previous rule, only those competitors who have completed their fight for the day will be allowed to watch. Aside from this, all tactics and styles are allowed. There will be no disqualifications while these three simple rules are upheld. With that, we will begin tomorrow at the arena outside the city, that has stood undisturbed for fifty years. Thank you."

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Sol. Il'saar. Bourgeoisie. Kaja. Agalia. Proletariat. Staub. Ryoth. Faer. Bayne. Raymond. Rayde. Gin. Erd. Tor'keth. Maul.

After ten days, only one can remain.