Rodrigo woke up early, while the sun was still barely peering over the clouds. After a quick cold shower, he clambered down the spiral stairs to breakfast. Sitting directly across from him, to his great surprise, was a giant Viking, shoveling down some fish with a mug of ale.

"My name is Rodrigo Diaz", Rodrigo said in his heavily accented voice, giving a graceful bow after the introduction. The man merely grunted. "Are you going to the tournament?" Rodrigo asked politely.

"Yes" Came the grunt in reply, as the man continued to chew, mouth wide open. The rest of the meal was passed in complete silence. After eating, Rodrigo and the strange man walked outside, to await their transportation to Super Smash Bros. Brawl hotel, where they would be staying during the tournament. A large gilded taxi pulled up, with the letters "SSBB" engraved on it in golden letters. An obsequious little fat man squeezed his way out of the front.

"Rodrigo Diaz?" He squeaked

"I am here." Rodrigo bowed again, not as deeply.

"Ragnar Hjaltson?"

"Grunt"

The taxi ride was passed, like breakfast, mostly in silence. Rodrigo found the driver extremely annoying, and Ragnar could not be pressed to make any conversation whatsoever, beyond grunts and one word answers. Rodrigo quietly sipped the champagne that was provided in the back of the cab, and watched the scenery. Ragnar sat completely still, staring intently at the back of the seat in front of him. The scenery grew grander and grander as they approached the beautiful Smash Hotel, which was located on the top of a large hill, looking out over a mountain valley. At the top of the hill, the cabman let them out, and, after more brownnosing, they were free to enter the house for the first time.

All of the other smashers had already arrived, apparently Rodrigo and Ragnar were the latecomers. They were ushered to seats by some assist trophy characters, and sat down to listen to an announcement by Master Hand.

"Now that we are all assembled, we will move to the first order of business, rooming. You will stay in rooms of four. There will be no room changes. The groups are as follows. In room A1, Mario, Luigi, Kirby, and Metaknight. In room A2, Ganondorf, Bowser, Ragnar, and Wario. In room A3, Fox, Falco, Wolf, and Captain Falcon. In room B1, Pikachu, Pokemon Trainer, Lucario, and Jigglypuff. In room B2, Diddy Kong, Donkey Kong, Yoshi, and Sonic. In room B3, Ness, Toon Link, Lucas, and Ice Climbers. In room C1, King Dedede, Olimar, R.O.B, and Mr.Game and Watch. In Room C2, Marth, Roy (Fuck Ike), Link, and Rodrigo. In room C3, Peach, Samus, and Zelda. Finally, in room D1, Snake and Pit. You many now go to your rooms."

Rodrigo wandered casually into his room. He was the first one to arrive, and claimed the top right bunk for his own. After unpacking, he lay down on his bunk and began to read Tolstoy's "War and Peace". He tried to read it at least six times a year, and never quite managed to want to finish. Damned Russian nicknames, and all that confusion. Finally, he gave up, and pulled out a novel by William Faulkner. Some people would say that was even more difficult, but he liked Faulkner. Something about the way he wrote, the stream of consciousness that seemed so natural, like you were in the character's head, instead of hearing a story. He was quickly pulled out of the mind of Isaac McCaslin, by the arrival of his roommates, Marth, Roy, and Link.

"Hey, new guy!" Called Roy

"I hope he's not like that Viking dude" Marth laughed

Rodrigo climbed out of his bed, to greet the three men.

"I am Rodrigo Diaz." He said, with a bow. "Ruler of Valencia"

"Marth Lowell, Prince of Altea"

"Roy, Son of Eliwood, Marquess of Pharae"

"Link. Just Link."

Rodrigo gave each one of the men a bow as they were introduced. The other three soon began to make conversation about changes from SSBM, in terms of weaponry and such.

"I think they made my Falchion longer… It feels a little heavier somehow."

"I think my sword is exactly the same" Said Roy.

"Agreed" Came the reply from Link.

"I wonder what new items they'll have" asked Roy.

"Hey, Rodrigo, what do you fight with" Marth called

"This" Replied Rodrigo, presenting his short sword Tizona.

The sword, finely wrought by the smiths of Cordoba many, many years ago, caught the light from the small window, the Damascus steel glowing with a light that was almost red. The beams of light dancing across the surface reflected the carved inscription that lay on the flat of the blade onto the wall. The other swordsmen appraised the blade expertly, feeling for balance, weight, and the all-important, unquantifiable sentiment du fer. This sense of oneness, of the blade being nothing more than an extension of the arm, was the difficult-to-achieve nirvana of swordsmanship. It was what, in the hands of a master, separated the sword from a simple tool to an instrument of art. For Rodrigo, this sword had a special bond. He had won it from an enemy general, in one of the first campaigns he led as a military man. After receiving his sword from Marth and company, the conversation turned trivial. Soon, the men headed downstairs, for the first battles of the day.