It's simple, really.
Sometimes, you just really fuckin' need a tournament.
.
Deep in the darkness of a time and space too far, too removed, from corporeal reality to properly understand, a queen's eyes snapped open as she woke from a dream. She settled those eyes upon a sweeping sea of stars over her head, and focused on one, a bright one; she directed her thoughts to it, that star.
It made her feel like grieving, that star.
Shaking the sleep and reverie from her head, the dragon descended from her lair, high up in the peaks that loomed over the Great Arcade, where the High Court of monster-kind conducted its lofty business. She flew like an omen. She watched with satisfaction as a contingent came out from innumerable settlements, following her shadow as it passed over them.
They marched behind her.
Days passed before the queen of dragons landed, sinking her claws deep into a hill overlooking a wide field. She watched the field as it was swept over by hundreds of creatures; all shapes, all sizes were they, carrying weapons and banners and standards that they thrust into the earth; they were of all sorts, all factions, all walks of life and un-life. There was but one thing that linked them all, and it was that single thing that called upon them to follow her. The same thing that had them all staring up at her like she was their patron deity given flesh.
The queen held up a claw.
"We are here," she called, in a voice like bonfires, "for a singular purpose. You know well what it is I ask of you, and I know you will answer the call. I put words to it now that all gods and low things, and everything which exists between them, can be warned: never let them say that we are without honor. I call upon you all, now, to listen well to my words."
To a one, the hundreds before her struck their heels and saluted.
Grim and solemn as acolytes before an altar, they were.
"He who has chosen us all," the dragon declared, "faces a threat which now tests his mettle against a threat only we know. He who names us his chosen, his beloved, his most trusted; he calls for us to answer him. You know, each of you, the manner by which champions are chosen, that they attend to his holiest pilgrimage. I ask you now, you who stand before me with your slings and your arrows, your axes and your spears, your fangs and your claws: will you fight for your king?"
The call went out; the monsters hefted up their weapons in a cheer.
"As you have answered me, now answer the gods!" the queen shouted. "They ask you now: will you fight for your king?!"
A resounding call, louder than loud, shattered something in the sky. The star which beheld them all twinkled with something like approval. The queen of dragons nodded her satisfaction. This was good, she thought. Not only had her shadow listened well to her warning, but so had her champion.
It was good, very good, indeed.
"We prove now, in a baptism of blood and steel, our worth!" The queen called forth her lightning and cast herself against the bodies of her strongest generals, who took up stations in front of the others. "Prepare yourselves! The great tourney begins at the break of dawn!"
