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Starflame13 -> =EC 2025= Factory Arena (7/19/2025 20:59:08)
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Curls of dawn fully parted to a sky filled with brilliant blue. Sunlight streamed forth, its rays seeking and catching on each glint of adorned armor that it could find. For all the brightness, Bren’s shadows lay ever deeper, pockets of shade offering rest and respite for those who lingered long enough for a moment of stillness to only themselves. From strangers to old friends, visiting nobles to lowly cutpurses, lone travelers and full caravans - all were enveloped by the Arena’s embrace.
Power hummed under the excited babble, a solemn call that resonated throughout the entire city. Its purpose - stark and bold - dragged the crowd onward. Through the gleaming city gates and across twisted streets of shops and inns. Past grimy alleyways and grand courtyards and all the houses that stood between. Up and over the final bridge to follow in the footsteps of Champions past, treading along the well-worn cobblestones of Supplicant’s Way. Onward, until the Complex itself stood before them; a looming gateway that swelled to meet the rising tide that surged towards it.
Here, the horde parted. Hundreds of spectators streamed towards the stands, shoving and jostling against each other in the hopes of achieving better seating. The handfuls of hopefuls instead found themselves alone. Whether by hired officials, their own finely-honed instincts, or by unseen magic itself, the Arena tugged them forward to their fate. A destiny written in bloodshed and carnage. A chance for one to stand victorious. A hope of earning a boon.
All that stood in their path now was the Arena itself - and the greatest fighters this world had to offer.
Busy, chattering halls suddenly twisted to leave the competitors in absolute stillness, and absolute silence. No screams, no cheers, not even the harried voices of the officials reached them - just a subtle presence, leaving a faint tension in the stilled air. The dull gray of rough-hewn stones gave way to smooth, gleaming copper. Copper that reflected a flickering, burnt-orange flame - though no light source could be seen. The reflections gestured onwards to an iron door, simple and unmarked. A dull glow seeped out from along its edge, pulsating ever so slightly in time to the steps of those who approached.
Incessant. Unwavering. Punishing. Destruction. Movement led to riches - or ruination - in the walls of the Factory.
Locks clicked, doors swung open, and the fighters stepped forth onto short bridges that led into the arena. High above and far below hung a series of interlocking gears - immense contraptions of twisted metal that hung motionless in the air. The amber light beyond fell on curls of bronze fragments scattered across a scorched copper floor - the remnants of some last great destruction.
With a single, soft tick, the gears sprung into motion - and the floor melted. Rivers of molten metal flowed outwards, cascading endlessly down the edges of the arena to an unfathomable depth below. Slowly, merciless, all reminders of the prior battles upon its surface were carried away upon the currents of liquid copper. The gears ticked on relentlessly, the echoes of their motion sending ripples along the moving surface of the arena.
As the last scrap of bronze fell away, the gears stilled. The ocean of molten copper narrowed to a pair of rivers, which slowed and solidified with a final tick of the gears above. Amber light slipped through the gaps to coalesce into a single prism, hanging above the floor. The light within shifted constantly - a recollection of the rivers it now held in its grasp.
In the stillness, a single voice spoke - a whisper of a soft current that nevertheless reached every corner and left the fighters trembling with its power. “And so begins the Trial of Flux. Fight or Die, adventures, but let the Elemental Championships begin!”
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