The Throne [1x1]

[Mayiamaru]

The crowd cheered, throwing their fists into the air with smiles too excited for what seemed to be a tournament meant only for the entertainment of the people. It almost seemed that no one knew what this tournament was for in the first place, what they were there to witness, but everyone in the kingdom was well aware of what could happen if the wrong person were to win the tournament. There were people who forced or pressured to join, people from the pits of the kingdom, and noblemen from villages that many have never even heard of. Even criminals had been pushed into the ring, sent into the ring only because of they were not expected to win. The slots for this tournament were filled quickly, and at this very moment, the announcer strolls into the middle of the field with eyes reflecting the excitement of the crowd from behind his black goggles.

"Welcome! Citizens of Mortagan! You will bare witness to the rising of your new king!" Echoing from the man came a broad, booming voice, his arms displaying his many grand gestures as he shouted to the crowd with a cone before his mouth to amplify his voice. It was clear why this man had been chosen to oversee the tournament, for despite his big mouth, he looked like a very sophisticated man. He was the advisor to the former king, the man that stood at King Dukaugn's right hand without fail throughout the many years the king was able to cling to his thrown.

"We have accepted a grand total of sixteen men to fight in this tournament! They will fight to the death for you, and the last to remain standing upon the last day of this tournament will win the honour of leading out fair people. Let the games begin!" With the last word that passed the announcer's lips, the cheering of the crowd rose to the cloudless skies. Though the games were truly to begin the day after today, the excitement was sure to last for the week, maybe longer. No one knew who was participating in the tournament except for the announcer and the guards, but not one of them would utter a word about it…

Hunter Arakaia
As the sun reached its highest point, Hunter looked to the sky. To be participating in the games was all she could have asked for. Yes, Hunter was simply an alias, but whether she was going to let on what was really happening would all depend if she won this tournament or not. She was determined to make this city pay for its treachery, and if she were to rule this kingdom, there would be nothing in her way to stop her from changing this country for the better. She would make them pay… Oh yes. With her sky blue eyes glinting from under her hood and hair, she leaned herself back against the edge of the bridge. She was glad that she didn't have to cut her hair for this, since it extended down to her waistline, but the corset she had to wear was a little restraining, a few baggy shirts and something to tie her hair back being enough to let her pass for a man. Wearing special boots helped to hide how short she really was, but she didn't plan on wearing them for fights. She knew she would lose if she did. She had to plan out every move she made carefully...

Blowing her bright brown hair from her face, a loaf of stale bread in her hands, she tossed a few crumbs into the water. Inside and outside of the tournament, she was going to have to stay in disguise. One slip up, and she was sure that she would get executed for fraud. Hiding her voice was going to be the hardest thing. She couldn't say that she was simply a young boy, or she would have never been able to join in the first place. No… She would have to avoid speaking at all costs. Lowering her voice didn't sound natural. Her only choice was to take a pledge of silence. Yes, and it worked swimmingly so far. Cloaked in a black overcoat, Hunter ripped off a little more bread and tossed it into the water. Ducks were nipping away at what she was throwing, children who passed looking tempted to toss her over the edge. At this time, Hunter was a little grateful for appearing as a man. She would have been pushed over the edge otherwise. Having her hair tucked into her coat, she pulled her hood up and sighed in satisfaction. Yes… This would work just fine…

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Skye Emory Akitora
With stoney eyes fixed forwards on the pedestrians and merchants of the market, Skye leaned himself back against a space where a fish stand use to be. The stone wall against his back was comforting as he watched for any trouble. Though it hadn't been long since he was outside of the dungeons, he was willing to learn of what the kingdom had become over the four years he had been sentenced to rot in a cell deep beneath the ground and away from the light of the sun. With hands in his pockets, Skye leaned his head against the wall in wait, not a sound other than nervous whispers and shuffling feet drifting into his ears. With his strange look, it wasn't a surprise that he was being suspected of something. No matter, he tilted his hat quietly forwards, his white hair forced to look grey in the shadows. He was no younger than twenty-five now, but he felt like he was so much older, the sound of a mother telling her child not to look making him feel like more of an outcast. He was starting to think that it was a mistake to allow himself to come back out into the real world. To tell the truth, the dungeons seemed so much better than this, away from judging eyes and into the darkness of true respect gained through blood, metal, and sweat. Society was… simply frightening. Those eyes watched him like he were the prey, but their bodies quivered to contradict the feeling that emanated from them. Skye couldn't understand it, pushing himself off the wall just for an experiment. Sure enough, the crowd sped up and moved faster. They were terrified…

Without another thought on the subject, Skye sighed to himself and leaned himself back against the wall again and huffed softly. Whoever wanted to be free had to be delusional. The people of the dungeons were so much more manageable. As far as he knew, anyway. They didn't judge by appearance like these people, sheltered from what happened under their feet. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs, but he didn't have the capacity for such a thing. He was a civilized convict, knowledgeable and well read. He wasn't going to stoop down to their image of him. He wasn't going to riot in the street to prove a point that would be overlooked. No, he was going to strive to be the best. To win that tournament and reform this filthy kingdom into a place of ideals. That was his new dream… Dressed in black and hiding in the shadows was enough to make anyone nervous, he knew that, but he wasn't going to give in to their fear of him. He, though as frightening as he seemed, didn't act as he did simply because he wanted to. No, he didn't have a choice, his right hand keeping his wide-brimmed hat from revealing the eyes that would undoubtedly cause the people around him to run even faster.