"The Grand Master's Tournament"

The wide, windowless chamber was lit ominously by dimmed overhead lights. Seven formally clad figures sat behind a large, crescent-shaped table that was raised in a manner that forced anyone below to look upwards towards the fully-assembled Dark Council. All were present save the Deputy Grand Master, who was attending to other pertinent business away from the isolated meeting. For this, the Grand Master of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood himself was indeed present.

Sitting at the center of the crescent-table, the Grand Master wore tailored robes trimmed on the edges with gold. Their immaculate, white fabric lining represented a silent challenge to any who thought they could make the most powerful man in the Brotherhood bleed. The hilts of his lightsabers were displayed openly on his waist and within easy reach, but those gathered knew that Darth Pravus hardly needed either of his weapons should things escalate beyond reasonable decorum. Even if he wasn’t at the center of the room, his presence alone served as the anchor point of the meeting’s attention.

Below, a long rectangular table bisected the crescent-platform. Staggered around the table sat the seven Consuls of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. Naga Sadow. Arcona. Odan-Urr. Scholae Palatinae. Tarentum. Plagueis. Taldryan.

They talked amongst each other, a mixture of fake and genuine smiles, nods, and shrugs. They thumbed through the data pads and pointed. Farrin and Teylas compared notes. Keirdagh stroked his full beard and furrowed his brow, his expression going from hopeful to sour by the time he finished reading the datapad. Xen’mordin was impossible to read behind his mask. Locke hummed to himself as his eyes drank in the information before him. A’lora nodded and scribbled notes onto a side pad she had brought.

The last of the Consuls had shifted her rolling chair away from the others and had plugged a headset in to listen to the audio-version of the data. When Pravus fixed his gaze on the Miraluka, she waved a hand in front of her blindfold and flashed a grin. Atyiru then nodded to herself as she removed the headset and tried to find the “off” button after flipping the tablet upside and backwards.

Pravus sighed inwardly, but no hint of expression crossed his eerily calm visage. He drew each of the Consuls to attention with a simple hand gesture. They quieted and turned to look up at the Grand Master.

“You have all reviewed the information at hand. Provide the Combat Master with your selections, and he will be in contact with your representatives and handle the rest of the proceedings. Good luck, Consuls. Dismissed.”

The Consuls shifted and started to get up.

“dbb0t: end logs,” James Entar called out suddenly with a ring of command. There was a pause as everyone looked at the Seneschal, who grinned like a child demonstrating his new favorite toy. “dbb0t: conclude meeting,” James continued.

“Yes, my master,” a cheerful, disembodied voice exclaimed.

On cue, the lights to the room blared to life by an unseen hand, completely destroying the air of sabley-dark formality.

There were a few murmurs about the advanced state of the Seneschal’s quirky AI. Beyond those, however, the Consuls rose and exited the meeting room. They splintered off into their preferred cliques, Odan-Urr and Arcona exchanging shoulder claps while the others looked on worriedly and gravitated towards their own “alliances”.

Pravus watched them go. Indeed, on the surface, the unit leaders looked amiable and professional. They all had years of exposure under Ashen, Sarin, and even Cotelin’s reigns and had either learned their parts or been trained to act them. It was all an illusion, though. For all the talks of unification for the Brotherhood, many were still wary of Pravus’ machinations. He could sense the seeds of doubt and deceit and selfishness. But it had always been that way, and change was not something that happened over night.

Pravus knew all of this. They were all his pieces on a holochess board to maneuver towards his greater goal. There was still plenty of work to be done for his vision to be realized, but the tournament would provide the proper distraction. Nothing pleased the Clans more than a chance to openly lash out against one another.

Once the heavy double doors closed, the Grand Master glanced around at his remaining Council. Cotelin looked tired, but present nonetheless. Aabsdu was already back into his datapad, no doubt filtering through a mess of paperwork that had built up while he had the device silenced for the meeting. Beside him, Dacien sat quietly but attentively. Evant folded his arms across his chest and idly poked at his personal comm. Vorsa held her wooden visage firm, the sheep among wolves. Valhavoc stroked his beard and looked at the Grand Master expectantly.

“They don’t trust you,” the Fist stated. It was not really a question, but it was at the front of each Councilors’ mind.

“That stands to reason. We can work with it, though. Mav is doubling-down on the false reports of the return to Antei. Once that is secure, this tournament should be just the thing to keep their focus.”

Valhavoc nodded once, and the other Councilors offered no other comment.

“So. Who wishes to represent the Dark Council in this tournament?” Pravus asked aloud without any further preamble, his voice carrying easily around the chamber without need to raise it beyond conversational tone.

The Dark Councilors looked around at one another. A few eyes went to Valhavoc, who crossed his arms and shook his head. “Heh. Absolutely not.”

Aabsdu rolled his shoulder and then raised a hand into the air. “I could use a break from my terminal, I think.”

Vorsa’s hand rose next, followed almost immediately by James’. When the Seneschal's hand shot up, he waved it excitedly in the air. The Councilors looked at him curiously.

“James,” Pravus said carefully, “You want to fight in the Tournament?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I don’t have time,” he explained with grin. ”I just wanted you to feel like more than two people were interested.”

Valhavoc coughed into his hand to cover a laugh. Vorsa’s hand remained in the air, her face stoic. Pravus turned his gaze towards her, studying it for a moment before nodding.

“It is settled, then. You are dismissed.”

-=x=-

REDACTED The Colosseum

High walls that were too tall for even the most savvy Jedi to scale outlined a large field of ancient sand and sediment the size of a holoball field. The spectators' chairs were divided into neatly organized sections with seats bunched close together to accommodate anywhere up to a few thousand people. At the center, an elongated platform “box” had been constructed with a central throne of stone, with various seats of smaller scale lined beside it in both directions. From his seat, Pravus silently took in the venue and nodded to himself in approval.

On opposite sides of the arena, the first two combatants began their descent into the mines below. Others would follow in succession. The holoprojection screens tracked their progress. When the lifts reached their destination, the Grand Master rose from his seat and spoke one word into his microphone, amplifying it over the Colosseum and down into the mines.

“Begin.”

So, that’s my first crack at a DB-wide fiction. Let me know what you guys think, I’m curious to know (especially from those mentioned therein).

Anyway, onto the stuff I’m actually supposed to be doing.

Round I -- FIGHT!

The Tournament has officially begun! Click here to check out the offical competition page with rules and information.

Below, you can see the bracket for the 16 members that were selected. The breakdown is as follows:

The seedling was randomly generated by James’ awesome code. We’ve also made sure that no two members of the same unit will see each other unless they hit the finals.

You can follow the matches here.

Cheer for your clannmates. Support them. While this is for individual glory, it’s always nice to see your own clannmates kicking butt.

Good luck, and may the o--

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