The wait until midnight passed largely in silence, as Felix vanished soon after greeting Emma, presumably to tend to the other contestants. Edith wasn't in the mood to talk either, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts. The sole disturbance to this routine came at five minutes to midnight, courtesy of the Weave.
[You are cordially invited to the 147th Coven of Lords Temporal. If you wish to attend, please make your way to Tent 101, 5 hours 55 minutes in the past. Festivities end at midnight, so don't be late!]
"Is this another spam message?" Emma asked, her mental cursor hovering perilously close to the Delete button.
[That one is real, unfortunately. It rarely sees more than a handful of participants, since very few practitioners have any meaningful way to engage with Time Magic. It's a very time-consuming art to learn, pun intended; usually, people are at least a magi by the time they get a grip on it. This year, there were only two attendees.]
"If that's the case, couldn't they wait until later in the week to hold the event?" Emma replied, vaguely baffled. "Two people doesn't even qualify as a party."
[Mm, it's a tricky one. Holding events in the first three nights guarantees that only practitioners can take part. Whilst this does narrow the pool of attendees, it also keeps the playing field relatively equal. Once you get into nights four and beyond, whilst practitioners are still welcome to participate, any serious event will be dominated by magi, who are often decades if not centuries more experienced in any relevant areas. Very rarely does a practitioner acquit themselves well in such circumstances, only I can count on my fingers the number of times a practitioner has defeated multiple full-fledged magi to win an event outright.]
"You're a ghost right now," Emma pointed out. "You don't have any fingers."
"It feels like I'm back in PE," Emma scoffed, pulling on her black t-shirt and exercise shorts with morbid amusement.
A pair of black trainers completed the set, until Emma took her first step forward and winced at the loud thump they made on the floor. They were quickly tossed aside, shoes and socks both, leaving her barefoot. It was a much quieter way of walking, though not the most comfortable in the cold, but Emma had no time to care about that when she had a battle royale to win.
[Mini-map loading.]
Much like the colosseum that had been her first exposure to a Dungeon, the arena this time was circular, with Emma occupying a small section on the very edge, south southeast, with nobody else immediately visible. The entire arena was metal, as far as her eye could see, set in the style of an abandoned factory slash warehouse. Metal floor, rusty shipping containers stacked up high, alongside the odd pipe, grille or mini crane for a bit of variety. The ceiling was easily five metres high, with no visible means of reaching it, barring the miraculous availability of some sort of flight. Emma reached for her inventory, which didn't work, much as she expected, but she had to give it a go.
With her weapons of choice unavailable, Emma turned her attention to the surrounding shipping containers, mindful of the occasional scream that could be heard, as her fellow contestants began to get to grips with each other. One small crate nearby looked as good as new, making it quite out of place, which is exactly where she headed. Pulling the lid off with only moderate effort, Emma found eagerly pulled away the wrapping, hopeful for something good.
"That's not quite what I had in mind," Emma remarked, giving her brand new crowbar an experimental swing. "I'll take it though. Here's to you, Mister Freeman."
A faint scuffing of boot on metal alerted Emma to a new arrival, so she spun on her heel to swing for the fences.