---

To the Fighter it may concern,

Congratulations! Your request to participate in the inter-dimensional Grassroots Tournament on the planet Kyrvktz has been reviewed, and you have been accepted based on your provided information. All travel and accommodation expenses have been paid, and you will be transported from your current dimension in exactly 3 standard days via trans-dimensional escort. There are a few additional details we would like to note before you make your journey to our distant facilities.

As mentioned in the flier as well as in the preceding paragraph, your costs have been paid for by sponsors. Although you are allowed to return to your home planet at any time, we would like to request you stay for the duration of the tournament. The awards ceremony at the end will accommodate more than the champion, and as such you may be the recipient of a miscellaneous award. Also, our fully equipped facilities and friendly staff wish to make you as comfortable as possible during your extended stay, and as such, can provide for virtually any request you might have.

Each participant has their own room, which comes with a full restroom and two beds, as well as additional furniture based around your requests. Please take care in remaining as tidy as possible. If you require any services, please be sure to contact the front desk and we will provide additional accommodations as soon as possible.

As you may or may not know, the planet remains in a constant state of twilight, with both the sun and moon present in the sky. Because of this, normal sleep cycles may be thrown off. Newly added at our facility are rejuvenation chambers of the highest technology we have at our disposal. At any time outside of your matches, you may sleep in one of the chambers, and have your wounds completely healed and your mental condition restored. This is a complimentary service and is free of charge.

Fighters are to report to their designated arena 20 minutes early for each match they may have. There are reserve fighters who have been summoned, therefore if you fail to attend your match, you will be replaced.

If you have any questions, be sure to contact the staff, or the Grassroots head commissioner, Azir, using the info provided on the back of this letter.

May the strongest grass blade emerge highest,
Grassroots Admissions

---

OOC: This is a thread where you can post in character activity for your character. Posting here is essentially required, as actions that affect your character in the lobby carry over into your matches. There is to be NO Out of Character discussion in this thread. An OOC thread will be set up for that purpose once the sign-up period is over.

In the beginning there were four. Four beings of power so vast that beneath them they forged a world: a world of many things of all colours, shapes and sizes that flew and walked and swam in their shadow. These four beings were in utter harmony, so much so that they had no individual identity, and were only parts of a greater whole -- the whole that was Balance. Balance forged a world, and Balance forged beings to dwell upon it: the birds of the air, the serpents of the sea, the dragons of the fire and the beasts of the land.

But such Balance could never last, in a world so violent and still in the throes of its birth, and it was when Balance forged man to walk over their creation and experience its wondrous creatures and beautiful landscapes that the being that would shatter Balance was born. High above the world, where Balance sat around their fire and drank together, a new being came with man. This being was not of Balance, yet it walked with them. This was Spirit, and Spirit was divine in its perfection.

Spirit was the most beautiful of all, more radiant than any of Balance’s creations, more radiant than Balance themselves. All of Balance wanted Spirit for their own, and so it came to pass that Balance’s harmony was broken, and they became four again. From the fires and burning rage of the untamed world was born Sashyn, Lord of Fire and rage of the Gods; from the earth and clay of the untamed world came Nadua, Lady of Earth and heart of the Gods; from the water and purity of the untamed world came Aiedan, Lord of Water and peace of the Gods; and from the air and freedom of the untamed world came Nai, Lady of Air and breath of the Gods.

All of them wished Spirit to be their own, and in their desire was bred jealousy, mistrust, bitterness and rivalry. The conflict of the Gods ended Balance forever, and the untamed world was left unfinished, primal and deadly, where man must walk with spear and bow held at the ready. The untamed world was left untamed, and the Gods themselves fought in the skies, under the ground, beneath the sea and in the fire.

The Gods fought, and Spirit watched passively, until the battle was fiercest and Spirit stepped forward to give a single command.

“Stop.” It said, and the Gods heeded. “You have shown yourselves unworthy of me, for you have lost yourselves to anger and jealousy. And so I give myself to none of you, but instead to man, who I grant their freedom from you that they may forge their own way in the years to come.”

And then Spirit was gone, a fragment of it resting in the heart of every human being, and in the hearts of every one of you to this very day. Soon the Gods laid down their arms, with no reason to fight, but Balance was forever lost. Eventually rivalries surfaced – Nadua envied Aiedan’s suppleness and diversity, whilst Aiedan envied Nadua’s love and endurance – Sashyn envied Nai’s freedom and joy, whilst Nai envied Sashyn’s passion and power. They divided, Sashyn and Nadua joined, and Aiedan and Nai joined, and each pair made their peace and formed bonds of friendship. The gap between the two pairs grew and grew till it became war, and their war rages to this very day, both in the heavens and through the vessel of man.

---

"Shai'zur, Nai - we your faithful hold you in our hearts, our blades and our bodies. Carry us on your winds safely home, to battle once more in your name."

The wind blew fiercely around the mountaintop temple of Nai, placed high in the peaks of the Sky Clan's home. Much of the temple was open to the elements - Nai's winds tore through it, carefully fastened tapestries and ornaments swaying violently. The temple itself was constructed of firm stone, and since its construction before living memory, it had needed no repair. Whether this was the result of craftsmanship, or of Nai protecting her sanctuary, could not be said. The room in which Shai Sunamon knelt, however, was still. The wind howled in the background, but it was muffled. This was a place of prayer.

"Shai'zur, Nai; for I am your chosen, and I am your champion."

As one of the Sky Clan's Na'vin, Shai was one of the few members of the clan who had both the means and the right to visit this holiest of sanctuaries. There were other, lesser temples scattered across the mountains, but this place was more than those. Only the Council of Nai, the High Priesthood, and the Na'vin were permitted access. The Na'vin were the chosen of Nai (or the other Gods, for their respective clan), bestowed with her powers and her strength. They were her voice on the Isle beyond even the High Priests, and on matters of faith were seen to be infallible -- though their primary role was that of a warrior.

"Shai'zur, Nai; grant me speed, grant me strength, and grant me wisdom to bring victory to your name."

So it was here in the High Temple that Shai prayed for victory and glory in Nai's name. Normally this would indicate the rise of conflict with the Earth and Fire clans, a coming battle or attack. Today however, she prayed for a different battle. A personal battle, in which victory would bring great reward, and great advantage to the Sky Clan.

"Shai'zur, Nai; cradle me in your arms should I fall, carry me to sit by the fire with you and warm myself from the cold of death."

A sharp shriek came from the temple exterior. Syl was growing restless. Syl was Shai's mount, a Pteraptor: a reptilian winged beast with vicious teeth in its extended snout that resembles that of raptors, and leathery wings with moderate feathering. They somewhat resemble a supersized version of the 'flying raptors' that existed on Earth alongside the latter part of the age of dinosaurs. Loyal to a fault (as all mounts tended to be), Syl would not leave Shai, but there was nothing preventing him causing a fuss about being kept waiting in the strong winds.

"Shai'zur, Nai; for we are you, and you us. For I am you, and you I."

The cold of the floor became once more apparent to Shai as she came out of the near-meditative state in which she had been praying. The press of the stone on her knees through the red mat that she knelt upon; the light falling on her through the coloured and decorated window that lay above the altar that she knelt before, as well as that from the candles upon it. The chamber was dark, but lavishly decorated with gold and silver: the innermost sanctum of the temple. A sparkling golden statue of Nai stood upon a plinth at the end of the room, her thin and flowing figure cupping her hands around a silver model of the Isle. Diamonds adorned her figure, as eyes and other features both.

A second screech from Syl fully brought Shai back into the real world, and the robed Na'vin stood. She paid one last reverent look at the statue, before turning and leaving the room.

She had preparations to make.

"Hmm...a staff to cater to my every need? Machines to rejuvenate me between battles? Full amenities? How could I not pass up an opportunity like this, to make my name known and feared by the denizens of the Lower Planes?"

Darien had to say little else to his superiors in the Shadow Order to get his request approved, most likely because the risk of making the organization of assassins known would be outweighed by the power, prestige, and purse size at stake. For the sake of the order, however, he would be forced to wear a white porcelain demon mask during his matches, as did all members when on a mission. The circumstances would make his poisons nigh useless, but the Point of No Return combined with his own intimate knowledge of anatomy was still a rather potent duo.

During the days leading up to the trip, Darien spent an inordinate amount of time in the alchemist's lab, brewing more poison than normal of his favorite varieties. There were some to make the victim's movements slower and less fluid, some to sap the target of his physical power and stamina, and even a couple of recipes that would assault mental faculties. He wanted to keep his foes at a distance, wear them down with poison for as long as possible, then deliver one strike to end the battle. His lockpicking kit would be nigh useless in this mission, but he reasoned it was better to have and not need than need and not have.

When the appointed time of departure came, he had completed his alchemical experiments. He now had four doses of "golem extract," which would make someone move with about the speed and grace of the namesake, three doses of "ghostly muscle" that would enervate one's physical strength and stamina, and two breaker bottles, designed to fly apart on command and no sooner, filled with a gas called "will worker's woe" that would hopefully cause a slight drop in the mental faculties of those unfortunate enough to be exposed to them, with inhalation only sweetening the pot for him. Of course, part of working with poisons was inoculating oneself against their effects, so they were less likely to affect him if an enemy tried the same thing.

The Point of No Return glinted in the ambient light as he awaited the transport, not sure what to expect or indeed if someone would try to pick him off en route as a sort of entrance test. To his pleasant surprise, no such test was administered, and he was shown to his room. Of course, the accommodations and the service were first-class, as expected for a tournament of this magnitude, but he didn't exactly expect the maids to go topless if he threw some gold their way, even if some of them were rather attractive. Besides, he had other things to do. He needed to spy on the other fighters and learn about their strengths and weaknesses, the better to plan attack routines if he was to face them. Maybe it was a good idea he had brought that suite of thief tools, after all.

"Becky, grab my gauntlets for me. I left them on the counter after polishing them last night."

The sound of a heavy thunk was the next thing to be heard in the cave followed by intermittent scraping sounds of metal against the stone floor. Gazing at the ceiling from his molded stone chair, Sirius recalled the concessions he had needed to make in order to participate in this event.

It was similar to today, darkness beginning to fade to dawn as a letter appeared in a brilliant flash, illuminating the cave and causing a slightly groggy and stunned Sirius to stumble around blindly for several seconds. Swearing at technology Sirius made his way over to the earthen desk and a stone chair rose from the floor as he sat down. The desk rose up the wall, allowing the chair and Sirius to slide in underneath it. All the while Sirius scratched the rough stubble on his chin contemplating who would contact him here so early in the morning. It was a simple piece of stationary but it had the letters GR On the front of the envelope. Sirius tore it open excited to see the response from the committee. His expectations were met, but not quite how he had desired. The letter had read:

We would like to accept you to the tournament, but you must restrict yourself to only two of your four summons. You must also restrict your more advanced earthen abilities. Please make the following changes and resubmit your profile. With these changes entry to the tournament is assured."

Thank you,

The Grassroots Committee


Sighing heavily Sirius had taken a day to decide on his most versatile two pets. Becky had the ability to provide him with heat vision. His Golem had Immunities to a plethora of things. His Phoenix was the fastest of the group and could cast fire spells. His Manicore was both an excellent ranged and physical fighter. It had taken heavy thought, but eventually Sirius decided on one defensive summon and one versatile offensive summon. The response to his resubmitted profile was almost instantaneous. another glittering flash, another temporary blindness session, another curse at technology and Sirius was accepted.

A thud at his feet and an auditory "HISSSSSSS" aroused Sirius from his contemplation. Leaning forward Sirius placed his right hand on Becky's head petting the snake for a job well done. The gauntlets were the last of his possessions to be placed in the rough sack.

Staring at the position of the sun in the sky Sirius nodded. "Almost eight Becky. Are you ready?" He lowered his arm down to her and she crawled up to her usual seat around his shoulders. Stepping outside Sirius looked at the sun again. "Should be any minute now..." And the two were whisked off to a new destination. Excitement, Competition and untold adventure awaited them there.

The journey was terse and disorienting. At one instant, he was bathing in a the fiery abyss of a volcano; the next moment he had arrived at a rather grandiose display of wealth and architectural style. The sudden change was dizzying and actually managed to make the nineteen year old nauseous, but the feeling slipped away fairly easily with some mental focusing.

Both the sun and the moon could be seen, although the latter was larger than the former. Under the celestial spheres, a massive building decoratively veiled in obsidian towered over the Magnian under violet skies. Two golden stripes ascending the front face rested adjacent to the French double doors, colored in a similar manner as the rest of the structure. A limestone walkway pleasantly greeted the man's feet; the material was easy to work with in his method of earthen manipulation and caused a smile to make itself known.

Deciding that defacing the oddly perfect display that filled his vision would be disrespectful, the Magnian channeled his rock sandals onto his armor before walking barefoot into the lobby. Inside, two more golden stripes ran parallel to each other, separated by a lush, crimson carpet. Immediately, he was greeted by the staff, who were dressed in white clothing laced with gold in stark contrast to the obsidian and silver that lined the floor in a luxurious tiled pattern. The sheen of the floor was conspicuous as well; the amount of preparation that went into these facilities was astounding.

After being guided to his room and taught how to operate the standard electronic lock that came on his door (equipped with an old-fashioned keyhole for staff, of course), the warrior entered his room and looked at the custom accommodations the Grassroots Committee had made by his specific request. Although no lava-bath was present like he had hoped, the limestone bed was exactly where he expected. A grin spread across his face as he shed the outer rock layer of his armor, depositing it onto the floor in a mound, and lay down on the bed. He was not used to such pampering, although he certainly had no trouble adapting to it. "Perhaps I'll grab myself something to eat," Magnus thought to himself, "I just have to remember not to combust the food when grabbing it".

Not for the first time that day, Ghaarme loosed a profound sigh and closed his eyes. The artificer was leaning against a surprisingly sturdy stained-glass window, staring out at the perpetual twilight of Kyrvktz. The precence of the lunar and solar luminesence and it's glow-like effect on the landscape had been interesting enough to capture his attention for all of three minutes before Ghaarme became dreadfully bored. As a creature to whom time held no meaning, it was very easy to become disinterested with the fleeting passions of life. The harsh reality that mortals faced had never really phased Ghaarme until his second century of life began. His friends died of old age, the world was a completely different place from when he'd first arrived...

"Time waits for no man..." he whispered to no one in particular. A wistful smile spread upon his face. "Not even for one who can keep up with it, apparently."

Spirits a little bit brighter at the thoughts of the past, the elemental arose from the window sill only to step back onto the bed. He stretched languidly upon the black velvet covers and sighed in contentment. These people knew exactly what kind of accomodations he would have wanted...did they have a spy network, he wondered? No matter. The Grassroots was what had caught his attention, not the hotel thing. Fighting was pretty much all that kept Ghaarme sane nowadays, and serving as a mercenary back on Primordia was hit and miss when it came to entertainment.

He growled and raised an ashen arm to flick-off whomever was observing. Being a reserve fighter was the one drawback. He'd been invited to participate, but the game-makers had the gall to set him in the sidelines as some lazy chump's rep.

"Whatever...this shit better start soon..." after a moment of thought he added; "And if I don't get a match I can always wreck up the place."

"Oh, shit!" was all she could manage, and then she was gone.

---

"Don't worry your head off, just hold tight!" a male voice yelled to the right of her, gripping her--- what was it, arm? Taretha couldn't think anymore. She couldn't see, though her eyes were open. She couldn't hear, though she tried as hard as she could for one little sound.
Besides that goddamn song. Why the hell was "If We Hold On Together" ringing through her ears like some fudged-up version of tinnitus? I don't understand why anything!

Wait. Did that sentence make sense?

---

And just as suddenly as it had started, Diana Ross stopped singing, the random background music ended, and Taretha was left standing before a giant, black... what was it, Taj Mahal or something? Oh wait, she thought to herself. I can think! And without thinking, she punched the air with her left fist, as her interdimensional escort, a young man a few years older than Rigel, continued to stare awkwardly at her breastal area, which had inexplicably began to jiggle with each movement she made like a character in some awful ecchi manga or something. Personally, she had suspected that Rigel had enchanted the air around her chest to whip around her breasts at the most awkward moments the last time she had seen him at Gambit's. It was fully and completely right of him, seeing as she had single-handedly managed to bomb another of his dates with a little slip of an Earthling guy, but... shit. Rigel kind of reminded him of Lady Gaga. Who happened to remind her of... basically everyone and everything. Including a garbage can. And a dinosaur. Hence, The Land Before Time, and after that, Diana Ross.
And now she was thinking of Whitney Houston! Damn these singers with awful taste in movies to provide soundtracks to.

A few seconds later, after the man had finally stopped leering at her cleavage at a glare from Taretha (hey, if looks could kill...) and she had finished her little "success!" jig, she righted herself and continued across the white, glowing (well it appeared that, in the combined dusklight from the moon and the sun both being in the sky) walkway, her guide tagging along like a forlorn dog. She spared him a withering glance and walked through the very pretty double doors. "Old-fashioned," she whispered sarcastically to herself. "It'll totally survive an elemental blast."

Taretha was immediately greeted by the sights of complete and total luxury. For a moment, she was stunned, only returning to... Kyrvktz? as her escort clumsily walked into her, sending her almost tripping. With a mutter of, "Can you just, like, go away?" she stomped off to the waiting desk, identified herself as "Taretha Rake, Revenge of the Waves" and was guided by a perpetually grinning blonde-headed lady of about 40 to the hallway where the accommodations for the fighters were, then to the exterior of her room.
She set a critical eye to her mahogany door. The doorknob had one of the hotel papers cautioning people to not disturb the inhabitants within, but emblazoned with the words, blue over an orange background, "This fighter needs his sleep. Please allow him his rest, please."

---

Cue the dramatic, fast-paced background music fit for an action scene, please!
Where's the trumpets? We need more trumpets!
Matt's out?! Then where's John? They're both sick? Mono? They're in their sixties, who're they kissing? Each other? Oh, god, don't go into detail, just give the last stand second violins the trumpet part. No, not the violas, the second violins! Haven't you ever gone to music school before! That's it, you're fired!

---

And while you were reading that section, Taretha had accomplished the gargantuan task of procuring a Sharpie pen from her room, crossing out the words "his", and replacing them with "her." That job being finished, she decided to take a good night's rest from her arduous tasks, and flopped onto the king-sized bed, not bothering to unfold the blankets that had been left on the room floor.

It's not easy being cheesy, you know.

::Souloe Devonshka - Farewells Before a New Journey::

"Can you see the colors of the stars? And hear the music they each produce? Did you know that each star is born and will eventually die?"

A small fist reached up to the glittering night sky opening as though wishing to take a star into his little hands. Its movements were rough and unrefined; simple, innocent and not yet tempered by the weight of the ages or corrupted by the wiles of the human heart.

"Some of these stars live their life to its fullest and eventually goes with a bang leaving a legacy so bright that even stars from other solar systems can witness their brilliance."

Little eyes widened in awe as though they understood the grandiose behind those words.

"Others, however, could not stand the gravity of their own weight. They are burdened by all the things they hold onto until they eventually collapse. Their world becomes only that of darkness dragging everyone else into their despair."

Those blue orbs blinked twice as though obviously oblivious to the truth behind those big words. But only a moment later, two little hands reached for the sky grabbing -nothing- and brought it down to show -nothing- in his palms.

~*~

Those little hands have grown since then.

A soft gale suddenly lifted thousands of Moon Lilly seeds from the open field of Da'haren. Their soft light illuminated Souloe's silvery white shawl and reflected a lustrous sheen off the matching, short, silvery hair. His clothes fluttered and his shawl ruffled against the cold breeze. Yet his wings, one of light and the other of darkness, remained still just as his cerulean eyes remained docile. There was no longer the curiosity of a child, nor the flare of youth, but instead only a stillness dulled by the passing of time.

"Master..." Devonshka whispered softly as he gazed at his palms.

"Has it become too heavy a burden to bear?" Came a response. Suddenly, cold eyes flared into attention and the wings vanished as he spun around in search for the owner of the voice.

...

Nothing.

After a moment of silence Souloe's eyes returned to their stillness and as he could only conclude that it was a mistake; an illusion of the mind perhaps. There was no way he could have heard his master's voice. After all...

"Mr. Devonnnnnshkaaaaaa!" Cried an approaching voice. Souloe could hear the light steps crunching the flowers. Even if she did not shout his name he would have recognized her immediately by the way she rand if not by the weight estimation by the crunching of flowers.

"Come on! Come on! Everyone's waiting." She giggled, eagerly pulling him towards the church at the other end of the field.
"hmmm?"
"We're having a farewell party for you. There's cake, roasted boar, and and...oops, I'm not supposed to tell you. It's a surprise. Shhh." The child pressed a finger to her lips but soon giggled as they entered the building.

"SURPRISE!!" Judging from Souloe's expression, they could already tell. "You told him didn't you Stella? Didn't we say this is supposed to be a surprise?"
"oopsies..." Everyone laughed.

~*~

"Are you really going to go? The kids are going to miss you."
"You make it sound like I'm never coming back."
"But you're going to another planet... time flows differently for you. By the time you come back I might already be..." Her eyes began to moist.
"Don't cry little princess."
"Stop it, I'm already 23 years old." She laughed through her tears. "Can I.. call you that one last time?... papa... don't go."
Souloe returned the hug stroking her head. "Be a good girl and take care of the other orphans okay?"

Across the plain, the sun cast its brilliance with hues of crimson and gold as it were in the throes of death, hugging the horizon. Star rode strong, and he should, he was the finest equine creature in all the land. Mounted atop his back was the boy, Arcturus, leaning low and with a look of determination about his face. He whispered silent words to his partner, not even the wind was privy to their conversations, as they commonly left everything in their dust.

The galloping strides slowed, eventually, Arcturus coaxed the horse into walking at a much more diminutive pace. They approached the treeline as the boy dismounted, booted feet sinking slightly into the soggy grass. It'd been raining all week, the thought of prolonging his visit, an homage, further lowered his brows and spirits. He approached a wooden shrine out in a clearing not too far inside the maze of trees and underbrush.

"Good to see you're still here."

With a gloved hand resting against the chestplate, the boy took a moment to reflect on the spirited individual what wore this suit of power. He was, in the tableau of Arcturus' reverie, a man of colossal size and Herculean strength. The memory of such a man swelled the boy with pride and lined his eyes with tears. The fizz of a struck match broke the silence as its flamed end set a single standing candle upon the mantle piece ablaze.

"Did you know the departed?"

Impatience peppers a voice taken by an accent already predisposed to impatience. That even the thought of what tongue is spoken in these lands displeases him, much less the act of speaking it; lips lead features in soundless yet deafening disdain, and eyes loath to behold what thrives under their nose ensure the errant horseman of his lack of exemption. It causes the world to tremble, yet inaudible and echoing through the confines of his head

Wiping a tear from his face, he turned to face the man. There was an air about him, some sort of personified atmosphere... were Arcturus older, perhaps more seasoned in the course of the world, he would have understood. Though it wasn't arrogance, or necessarily pride, impatience was a thing one could see from a mile off. Even worse was when it was mistaken for either of the former, misplaced projections of these things often led to unnecessary lancing. Fortunately, the boy was much too young to formulate such an opinion, on a whim, no less.

Easily casting his shadow upon the boy, even were he mounted upon Star. The thought of his horse struck a cord in the back of the boy's mind- Why hadn't Star been startled, or made a sound when this man approached the shrine? Mulling over it silently as busy hands found themselves polishing the exterior features of his departed father's armor.

"He was killed in battle, defending glorious Rosinder."

"Was your father traitorous, to be so disgraced with this paltry grave? Did his blade fall against the breast of his kin?"

Suddenly the man had appeared, ordinary at that. Watching the man circle the tableau, he can only help but feel virulence from him. Not in a sneaking viper's manner, as it stalked its prey, but something else. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, nor could his eyes find another object to distract their avenue. His was but a tear, no mournful or scorned woes beseeched him, nor betrayed his youth as he was green beyond the gold.

"There is a memorial in the city, but this was where he trained."

It was also where the man lived, grew old, experienced life with his beautiful wife and kindhearted children. This place was a vestige, the personal sanctuary of a man who no longer was. It was to pay respects here, now, and for all time to come to show him the utmost respect. Further, it was beyond the scope of such a child's knowledge to extend himself into the heart of a wartorn Rosinder. Not only in search of his father's epitaph, but a forlorn faces of oppressed citizens. This was something that wretched his heart until it ached. Though he was indeed young, the boy experienced this specific feeling, vicariously, through these prisoners in their own land. The boy reflected on those words, recalling his father's sword. Oh, how did it glisten in the light, no matter how bloodsoaked it became, it carried a pearl-like luster. What was the sake of a name...

"And so have you, so now it is time. Remember the weapons name, for it is your greatest power."

---

Star hadn't been allowed to accompany him on the faithful journey ahead, so Arcantus was forced ahead alone. Walking through the lobby he exchanged glances with no one, and gave no smiles to any who might have casted them. They were the opposition, they were that which he would be fighting to the death. The risk was his life, but the fight was worth putting everything he had on the line. Never had he found anything worth fighting for or doing in his life, he was nothing more than a farmer's child who would soon pit himself against the most gruesome of creatures.

Whether he would win or not was uncertain. Regardless, he navigated through the crowds that filled the lobby, and immediately fled to his room. There were prayers to make, breathing exercises to initiate, and final requests to the heavens to give.

"Father..."

"...give me the strength to accomplish great things."

"Damnit, nobody said it was going to be on another planet." the nomad grumbled. He crinkled his letter, having popped into his hands moments before. "Three days to prepare?" Gavain groaned, it would be a long three days for the young lich. He looked about his realm, bones as far as the eye could see, not a single living creature for miles. That wasn't to say there were no beasts or men, but they were but a hollow husk of their old forms, walking apparitions of bones and the occasional sinew. Gavain spent the first two days gathering necessary items from his realm, the thigh of a long dead giant lizard. Gavain once heard in his living life that the beast was called a Brontosaurus, but he couldn't be sure. He spent the first day, yanking it from its spine, and carrying it to a hill where he raised it high, pulling mana from the abundant soil beneath his feet. The rib glowed for the next day, bright vomit green. The warm rancid stench Gavain was so familiar with fill the bone's very essence. Gavain's rib trembled with the call of the dead, skeetal inhumanities turning their half crushed skulls to see the mighty bone burst into dust, showering its creator in fertile bone white sand. Not "grows anything but weeds" fertile, but easy to manipulate and as strong as steel when compacted fertile.

Gavain laughed with glee as his creation danced around him, whirling into a small tornado before he opened a leather pouch, the dust seeping in like a vacuum. With this, he would be able to create ten spears, fifty darts, fifteen throwing knives, or just two Marrows. Hopefully there would be lesser, normal bone on this strange planet that he could manipulate.
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"and don't forget to watch for trespassers" The young undead explained to a silent, jawsless intelligent skeleton he dubbed Jeeves. It nodded.
"oh! and pick up my mail everyd-" and he was gone, whispered through the ravaging plane of space-time.
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Gavain shook himself, rubbing his head. Even the undead were effected by the strange whirring of that dangerous plane. The death mage took in his surroundings, assuming a state of suspended disbelief. He accepted this world and made no judgements on the architecture or the eternal twilight. He felt the dirt between his toes, scanning for possible bones he could use, the soil here was not as fertile as he was used to, and it would take a while for him to get the hang of this place.

Gavain found his accommodations satisfactory, if not overzealous. He had the beds removed, replacing them with a couch and a mock bamboo roll out floor. He practiced searching for alien bones here, calling for a cadaver, which had yet to arrive. His bare feet relaxed against the cold hard surface, and with it, the rest of Gavain followed.

There was no time, nor need, for rest yet, so Gavain walked to the lobby, observing the hustle and bustle and his potential rivals. Perhaps he could find a weakness or steal a vital object from these opponents. He kept his leather pouch with him always, not trusting the overfriendly staff. The couch he sat in was comfortable enough, but the undead barely notice those things.

Darien had finally made his private room to his liking: Drawing the curtains to make the place very difficult to navigate by sight, some crude book-fall traps to alert him to intruders (you didn't get as far as he did in the business of creative acquisition without learning why and how to protect yourself from the same), and ever so slight furniture rearrangement to make any unwelcome guest rue the day not only he was born, but all the way up the family tree to his great-grandfather's birth. Satisfied with his efforts, he finally made the sojourn downstairs to check out the new arrivals.

His normally cheerful disposition was immediately soured when he saw Gavain. There was something about the guy that suggested he was much more than he appeared to be, which was a diametric opposite of his typical approach. It picked right back up again when he noticed the comely figure of Taretha Rake, but something told him it would be a bad idea to seduce a potential rival. Then, out of the corner of his right eye, he saw it: The postings for the first-round matchups. Scanning over them with the practiced eye of one that often had to appraise goods on the fly, he quickly noted that his slated opponent had yet to register with the hotel. This was very disturbing to him, as it possibly meant that he was watching from afar, learning all that he could before actually joining the fray in person.

For once, he was a potential target for surreptitious gathering of intelligence. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, it would do wonders to throw him off his game on the inside, but the exterior was always calm and collected, with a spring in his step, a smile on his face and a glint in his dark eyes. This was his poker face taken up to eleven, adopted once he learned that it was fully legal to mess with the other fighters between fights as long as open hostilities did not erupt. This was also the reason he re-arranged his room, and why he was trying to fire on all cylinders to figure out as much as possible about the rest of the field, lest he survive long enough to face them. The first lesson of the streets was that an attack can come from any quarter and a casual conversation can instantly turn into a death trap, and he did not intend to fall afoul of this maxim.

"Shai'zur, Nai, and guide me on my journeys this day."

Shai Sunamon rose to her feet from the prayer-station she had constructed within her hotel room. After having checked in several hours earlier, setting it up had been her first priority. A miniature silver statue of Nai rose a meter off of the floor in a small alcove of the room, glittering and bejewelled, transported with much inconvenience with her on this journey. She had retrieved a suitable cushion from a gracious member of the hotel staff, and placed it before the statue to act as a makeshift prayer mat.

Turning from the statue, Shai faced the rest of her room. It was luxurious - far more than the Priestess-stroke-warrior was used to - materials that were alien to her home; furs far softer than their best craftsmen could produce, and the mattress! Straw must be done away with at once, Shai had decided, to employ what she was informed were called 'springs'. She would be returning home with that information, at the very least! They would be the best rested warriors of the isle...

Shai smiled at the thought, casting her eye from the black bed complete with black-and-white fur blanket, to the night-stand with curious 'lamp' device, enchanted with some form of magic to enable it to glow with nought but a flick of a switch. They were many in this hotel, Shai had discovered. Powerful stuff.

She had already experienced the lavish bathroom - a device which spat deliciously warm water into a tub, and one which rained the same into some form of clear box! It was heavenly. Shai had decided that she liked it here. With a final glance around the room, the priestess turned and left, sliding her 'key card' across the glowing light to activate the interesting lock with a beep!

It was not long before the woman emerged into the lobby area of the hotel, her movements graceful and demure - the picture of refinement and composure. She did not allow her eyes to linger for too long on her competitors, for to stare was rude, and at the moment she had no desire to approach them. Shai made a beeline for the notice board, and there read her name and her opponent's. Taretha Rake - the water elementalist, unless she was mistaken. This would be interesting - Shai had a lot of experience battling against the water element, from sparring sessions with fellow Na'vin Kai and Anora of Clan Aiedan, the Water Clan. But perhaps this woman would bring more to the table than her fellows - it seemed likely. Few people here had quite so refined abilities as herself, more diverse. But Shai was good at what she did, and was confident that it would bring her victory.

Nai's favour shone upon her, and it would prove to be the deciding factor, Shai was certain.

::Souloe Devonshka - Lobby::

Souloe moved with ease ever so slowly as not to let the wooden floor squeak nor allow the door hinges creak. Laura, the 'little princess', had cried herself asleep in his embrace and he in turn rested her on the soft mattress making sure to cover a blanket over her lest she the wind chills his little girl.

"Perceptive isn't she?" Echoed a female voice.

Laura. She has really grown in the past twenty years. When they first met, she was only wee size wearing multiple layers of clothing but still chilled to the bone. She was really skinny then and her face was so pale that he could almost see a shinigami hovering in stillness above. Was it compassion for the human young? Was it sympathy for the lonely soul? Maybe it was those sad puppy eyes that gazed up or those little hands that clung on to his pants. What ever it was... it really did not matter anymore.

"She has always been quick to pick things up be it a language or a skill."
"..."
"I know...I should. But I can't. If I stayed with every soul until they died, my own would suffocate. If I journeyed at random intervals... at least... at least I'm only going on an extended trip. I can always 'come back'."
"You have become so cruel Master."
"I don't intend to ask for forgiveness, but I hope those kids will become her reason to live."

In his own room Devonshka made a final check. With a wave of hand an assortment of wares circulated around his body having almost the same sliding feeling from that of an iphone whilst scrolling through each gear. The craftsmanship was his own and, as occupation goes, one's wares were the lifeline of any blacksmith or merchant; and he was both. With another wave of hand the array of gears vanished. Taking the large leather pack, physical for show, Devonshka turned his head back almost not willing to leave.

"You can always come back after the tournament."
"Ya. I think I'll do that."

The windows banged open as a wile gale sifted through. The candle flames flickered out and Devonshka was no more; Gone, to the new planet.

~*~

Brilliant light filled the sanctuary illuminated by both the sun and the moon in a state of perpetual twilight. The view was simply magnificent and such a phenomena was made possible only by a synchronized coordination between the planet, the satellite and the sun. Even then, were they in a different hemisphere, perhaps even just a continent away, Devonshka doubted the heavens would be able to maintain the current state of beauty. Unless... of course, it was supernatural in nature.

Closing his eyes Devonshka enjoyed the warm energy of the solar rays beaming down on his flesh. He could smell the winds and took pleasure in the scent of the planet even if they belonged to an ex-dead realm. Through his feet, Souloe could feel the echos of this earth understanding its joys and complaints. Certainly this place is well kept and is in much better condition than some other planets he has visited in the past.

Yet despite how much kinship he felt towards untamed nature, his reasons here today was not an expedition for scientific research nor a vacation to enjoy a nice tan.

Cerulean eyes emerged slowly from behind those long eyelashes and a business smile followed naturally. While his style was not a full business suit, or that of a garbed warrior, Devonshka preferred a business casual approach; Dark blue jeans, white dress shirt, color matching long coat and, finally, a silvery white shawl.

Though various rings and trinkets hung for decorations, the pins on his shawl was truly a sight. Their density filled the whole surface as though a genuine part of the article itself. Yet, at a second glance, each was uniquely different representing a large variety of merchant guilds, blacksmith guilds, awards and recognitions. Judging by the large pack behind him, one might have guessed that he was a peddler of some sort. His apparent age of sixteen, however, seems to be a mismatch to the amount of pins and their value if one assumed their authenticity.

After receiving his card key from front desk Devonshka proceeded to the notice board nearby. Arendus Sagi it seems to say.

"Are you going to be fighting miss?"

Devonshka tried to begin a casual conversation with Shai. There was no reason to be hostile nor to assume that all participants had no code of honor. There are bound to be sketchy types he supposed, but perhaps that will make things more interesting. Funny businesses were usually a given but... to openly allow it?

Sirius couldn't move. Try as he might as he rushed through the white void his body was unresponsive, as if it had been placed in lockdown. The feeling of being powerless was a terse one. One that made him question if he wasn't being lured into some sort of trap instead. Time however would calm the racing mind, as moments later Sirius' feet once more rested on soil. He was able to move again, and the feeling was quite a welcome one.

Looking around, Sirius noticed that both the sun and moon were hanging in the sky. It must have been late in the day here as dusk seemed to settle on the underwhelming landscape. One singular but huge building jutted out of the nothingness, black stone with gold trimmings. Sirius stared at it. He had seen buildings occasionally, but he normally strayed far from them, much preferring the openness of the fields or the coziness of caves.

"Ehhem" Sirius whipped around bringing his eyes to a balding man in his late forties dressed in white laced with gold. "You are Sirius Leonine correct?" The man asked eyeballing the snake wrapped around Sirius' shoulders. Sirius nodded. "Good, you are the eighth member of the tournament to arrive. In fact your opponent is already here. You should know the Grassroots Committee has allowed anything except open fighting on the premise before battle. With so many members already here including your opponent. It would be best to be on your guard."

Sirius nodded again thanking the man for the new info. "This way if you will" said the man and he led Sirius to the impeccable front doors. Sirius signed in, took his key card and headed up to his room. The door however posed a significant obstacle to Sirius. Technology was not his strongsuit. He had knowledge of some things, guns, traps, things normally used by poachers, but nothing of this particular caliber. For a moment Sirius just stood there, contemplating on whether it would be better to simply knock down the door or call the staff.

"I guess i should just call someone". Looking around Sirius called over one of the staff, A short but attractive girl with brown hair and green eyes. "How do you open this door?" The girl looked at him inquisitively, unsure if it was a joke "Do you have your card?" Sirius produced the card from his duster's chest pocket and handed it to the girl. She took it, sliding the keycard in the lock and the door clicked green and opened. "Keep that card on you at all times. If you loose it you won't be able to get back into your room".

Taking her advice, he tucked the card back into his pocket. The room was gorgeous, much nicer then his cave. Getting comfortable, Sirius placed Becky on the floor, allowing her to investigate the room. He removed his duster, draping it over the chair and placed his bag at the foot of the bed. Briefly he considered his appearance in the mirror. His stubble was fairly short, the brown hair complemented by his loose-fitting tan pants and his tight fitting tan t-shirt along with his wide brimmed black hat. Briefly he considered taking a nap before the opening festivities tomorrow, but he decided against it. Instead Sirius mentally contacted his snake. "Defend the room while I'm gone. Chase out any unwanted guests." With that Sirius grabbed the keycard from his duster and headed downstairs. Making a beeline to the matchup poster.

Match 3: Gavain vs Sirius Leonine

Sirius made his way over to the couch unknowingly sitting across from his future opponent. Along the way he took an account of the competition. One male standing alone, a male and a female about to engage in conversation, and the aforementioned male sitting across from him on the couch. "Hmmm that leaves 3 people unaccounted for" Sirius thought to himself. Calling over a waiter Sirius ordered a frozen lime margarita. Looking across the couch Sirius inquired of Gavain. "Interested in anything? It's no fun drinking alone."

"They're arriving, sir. The contestants have begun their arrival on the planet, Sigma Prime." The voice filtered through the communications lobe of the artificial brain, the words were unneeded, Prime already knew of their arrival, he could sense the change in planetary weight. He could sense the way air vibrated around new structures. He had little to no need for the voices that spoke through the encrypted communications channel. Except. It catered to his need to feel human, the android's inexplicable need to be more like the bags of flesh and muscle he detested. It was a need he could neither remember gaining, nor remember living without. A need shown in everything exterior about the robotic entity.

Synthetic flesh covered a bulky infrastructure of metals. Living, breathing metals which were found only in the deepest, darkest reaches of the Multiverse. Perhaps the sentient life of the metallic alloy gave this insatiable desire over to Sigma Prime, and perhaps it didn't. Unknown how or why such a need existed, the need was yet to be satisfied. Though, outwardly, Sigma Prime seemed nothing short of an amazingly handsome, yet muscular man, he was much more. Beneath the layer of flesh and metal, were weapons, wires, tubing. Powerful and seemingly indestructible defenses against both magic and technology. He was a God in his own right.

He took note of the young aide's news, and responded without a second's hesitation -- thanks to the artificial network of neurons and synapses. "Good. Everything is going according to schedule, insofar as I can tell. Keep an eye on them, make sure they behave. If trouble springs up, call me first. Until then, I'm going to oversee the final look overs of both the combatants background, and the arenas themselves. Keep me posted, Reaves" Sigma Prime killed the transmission, closing off his end for the time being.

His attention diverted from the over-looking station, where he had been watching the lobby with his own two eyes. Nothing seemed too far amiss yet, and so the need to intervene had not arisen. With the strict orders to contact him should something happen, Sigma Prime felt calm, relaxed, about turning away from the combatants waiting in the lobby, to oversee the final preparations for the tournament's beginning. The most important part of his job was coming into play. His orders were clear, as well.

The visual viewing screen that worked in place of humanoid retinas and optic nerves showed the H.U.D.(Heads-Up-Display), and in the bottom right corner his orders were flashing.

TheBosswhoHiredSigma/Archetype wrote:'Do not let the combatants fight outside of their scheduled matches.'
'Keep things running smoothly. '
'Make sure everything is ready on time'
'Do the job you were hired to do, and nothing more.'

That devious woman, who had come to see him in the depths of hostile space, offering him a job which came with a purse that not even the rich could have turned down; much less a poor android like Sigma Prime. Prime made another human reaction, though again there was no need for the meticulous movement, in checking his watch. The workers weren't slated to be back from lunch for another hour. With time to kill, Sigma decided to look back over some of the more...unorthodox entries for this tournament. Replaying the scenarios in his mind. As he read over some of their applications, he mentally reminded himself why he rejected those few.

"Too short. To Fat. To Ugly. To...furry. This one thinks that making an unworldly smelling bodily function is a power? No wonder I turned those guys down." Though, a few others had been turned away, for the most part everyone had fit the bill perfectly. Checking his watch again, he realized he should be leaving and switched off his onboard mail storage system. Dressed in a black button-down, and a tight fitting pair of jeans, Sigma Prime made his way through the restricted hallways.

It was five minutes later when he stepped out onto what would soon be the transporter room, where each combatant will be taken to their respective battlefields. The room was nearly complete, and the transporter was almost operational. Though Sigma didn't agree with the methods -- having always thought it a great part of the competition to find the way to the battlegrounds himself -- he was not lax in his duties. The moment he entered, he began barking orders. Workers scurried to meet his every command. However, The Tyrannical Android was not so tyrannical this day. Rather than bark orders like a General with no respect for his men, he got right into the muck and grime, helping to fix the problems, correct the mistakes, and get everything up to at least 97% operating capacity. He shouted out for a report, and one came a moment later, from the foreman of the job, Captain F'dyrk.

"Sigma Prime, sir." He saluted, Prime returning the gesture. "A pleasure to be serv..I mean working with you again sir." He said truthfully, "I still can't thank you enough for all those times you saved my life aboard The Breeze, Siggy." Prime just nodded, and F'dyrk had known the man long enough to know this was his way of saying 'No thanks necessary'. "The work is almost done sir, within the next fifteen hours, everything will be complete and matches can begin. You think they'll sit in the lobby and wait that long?"

Sigma Prime just gave a smile. "Of course they will. They're here for fame, fortune, reputation. You know how people are when they have those goals in minds. I remember two crazy kids who lay in wait for over a decade, just waiting for a particular vessel to make a run it might or might not have been making." The smile widened, as Sigma Prime pulled up a memory of the first time he'd ever teamed up with F'dyrk G'dern. They'd been waiting to hijack a vessel of the Rignothian Confederation of Planetary Defenses. It took ten years of waiting on a backwater planet, with no intelligent life save for one another, but it had come. Just like this tournament's beginning would come. All in due time...
'

"Are you going to be fighting, miss?"

The approach of one of the other combatants had not been unexpected. Shai had not interacted with any of the others upon her initial arrival, instead spending the time setting her room up - the large part of the task being Nai's shrine - and so she was as much a 'new arrival' from the point of view of those already there as any of the actual new arrivals. The priestess turned her head to look at the man who had spoken, and nodded her head slightly.

"I shall be, stranger. Na'vin are warriors first." Shai subconsciously mixed lines of the teachings into her words, having had them drilled into her mind from when she was first chosen, "I am here to bring glory to Nai's name, though I am sure you will not know of her."

She turned to face the man fully, offering him a slight bow. "I am Shai Sunamon, Priestess and Champion of Nai. It brings me pleasure to meet you." Shai lifted an eyebrow, "And you - you are also one of the combatants?"

Motes of dust and space swirled in the tomb. Thin, painful beams of light issued through the cracks that appeared on the outer edges of the massive intricate doorway. Streaming in, slicing the void, dazzling lances of another time, another place. Finally with a loud crack the heavy stone door tumbled away from the frame, crashing to the floor, shattering in a plume of dust and debris.

The pale light outside crept into the tomb, eating away its natural enemy until it no long could overcome the oppressive dark. A mechanical click and an intense blue-white light rushed in, shredding the black in a stabbing beam. A small man, dressed in a fine suit stepped over the debris, his flash light illuminating far recess of the chamber until the light found a solitary chair. Seated upon it a figure, resplendent in crimson robes, skeletal features locked in a hoary death's grin. A huge weapon leaned against the chair, a wicked sword that appeared to tremble at the approach of the man.

Staring a long moment, the sour expression slowly fading and one of trepidation rushing to fill the vacuum. The smallish man licked his lips and straightened himself to his full 5'7” of height. Clearing his throat he spoke in a clear voice, “My employer bids that you stand in judgment of a small enclave of warriors. You will merely be asked to watch, and when the time comes if needed, to pronounce a winner and loser.”

For time incalculable the small man stood, his eyes focused on the skeletal remains seated on the large obsidian chair. Standing here in the tomb of the ancients. A place of legend, a place where time no longer existed and yet all that occurred was seen and contemplated. A crawling dark encroached on the single pillar of blue-white light, until a sphere of sepulchral dark engulfed the man and his flashlight.

“I have heard your request. After much thought I shall do as your employer bids.” a voice ancient and hoary thundered slowly in the tomb. Though the seated figure had not moved, the grinning hollowed-eyed skull seemed to be peering at the messenger. A shudder ran down the man's spine as the sound reverberated around him, echoing, ringing, thundering. A cacophony that easily drove one mad.

As the man scrambled to escape the chamber, his hair gone from a slicked black to bone white, his features once young and vibrant, now wrinkled and wane, as if the messenger had worn the flesh for centuries. A single thought roared in his feeble mind, a solitary issue that must be told to his employer, “When they fight, I shall be there.” The moment where his sanity broke was when the skeletal figure slowly stood up, a dull red energy flickered in the eye sockets, a morbid laughter escaping the mocking grinning facade.

Through the whorls of time, through that endless march of the finite existence of all living things, some have always sought the challenge of combat. A life of pain, sorrow and glory. A world where those who dare, win and those who hesitate pay the ultimate price. It was this world where the red clad judge headed. A world where the clash of arms rang eternally. Sliding through the vast multiverse, through the births and deaths of worlds, dreams and even civilizations, tread the judge. The vastness of eternity reflecting in the hollow sockets, washing brightly across the skeletal features. Impartial, unforgiving, uncaring who wins or loses. This was one of the judges the host of this event had chosen. Each step brought him closer to the arena where he would sit in judgment with others to witness this clash of arms, this GrassRoots Tournament.

Gavain smiled to the man, out of politeness, if nothing else. "another time perhaps." The Lich replied, almost sorrow. "I do hear the calls for matches to begin. Tell me, are you in this tournament as well?" He asked, standing to go check the boards. He chuckled at this. "I haven't even checked the rosters yet." He peered, searching for his name. a grunt of recognition came as he found his name. He pressed his bony finger to it, reading the name above his. "here we go, Gavain to fight Sirius Leonine. You wouldn't happen to know him would you?" He asked, blankly looking back to the man.

Gavain would cut off Sirius before he could reply. "it matters not, we should be heading to the arenas post haste!" he laughed, turning and heading towards the shuttle to his arena.

Fighters, to your assigned arenas. If you are unsure as to where your arena is, please speak with a member of the staff. Thank you, and good luck.

That familiar shiver went down his spine: The knowledge that he would be going out once again to either conquer in the name of the Shadow Order or die trying. As per his orders, he went to his quarters to make final preparations.

Point of No Return, in working order. No visible cracks, chips or flaws in the silvered blade. Poisons on a bandoleer for easy access, and none of the seals looked like they were going to accidentally break anytime soon...unless he wanted them to, of course. They were all there: Four doses of golem extract, which could be applied to his weapon and would take effect on the first person it came into contact with. Three of ghost muscle, which was delivered much the same way. And finally, two breaker bottles of will worker's woe, which would be the easiest to access because the ones it was most effective against usually liked to keep their distance and press the attack. Mithral chain shirt, as strong as ever. A few practice chest-bumps with his non-weapon hand confirmed it. Saving the best for last, the white porcelain mask in the shape of a demon's visage the Shadow Order had commanded he wear during his matches, to ensure that should he survive, their security would not be compromised. Donning it, he stepped into the teleporter, seeing as that would be the only way to get to the place on time.

The tempo and the rhythm had definitely changed, but the endless waltz of war was about to begin another movement.

::Souloe Devonshka - Lobby to Round 1::

"And you - you are also one of the combatants?"

Devonshka's lips curved into a pleasant smile and returned a similar bow honoring Shai's greeting traditions. Not that the smith was actually familiar with her home nor with the details of her culture; but from experience, a simple repetition of gestures were usually good enough when dealing with greetings. It was strange. His eyes seemed more pale than the color they portray though his smile would carry an excitement level fitting for his apparent age.

"Souloe Devonshka," The hybrid briefly introduced himself. "a wandering smith." And his fingers ran over the multitudes of pins as he returned to proper posture almost as though this was a well trained motion required by the business associations. "Yes, I am also going to be in it." His words were simple and chosen deliberately to encourage a light atmosphere as opposed to heavy conversations and bone chilling auras.

Fighters, to your assigned arenas. If you are unsure as to where your arena is, please speak with a member of the staff. Thank you, and good luck.

The merchant's blue eyes drifted up momentarily by the distraction. "Ah, so it begins." A pause. "I will be going then. My best wishes..." Souloe paused as though pondering the words he should use. Then he bowed slightly, much like before, "May Nai's blessings be upon you."

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