Out of Character:
Open to one and all.


Why couldn't he just leave me alone?

Was there something wrong with me hanging up my weapons and living out the rest of my life in the solitude of the public eye? Couldn't he leave me alone in the library in which I worked at?

That son of a bitch chef. Nerr, there's this inter-dimensional tournament going on, and I think you should enter it because I'm a wuss and don't want to fight people who might be stronger than me. That's what Christopher Knighton said to me--or what I got from it, anyways.

I knew I should've killed him after our little Citadel scuffle when I had the chance. Jackass always has to pop up when it least suits me.

I was able to take leave of the Radasanth Public Library without much of a problem. Knives in their sheathes and wire around my upper arms, I made the trek to a little place called the Garden of Secrets. From what I was told, it's the place where this tournament's other combatants will be showing up. Figured that I'd hang out there for a little while and scope out the competition.

In all honesty, though, I was a little bit frightened. Inter-dimensional could mean that my first match could be up against some sort of mechanized abomination with energy beams coming out of its eyes or something like that. What was I going to do then? Break my knives over its hull?

The garden itself wasn't much of a sight to behold, in my opinion. It resembled your average castle garden. Well-trimmed, waist high hedges made a maze of geometric patterns. Marble benches were placed at sparse intervals. Every so often along the path were stone arches, riddled with ancient-looking runes that shimmered with blue magical energy. These must be where the entrants will be showing up from.

I shielded my eyes with my hands and looked up. Hey, at least it was a nice day out. A few fairweather clouds were scattered here and there, and an oppressing sun hung overhead. I made my way over to one of the benches that sat near a portal and took a seat. My feet were aching in my boots from the long walk. Satchel on my lap, I reached in and grabbed a cold turkey sandwich and a copy of I. Ranz' "Am’aleh Shrugged". I took a bite of the sandwich and opened the book to the page I left off on, keeping a casual eye on the garden for anyone else who might be wandering about.