“So, you died before ever getting into the ring?”

Yes! With ishir shield hand, ish taps ishir temple. My Guide informed me it was a small clot in my brain from a previous battle. Imagine, being felled by a tiny speck of blood from a match then weeks old! With no warning!

“Well I can agree that’d be a pretty frustrating, even devastating, way to die.” Wrinkling your nose, you say, “But I don’t see how I can remedy that for you, aside from maybe telling the Turinics that you’re still down here when I head back up.”

I do not require prayers or coxing! Makwan stomps ishir foot, making you start back a touch. I require a battle! One last duel, to sate my Kubeshian blood, and prove to myself I could have won, could have been Grand Champion, and not some forgotten competitor lost to time! Ish sighs, shoulders slumping again. Will you help me, fellow warrior?

Surprised by this request, you respond,