The entire city was filled with many homes and shops whose tower like shapes stretched up towards the sky. Small fountains of water on their rooves would pour down the buildings sides sometimes twisting into one of the many floors and back out again on its way down to the river that flowed along the surface streets of the city. Many flowers bloomed on the sides of these towers, the small waterfalls gave the flowers nourishment to thrive in the cracks and holes of the clay buildings. The flowers dressing each tower represented the buildings’ functions; a sea of blue lilies designated the residential district, tall green stocky plants showed that a market was bustling on the streets below, and the one tower that stood many times larger than any of the others adorned in purple hyacinth declared it as the home of the strongest-bloodline.

Behind the purple tower there was a large pond, its water as clear as glass. Many koi could be seen swimming and playing below. On the surface of the water at the center of the pond a man sat delicately balanced and perfectly still. The man was toned and muscular, his black hair had already begun to grey which saddened many to know that such a handsome young man would already be showing the toll of age when he wasn’t even thirty yet. The man wore a dark blue robe that was tightly pressed against his body with the help of his black vest. The hem of the robe was dampened by slightly dipping into the pond below his feet. His eyes were closed shut as he meditated on his inner being, feeling and exercising the flow of magic through his veins. He focused on the cool water below him, pictured it flowing through him, using his magic, he pressurized and amplified the water and finally imagined pushing it out of his open palm back into the pond. A large stream of pressurized water blasted out of his palm and he continuously sustained it by keeping this circular flow, pond, body, hand, pond, constantly trying to push and amplify its power more and more. He wanted to be stronger, better. The reports of Névé’s recent sighting at Abut just before the white witch’s attack on it practically confirms her betrayal against the Sodality of Rain. He could not have a repeat of the elemental festival eight years ago when they meet again. If he could spend all of his time training and meditating, he would, but he had responsibilities to uphold.

The man got up and walked out of the pond, with a wave of his hand the water soaked into his robe, flew out of the cloth and back into the pond. The man made his way back into the massive building before him. The large halls within were pristine and ordered. He made his way towards a small closet that had one wall lined with many buttons. When the man pressed a button, the sound of rushing water could be heard as a continuous flow fell onto a small waterwheel which began to turn. The closet began to rise and scale up the tower. Eventually the closet stopped rising and the man could exit to a higher floor of the building. Down the hall there was a familiar face, a short and stout older man with a beard as fluffy as his head was bald.

“Oh, Master Firn, I was just looking for you!”

The old man exclaimed as he waddled over to Firn.

“I was meditating in the Bathos pool.”

“As you should, as you should. I expect to hear that you make good on your rematch with that fire brat Scoria.”

The old man chuckled as if he was being encouraging, but Firn could only sense the disappointment hidden in his words.

“There won’t be an elemental festival this year.”

“Why not?”

“Turn of the century, the Tournament starts this year. All of the clan’s best fighters will be busy.”

“Oh yes, totally forgot about that. You know me, I really couldn’t care less about you kids and your little fights. But that just means if you get invited to the Tournament you can have your rematch with Scoria then.”

The old man said in a failing attempt to comfort.

“If he is also invited to the Tournament.”

Firn added.

“Oh yes, yes. Anyways, what I actually wanted to talk to you about was the Pleurothallidinae north of the pulchritudinous lake.”

“I am no longer in charge of that. I created a small militia to deal with it, I even hired the Banausic Cardinals to assist. They’re a very skilled up and coming adventurer group, they even impressed the Hero of New Heirisson conquest. The militia has attracted many of our most skilled fighters, seems quite a few people are very excited to reclaim Hullabaloo. Either way, General Aphor is heading the militia so you’ll need to talk to him for anything more.”

Firn spoke sternly and quickly. He was tired of always having to recite every minute detail of his every action over and over again to these senile old men. The elders never seemed to trust him, or perhaps just expected too much ever since the duel with Névé. Combined with the current state of the Sodality of Rain, it seemed that he was the scapegoat to blame and pressure.

“Well I was just wondering with the current movements of the…”

“Talk with General Aphor for any information, I am no longer involved and am very busy. It was nice talking with you, but I must take my leave.”

Firn quickly interrupted, and before the stunned elder could respond Firn moved passed him and briskly walked down the hall to a pair of large steel doors. In front of the steel doors were two large burly men who were giggling as they whispered to one another.

“Something funny?”

Firn asked. The men turned to see Firn. One of them seemed to pause for a second, as if to decide if it was even worth addressing him.

“No master Firn.”

The man responded with a dismissive tone. The lack of respect annoyed Firn, but he pretended not to notice. He waited in front of the men for a bit while they stared back at him with bored slightly annoyed eyes.

“Will you open the door?”

“Sorry Master Firn. The chief is busy.”

Firn furrowed his brows in annoyance.

“Open the door.”

The two men glanced at each-other hoping that the other would deal with the problem. One of them turned back to Firn.

“Yes Master Firn.”

The two men each pressed their arms against one of the steel doors and pushed against it with all of their might. For a while nothing happened other than the men letting out a few strenuous grunts until the doors began to give way and slowly screech open revealing the behemoth room inside. Firn walked in the room and as soon as he cleared the way the doors behind slowly began to close finally shutting with a loud thud.

The room had a small visiting area with soft couches and chairs surrounding a small table, behind the visiting area was a large balcony that overlooked the beautiful garden like metropolis. Over to one side of the room was a small wading pool, warm coals were being supplied by servants to keep the water warm as steam rose from it. In the pool was a large heavily built old man, he was relaxing, his arms splayed across the edge of the bath, one hand holding on to a drink, almost certainly alcoholic.

“Any news on the earthen anomalies?”

The relaxed old man asked.

“You need to get new guards; they don’t understand respect… and I saw them slacking off.”

Firn angrily spoke ignoring the question he received.

“Why should they show respect to you?”

“If I’m going to be the next chief, I should be treated as such. That goes for you as well, what sort of image does it show when you treat me like this in front of other people.”

“Who said you were going to be the next chief?”

Firn was taken aback by this sudden response, but his surprise quickly dissipated into anger. This man would occasionally get like this every now and again.

“Father! I have been told nothing but of how I was going to be the next chief my whole life. I have been training and practicing for decades! And now you’re going to throw this at me, again!”

“Well at the time I didn’t know you were going to be such a disappointment.”

“I’m the disappointment? look at you! What could I do that gives you the right to call me a disappointment?”

Firn angrily shouted while pointing at his lazy father basking in the warm embrace of his heated pool.

“You lose, and lose more. That’s what you do and that’s what you’ll always do. Have you brought Névé back?”

“You can’t be serious! You’d have her be the next chief? She’s a traitor, she’s working with the white witch. If she becomes the chief, what would the rest of the world think of us then?”

“Leave it to you to not be able to see past your own selfish desires. If you ever want a chance for the Sodality to accept you as the next chief you’ll have to show that you can beat Névé and then bring her back to show the rest of the Pangean entente that the Sodality of rain isn’t in cahoots with that stupid white witch. Do you think I don’t want to make you the next chief? Do you think I want a loser son? No, but here I am. Looking at a failure that can do nothing but fail and disappo-.”

Firn’s father was interrupted by the loud chime of a bell. Suddenly, a few feet from Firn there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus that grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. The arm was outstretched towards Firn holding a glowing parchment: It read.

You have been invited to The Tournament You are The River