Before the war on the moon, Kaima inn was something of a spectacle. Travelers would often purposefully stop in Estolad, just to partake in what it’s sole Inn had to offer. Mrs. Kaima was a renowned chef of the region, her baking drawing the most picky of patrons to her round dining tables. Browning and rising were the goods, and the service was always friendly, and the beds filled. Since then the inn had gone past its prime. The usual upkeep, favored with activity, was dwindling. The dust had settled where, once jolly, travelers has turned to stay. But Vaudeux was indifferent. He would always be welcomed at Kaima, no matter what circumstances had taken to his name. He suspected it was his past visits, and the adulterous nature of the Inn Keeper's wife that kept him in good favor. Whenever he had visited, he could recall watching the woman’s eyes in disbelief as they passed over his form thousands of times in repetition so that they appeared to shake in her excitement.

He arrived in his usual fashion, worn by travels in the west, countless faces etched into his memory, in need of a good night’s sleep to wash their presence from his memoirs. In through the light oaken door, came his competent swagger. He stood silhouetted in the frame, with a vibrant backdrop of all the colors of the setting sun. Greeted by a familiar squeal, Vaudeux then passed through the threshold letting the door close itself in his wake, before approaching the counter and its memorable tender: Mrs. Kaima. The inside of the inn faded up from its dull darkness, as his eyes adjusted to the change in brightness. He could now see the customary flush of the wife’s cheeks as she took in his appearance, and as he gave her the usual straight-toothed smile in return. She took to bashfully scrunching up a hefty portion of her graying curls with a primping hand, saying with a womanly flutter,

“Why hello Jupiter!” She beamed to him, their routine continuing in its regular method as he stopped just in front of her podium. “Lodging up for a room tonight?”

“Actually I am,” Vaudeux sighed, his tones less melodious than usual, subtly suggesting his tiredness of their customs. Mrs. Kaima didn’t seem to notice however and was scribbling so excitedly in her blank reservations book, that her note appeared nothing more than a half-moon scribble. She jumbled around with keys for a moment, before shakily handing the Ainur his set. In return, Jupiter set a tip in gold upon her desk, before silkily slipping away towards the staircase.

From the stairwell, Vaudeux listened to the inn keeper’s wife scurry away behind him, and adopted a disgusted look as soon as she disappeared. Sometimes the trials of being polite were tiresome, especially with the admiring gazes and longing from those around him. Not like he didn’t appreciate her service or the deserved attention to his ample visage, for it was the longing to enjoy a deserved respite and not the company of the righteous do-gooders of Estolad. Estolad, where he was treated like a king in the small Inn, the nicest and dustiest room, and the warm food that was soon to fuel his travel-worn body. Contemplating sinking his teeth into the hard shell and soft centers of a loaf, he gazed upwards to the first landing, spying the door to his room at once. He took no time in crossing the aging planks with his generous stride and was promptly inside his room, to abuse his vacancy. The door had just closed behind him when a shrewd grin flecked from the corners of his mouth, across from him was the wash basin, and his reflection smirking handsomely back at him in return.

There are some days you go through where you don't feel like doing a thing. Where even getting out of bed seems like a hassle, and the effort it would take seems far to grand compared to the simple task of merely tucking further under blankets. Today was one of those days for Nathaniel, who in the morning had initially questioned how hard it would be to shove the sun back below the horizon and burrow further under the covers. But the bed had long since grown stiff, and without any company it wasn't particularly warm either. With muttered words unintelligible to the most scholary of ears he had dragged himself forth into the new day, bested by the fact Wilwarin did not maintain a high quality beyond the initial payment one handed over.

His bad morning did not blossom into a good day, either. Nathaniel stubbed his toe while training, broke his wrist when the turning dummy caught his blade and wrenched it in an awkward direction, and when he left the training grounds a storm had started that had left him sopping wet. At this rate his armor was sure to rust, and more than a few times he'd slid in slick mud puddles along the roads and landed on his backside. By the time Nathaniel had decided to stop declaring it couldn't possibly get any worse he was sore and tired, and felt utterly out of sorts. Since when had he faltered while fighting a dummy? Usually he was more sharper than that. Instead of contemplating it being due to his sour mood and lack of focus, or possibly the fact he'd been chugging grog out of one hand while swinging the sword in the other (not an easy feat for a sword as large as his), he firmly convicted that it was because the room at Wilwarin had acquired bad luck. Karma, and all that. He'd stayed there too long and needed to let someone else go there and absorb his bad luck.

So he had trekked all the way to Estolad, which actually hadn't been far at all. Estolad was a charming place; quiet, rural, where everyone knew everyone and it was rare to be treated as anything but a friend. Brawls were unusual, along with frowns or trickery. Even in the rain Nathaniel felt the warm vibes the city exuded, and his long legs brought him within Kaima Inn quickly. Of course, more than a few stares were sent his way once he stopped in this place, but it didn't really count as Estolad, did it? Many worn travellers stopped here for rest, and the atmosphere was different because of it. Even the inn woman was somewhat quirky, if not little too portly to be of interest to Nathaniel. How then would one go about attracting attention in a place such as this, where differences were all around? Simple. Come in looking like the mud monster.

Yes, with hair slicked down and almost obscuring his eyes, it seemed that any place not dripping mud was dripping water. His pants were entirely soiled and the coat would need a thorough cleaning if it was to be used again, and this was to say nothing of his armor and sword. Like any ignorant beast he merely threw scowls and sneers at those who stared, striding purposely towards the main counter. He shook his leg out like a dog at one point to get the mud out of the collected pant crease, and a long trail of sludge followed his tracks. Ms. Kaima was not nearly as infatuated with this man as she had been with the previous, and a little unsurely she stared at him. It was quite awkward.

"I'm going to the usual room. I expect there to be clean water. I'll pay you in the morning." His voice was little more than a few gruff pants, and before she could stutter out a response he spun on his heel and started striding up the stairs. If she tried to stop him he didn't hear her, entirely intent on sleeping in a soft bed after washing all the grime off. His footfalls were heavy on the planked wood, and rubbing at his forehead to force hair out of his eyes he came to stare upon the sight of a half open door. An odd sight, given that he had just demanded the room. True he wasn't here often, but he still paid a decent amount to get to keep this room to himself when the need arose.

Scowling further as he contemplated the possibility of a break in, he swung the door open fully to yell at whoever was in there. Instead he met with the sight of quite the good-looking male, and though something told him he should recognize the body his mind was too hazy and garbled at the moment to contemplate much. "Sent up a harem boy already, eh? Aren't you a little old?" His anger more or less melted away as he stared at the other in a confused appreciation. It wasn't like he was too old, but the man looked old enough to be traveling. What the heck was he doing working here? Furthermore, what fortune was it going to cast Nathaniel this time?

The Guardian of Fire, took his moment of privacy to gaze fleetingly into his brilliant emerald orbs. Irises that flickered with fire, even while remaining still. He admired the way his own eyes were shaped, and how bright they appeared across his striking façade. Countless times had he adopted this routine, though he still did not tire of it. What appeared to be nothing more than a conceited inspection was actually a secret source of comfort. He had always taken confidence from the mirror, giving it his handsome reflection in return. Long digits trickled down into the basin below and warm waters greeted his touch. Vaudeux watched himself scoop the sparkling liquid up into his palms, before bowing and touching it to his face for its cleansing refreshment. The man in the mirror did the same, disappearing from its surface while its master took to wiping off the perspiration that had taken to lightly shining his visage. And he closed his eyes, only listening to the cool tinkling from the basin as the water slipped from his hands to drip back into the pool. What a perfect way to end his day all in his lone - at least, that’s what he thought.

He didn’t need to see the man to know that he was there, for Vaudeux could smell him. Slightly bemused, the Ainur first rose his lids to his reflection, but he did not find his bronzed features staring back at him. Jaw agape, he could only stare in horror at what plagued the surface of his long-time reflective friend. It was in the shape of a male, but sickeningly altered. With globules of mud painting him browns and greens, the man resembled the dirty tribesman of Taurerosa whom had then taken a rolling lesson from hogs. Certainly he smelled like a hog. His attire was also caked in the undesirable sludge, which was then soaked and tightly hugging his fleshy form. If Jupiter hadn’t been so alertly revolted, he would have jumped in fright. His expression was absolute disgust at first notice of the dirtied arrival, an expression that seemed to stick the longer the foul smells filled the room. Languidly the Maiar turned to face his guest; displaying his lack of need, to immediately grace his guest with his attention, and all of his repugnance. But he had no time to voice his alarm, for the being had opened its dirtied mouth in speech.

"Sent up a harem boy already, eh? Aren't you a little old?” Taking notice that the man’s face was far too fierce for his own voice, which gargled disgustingly in his ears, he couldn’t avoid the look of revulsion altering his expression. Brave fool. Who did he think he was talking to in such a manner? Unquestionably Vaudeux didn‘t look old. If anything, this bizarre creature was a demonstration of age and nothing in the way of looks. He didn‘t deserve to talk to the noble Jupiter. What was his game to notion senseless flaws to someone greater than he? Not to get on the Guardian‘s good side, that‘s for sure. And: Harem boy? Came his last indignant thought. How dare he make such assumptions of an acclaimed Ainur. Was the lout some type of hermit? He could feel nothing but an incensed heat boiling his blood as the situation grew increasingly bizarre. Overwhelmingly he wanted to tame the soiled beast tarnishing his stay at his favorite inn. Cruel thoughts fashioned in his subconscious of just what came twitching to his inflamed muscles. Sights ablaze, they passed over the man once more - hungrily deciding the best place to strike without dirtying himself.

When his critical eye could no longer be filled with the flaws of his unwanted guest, they narrowed into dangerous slits. Vaudeux allowed that fraction of a second for a heartbeat to pass, for the energy that captivated his presence to be radiated in that sole beat. Perhaps the filthy mistake of a man would regret his words if he could escape from his ignorance. Then, irritation piqued, Jupiter breathed fiercely;

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?“ Came that deadly tone, dripping with venom, that the Guardian was feared for.

Well, clearly his initial assumption was off. The other radiated ferocity, if not indignation; fueling Nathaniel's. "I'm the one who rented this room. Who are you?" He snarled, stepping forward. Clearly he wasn't intending to back down, though in all fairness he wasn't aware it was the guardian of fire infront of him. Then again, perhaps he still would have with that knowledge; Rystoff chose enemies poorly when he was frustrated. The words of the other felt like a lash, stomach clenching fitfully; he strode forward in spite of it. Something was dangerous about the other, be it his blood or his powers, and it was impossible to miss with green eyes blazing. More reasons for Nathaniel to foolishly engage the other.

"Only cowards steal rooms, thief." He informed the other, moving into the room and stopping a few feet away from the other, crossing his arms sharply. the action sent muck and rainwater everywhere, but unlike the other he cared little for such things. Then again, he couldn't immolate people with a thought. Out of his league? Naturally. "Should I get a guard or are you going to leave with.. some dignity intact?" Right now he'd rather get himself cleaned up than fight, but the alpha dog in him was territorial. Still, if the other apoogized profusely he would let him get away without incident, erasing the incident as it faded into the background with the other poor incidents of the day.

It's a shame someone with his looks has to take up such putrid habits. A thief -- imagine! He could have riches laid at his feet if he strode down the right streets. Ah well. It was always a shame when those gifted by fate took to pety occupations, but there it was. Perhaps if he encountered him again and he hadn't found a more productive occupation he would offer him a spot in his army. He'd need to have those he trusted keep an eye on the thief to make sure he didn't steal anything, but with a body like that he could no doubt win the enemy over with looks alone. Strong muscles, well defined triceps and a strong jaw were some of the things Nathaniel could notice through the clothing. He doubted there was anything to be dissappointed about under it, either. This man could wield weaponry, if he tried to at least. It would certainly be a step up from his lockpicks and shivs (which, oddly enough, Rystoff could see the other using in his mind perfectly), though the ferocity in the others body language spoke of a love of challenges and an apptitude for adapting.

But not right now. As good as the other could be in theory, he was still frustrated. The other obviously was as well, humiliated over being caught, chimed his mind with amusement. No, words spoken now would need to be taken into account later. Once the other had good and scarpered off (and he'd double-checked that the locks worked) he would recline and relax. Then, after perhaps a week or two, he would look for the thief. If he was still performing such tasks then Nathaniel would offer him a prestigious position. How could the other hope to refuse? Stroking his ego momentarily over his brilliant plan he shifted, weight moving from one leg to the other as he remained with his arms crossed and his eyes narrows. One of his dark eyebrows was even raised to complete the look.

"Well? Which is it, child?"

Overwhelmingly he wanted to shout back, as if to show the man that, he too, possessed such a riotous spirit. But never could he be overcome by such emotions. Such was his ways to let the anger slowly bleed out from his fierce gaze or harsh words, until it could build no more. Yet the man was instantly aggravating. Rented this room? Vaudeux thought watching his unwanted guest stride forward, but standing his ground while jointly resisting the urge to put as much space between him and the filth as possible. Avoiding any movements that might be mistaken as fear or hesitation when the thing spoke, Jupiter gazed in obvious disinterest at the floorboards - that were so ungraciously painted in mess - if only to avoid a mucky portrait of the fellow from unbearably etching itself into his later recollections. That is, until the man spewed his next foolish words, of which his eyes couldn’t avoid flaring upwardly in anger.

Thief?! Came a ferocious growl from the farthest reaches of his subconscious. For many moments the voice had remain dormant in the back of his mind, and to now hear its familiar snarl was an unsettling occurrence. But the Wyrm’s anger was contagious, and Vaudeux couldn’t help in being stirred by his instigator’s absurd comment. True. A thief he once was, but with purpose only did he steal. The half-breed had stole for his starvation, his body, and the sanity that had kept him alive in his younger days. A habit that carried into his adult years no doubt, but in his adaptation of fire did those peasant traits slip away. And then did he start living his life how he wanted. Of course the man was too ignorant to know all of this.

Though the accurate assumptions stung, he couldn’t help but pity the grouch and his attempt to throw the room's rightful owner from it, via insults. And he started to silently loath the man, in all facets of his disposition. From his tongue to his garb, Jupiter couldn‘t stand him. Get a guard? What was he playing at? Kaima fostered none of the like in her inn, so the only person the man could summon was Mrs. Kaima herself. And while Vaudeux was unsoiled and handsome, the former dripped in layers of dung onto her cleanly floors, so it was without a doubt on who would be granted their stay if it came to pass. But there was a similarity in all the phrases that he blabbed, This man just likes to hear himself speak. Thought the Ainur, with eyes full of aversion. Not taking the man’s empty threats, Jupiter smirked with overconfidence; a sneer that brightened up his face in blotchy patches of ire.

His eyes traveled from the muck on the floor, back to the man, then back to the grime. There was a single teardrop sized blotch painting one of the cuffs of his sleeves. The resultant blotch a mistake from the man’s quick, mud-slinging movements. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes that the piece of grime was really there, staining his clothes so unpleasantly, until he felt the liquid seep through the pores of his expensive wear, gracing the clean flesh of his forearm underneath. A tendon in his neck twitched. All patience that he was building from the initial arrival of his guest was on the cusp of breaking. And, if one thing could set him off, it was that. Slowly he motioned at the grime with his eyes, hooded darkly under his brows as he then sought to watch himself begin to roll up the sleeve of his knit. Drawling, he smiled a sinisterly amused smile, finally speaking into the daunting silence that had crept in after the mud-man‘s rant,

“I’ll have you know that I did not steal this room, but paid for it with my unstolen wealth. So,” The first sleeve of his work was now folded up neatly, exposing a very tan - and very corded - forearm. Slowly, he moved onto his next appendage, the movements themselves dangerously suggestive. And that voice ever-poisonous with his subtle threats, “I’ll kindly ask you to leave my room,” His eyes flicked back up to the man, a faint flash of inner scarlet gracing the brilliance of his emerald. “Now.”

There was little pride to be had when you were standing drenched in muck and grime, and uttering threats you knew were useless. Worst still was the other, who, as he raised each sleeve with ferocious control, revealed how perfect a form he had. Strong forearms that spoke of constant use, a tan that could only be proof the God of the Sun had lavished his own affection on the intruder. Whoever he was, looks were not a weak point. No, not at all. Nathaniel might have been moved to believe him a noble; indeed the arrogance and looks spoke of such, but there was fierceness in his eyes, a willingness to do what was needed. He exuded to much strength and too little slothing to be a noble. Besides, why would a noble steal my room?

Rather than sob for mercy or beg forgiveness, a wide grin slid across the features of "apparently" older male. Flecks of drying mud cracked, and in a mockery of the other he wiped the sludge off of his own forearms with his palms. Mud still more or less stained his clothing, but to push the sleeves up would invite them to harden and restrict his movement. Once he'd gotten off as much as would with a single swipe, he looked levelly back to the other. Two globs of mud were on the floor, and with it more or less smeared on his hands it looked more natural and less a sin against nature. Nathaniel looked like any man who had spent too many nights out baking in the sun, only to drink to his heart's content and dye his flesh a grey hue on top of the natural colour. Flecks still graces his hair and goatee, making him look that much more older.

Ironic, then, that the other would be his elder. "It seems we have a problem here, then." He informed the other. "For I, too, paid for this room. I do believe they have special rooms for little boys." The sneer was not at all as pleasant with Nathaniel, illiciting a grate of teeth and a curling of the lips. He looked more like a mad dog than anything. Then he remembered himself, pausing. He reeled backwards, standing straight and smirking haughtily. Well, as haughtily as one can while drenched in mud. "Then again, if you'd like to share a bed with me, by all means. I certainly wouldn't ah," Nathaniel let his dark eyes rove up and down the flawless form of the Guardian a few times, before settling on the emerald gaze. "Deny you."

Nathaniel merely crossed his arms after that, raising an eyebrow in his own suggestive manner. Unlike the Guardian, he wasn't as fiercely pulled towards combat. Not because he wouldn't thoroughly enjoy thrashing the boy and teaching him some manners, but because he'd rather not be covered in grime and filth while he did it. The smell was finally starting to dissipate, but it was still an unpleasant odor and he wasn't sure he'd ever clear his nostrils of it. Still, there was a childish satisfaction in knowing it irritated the other just as much. That power, however questionable it may be, excited him. Perhaps it was why he was determined to lead the other on, rather than apologize and go and request a different room.

Perhaps he did want combat after all. Or simply a reaction. Even Nathaniel wasn't quite sure what he was holding his breath for, or why every nerve was alight with electricity. He just knew this was what he should be doing, and whatever the consequences he would embrace and lavish the results, whatever they may be. Of course, had he known the other was not only an upcoming opponent but also the Guardian of Fire, he might have been a little more wary with his words. Then again, the knowledge of the others bloodline might have set him off just as quickly. Stepping forward offensively, he took a determined stance, as if it alone would prove he had no intentions of backing down if the other didn't. After all, this wasn't some drunken pub brawl; the delusional intruder could probably dance well, and truly stimulate Rystoff.

Perhaps it has not been as wretched a day as it seems...

It not only seemed as if there was a problem, but a problem there was. How could Mrs. Kaima make such a mistake? Allowing this monstrosity to pay for the same room as he? He watched a piece of dried mud flake off of the man’s grinning visage and falling to join its brothers coating the floor, mentally cursing the sight and litter that plagued the room. He was better off just abandoning the plight altogether, in favor of different and cleanly quarters. But he was stubborn, and the man rude. Jupiter favored the notion to make the eye-sore clean up his droppings himself, which would perhaps compensate for his distasteful quips and disastrous presence. But what would have been a grand scheme and pointed display of power, faltered under the searching gaze of the mud man. Vaudeux watched the creature’s eyes follow a similar pattern to those of Mrs. Kaima, traveling up and down his form, and came to a sudden, sickening realization.

Then the words were enough.

What was more, he could see the truth in the man’s dark orbs that stared hungrily back at him. The being truly wanted him. Face reddening, knuckles whitening, Vaudeux grew furious. He was far from accepting such absurd propositions, nor even considering himself worthy to being in attendance with the man, let alone hearing such suggestions. Jupiter was hot with visible shock and anger, so that his eyes could have burnt a hole through the male. It was only natural what came to him next, what encompassed his muscles to clench and fume; to see blood mixed with dirt and grime.

He spun around in a blind rage, grasping for anything that would prevail in his pursuit for physical harm. There he found the water basin, its lukewarm liquids greeting his touch as he hurled the sink through the air. It soared in the spirit of a discus, it’s direction in attempt to capture the head of the mud man with vicious speed. And where it crashed came a porcelain crack, but Jupiter was still moving with a maddened passion. He took a step and reached for the bed sheets, ripping off its topmost layer from where it was once neatly tucked into the mattress. The white soared, quick-spirited through the air, into the Ainur’s hands which then took to coiling up the bundles of cloth. He wrapped each end around his palms, wringing out the sheets with all the intentions of creating a noose for his unwanted guest.

Vaudeux advanced with much vigor and poison in his eyes, low brows that tinted his handsome face dangerously dark with his approach. A troop that would match that of an attacking bear, but who grew deadly horns of strangulation. All regard of his favorite inn and squandered gold dissolved as he approved his actions as just and natural, the only way to rid himself of a burden that inflamed his senses. And so he lunged for the throat of the bother, cloth darting out to wrap and constrict.

The sudden rush of warm water was lost against shatter of porcelain, his arms crying out through a vicious throb he felt within the marrow of his bones. Thankfully, it was not nearly as painful as it might have been had it hit its intended target; with the speed and ferocity it'd been thrown the thing could have taken his head clean off!

Through sheer luck and some practice in predicting such attacks, Nathaniel had been able to defend himself accurately. Of course, it helped that the raging lunatic was slower in his anger than he might have been when performing at top quality. Such was the way with emotional wrecks. It also failed to numb the throbbing in his forearms, which had been clothed but not properly set for protecting against such blunt force.

What a woman, this buffoon! Clearly the lad belonged in a dress. Who was he to attack others on a whim?? All over a simple room! Nathaniel had a good mind to teach him a lesson, and while the guardian was grasping bedsheets he grabbed at the hilt of his longsword*. A plain weapon, but practical. Years of use had seen it trained as long as him, and for many nights he'd held it just as sacred as a lover. Now he would take great joy in thrusting it within the hide of this intruder, penetrating him deeply with his sword.

Squealch. SCREEEE-scruuuuchh. The blade decided not to unsheath itself. Nathaniel pulled harder. It remained steadfast. He made a few attempts to wrench it out more quickly, scissoring it, but the muck on the hilt merely made his hand slide, the blade issuing a few popping noises of mud bubbles but otherwise staying where it was. This was quite problematic, given that the other had managed to pull the sheets free and was getting dreadfully close. The mud, sometimes it makes the blood stick. The comment rung hollow in his ears, though he couldn't remember where he heard it.

Releasing the hilt dramatically, he swung his arms out as if to show he meant no harm. A smile crossed Nathaniel's features, and he adopted the most diplomatic tone he could, backing away slowly. His feet led him slowly out of the room, as he backed out of it entirely. Then he slammed the door full force, releasing the handle and falling through the floor as his phase cape took effect.

He landed in the pub, crouched on a table. The two drow occupying it gave him a healthy glare, and to display his gratitude he shoved them away and jumped off the table. Like a fox fleeing the hound his eyes roved the bar, trying to settle on something he could use while the sword was out of commission. There was no sign of Ms. Kaima, though her 'activities' weren't exactly secret.

Choosing an empty table near the stairs he moved over swiftly, fingers wrapping around the top of the chair tightly. It was made with a flowery pattern on the back, made by woven wood and empty spaces. It meant that it could be grabbed in many areas and break easily, but given the circumstances it was better than nothing. Of course, he shouldn't have to be fighting for his room at all, but this was a matter of pride!

And, of course, the fact the drow had departed could only mean going outside too soon would lead to another bloody fight. Could today get worse??

The sound of scraping chairs was evidence enough that the other patrons of the bar weren't eager to get in on the fight. In fact, they'd likely be happy to have the fight take place elsewhere. They were cowards, but it was better than the rowdy drunks at Wilwarin. They would happily lunge atop you while you fought another opponent! The fact the place was still standing was surprising; even more shocking was that the Goddess of Chaos herself didn't take it up as her personal residence.

At least he'd get to teach the thief a lesson he wouldn't soon forget. The lad had a frightening demeanour, but he wasn't quite as intimidating as some of the other opponents he'd encountered. Nathaniel could only wonder how much bawling was to be incurred when he broke the other's nose with the chair. The man-woman thief would no doubt go down instantly.

His fingers tightened a little more, knuckles turning a pale white. For now the chair was down, and Nathaniel looked inconspicuous. It would be hard to imagine he intended to fight, were it not for the scuffle upstairs. Nathaniel planned to let the other get close enough he could hit him full force, and possibly slam him into a table. Hopefully the other's arms were some sort of illusion, and he could subdue the other through muscle alone.

(( OOC; *Just because this topic takes place before he got the sword of awesomeness, heheh. And the woman comment is because women were supposed to be overly emotional, not because I'm poking fun at your gender. Stop being all the things Nath is accusing Jup of! Next you'll tell me he's a half-breed! :lol: ))