“I’ve heard worse arrangements,” Nida admits with a shrug. “My brother and I used to do that more in the past. We would fist fight most days. Back then and there people had powers associated with colors. It was weird. But mine provided about fifteen minutes where the skin was mostly impervious. Made for good fights. Still...”

He smirks and shrugs briefly.

“I’m a master with a stick. And I don’t just mean polearms.”