The Great Baska rock was an impressive sight to see. It looked like a great Mage had plucked up a mountain and dropped in onto the farmlands in some epic battle many years ago. The mountain had worn down into the flatter rock that was used today for tournaments of magic and skill. At least, that's how Ziann saw it as he approached. He was impressed by its size and how out of place it looked surrounded by all the grassy hills and farm fields. As he made his way to the bridge, he felt the wind on his face and it actually got a smile out of him. Unlike many people, heights were something Ziann actively looked forward to and sought out. He loved the pseudo feeling of flying while being up on a high vantage point like this bridge he was crossing. He flexed his fingers idly, stretching his ring finger in particular that would be used to channel his Wind Make Magic in this Tournament he was headed to.

When he got to the ring after grabbing a chicken on a stick at one of the vendors at the side of the rock, he realized that there had to have been a mistake. He was signed up for a Tournament that said it had been for "Intermediate Mages" and feeling confident in his own abilities he had signed up for it to try and satisfy the request he had received from a cloaked figure in splitting the prize money from the champion's defeat. But this didn't appear to the be kind of Intermediate Mages Ziann was used to. He towered over the crowd as his thirty year old, six foot self dwarfed the group of children he was in a Tournament with. There had to be no one older than 9 in this group, besides Ziann.

As he waded through the children to get to the side of the ring, he was met with more than one boo. "Watcha doin' thar, big guy? Come to beat up smol childen?" The large woman that was the loudest seemed to have kids participating in the Tournament and was not happy to see an adult entering the ring. Ziann just waved her off. His first match would be up against a kid of  7 years. If he had been practicing magic for as long as Ziann had (which admittedly wasn't very long for the adult) then they could possibly be on a similar level in terms of Magic. But Ziann's reach and physical abilities far outshone the child. The child used some sort of sand magic to try to ensnare Ziann so he could be punched repeatedly, but the Guildless mage just stepped to the side with his long legs and let the sand pass by.

With a heavy fist, Ziann bopped the kid on the head and the child went down crying. This didn't feel very good. There was a knot in the pit of the Mage's stomach that only grew the next three fights as they went very similarly. When the final match came, against the Champion 9 year old, Ziann's worries came to an end. The kid was bigger than all the rest, a good hundred pounds at least already at nine years old. Standing behind him was the loud woman from earlier. Of course she had a stake in this, her son was the champion. She whispered something in the boy's ear and he called out to Ziann. "Screw you, jerk!"

In a mixture of anger and chemical imbalance in his brain, Ziann started to feel a Manic mood come on. He started to twitch in his right hand, his casting hand. "What, the baby going to cry? Or are you angry, little jerk?" At least this kid could talk correctly, unlike the rural accent of his mom. But that was beside the point. Ziann was mad, he was being taunted, and he was going to take this kid down. He had yet to need Magic in this tournament for, well, kids, but he gathered up his mana and began to go to town. "Wind Make: Gust!" A good sized ball of solid wind gathered in Ziann's hand as he pressed his ring finger to his palm in his standard Making stance. The kid's eyes grew wide as the ball started to grow, but the Champion didn't back down. He rushed forwards, forming a ball of electricity in his hands. The electricity paled in comparison to Ziann's Wind Make orb. When the adult thrust his hand forwards and cast the C-rank spell, the kid was struck directly in the chest with the full brunt of Ziann's wrath. He went down instantly, falling over unconscious and twitching from the pain of being hit by a large gust of solid air.

Victory had come to Ziann, but at what cost? He wasn't very well liked, but he was given the reward none the less. When the cloaked figure arrived again, in a creepily timely manner, the Wind Make Mage just handed over the agreed upon half and left silently. Who knows what the other half would go towards. Probably funding the underground gangs Ziann had heard whispers about. Or maybe just going into the pocket of a rival to the Champion. Wherever it went, it wasn't with Ziann. But he did get paid at least. That would be enough for now.

907/500 WC