"I grow weary of these battles," The Merchant spoke, his voice flowing throughout the VIP section like the finest wine. Speaking of wine, he swirled the glass of 'oldest wine' the venue had, in his gloved hands and took a sip. Yup, it tasted like shit.
With a trick of the hand, suddenly the red wine inside turned a mystic purple. He took one sip, and sighed. "Do a job by others, do a good job yourself." Then, he turned his attention to the lower realm, at this 'Tournament' where he'd been promised an opportunity to invest in.
See, The Merchant was a being of the upper realms. No, that was insulting to his name. He was someone even the upper realms had to pause before messing with, simply because of his name.
[The Merchant]. That was what he did. He traded, invested, and reaped the rewards. And, he was damn good at his job. But lately, he had grown tired of the upper realms. You see one god fighting with the next over some petty bullshit, and you'd seen enough.
