Roufas Ernst scratched his chin impatiently. He sat in a rear booth within the The Vanguard, an old-fashioned bar in the slums of Enmetropolis, the designated location of the next Belmarcian Tournament. It was dirty, with far too many bright lights and loud, artificial music. The Vanguard was blaring some strange noise right now which Bruce had once referred to as techno. Roufas considered it to be a frivolity created by lazy fools who lacked the talent to compose true music.