Misha fell to his knees. A cloud of dust breaking from the ground and taking air.
In front of him he saw the roaring fire of the sacrificial pyre.
Ceremoniously he placed the cup on top of the cinders while remaining on one knee.
"My Lords, Sons of Civilisation. I gladly reach out for your aid. It is an honor to be at your side.
But I have experience in bearing a torch, sword nor hammer.
To make up for it I have passion and will. I would let your wisdom judge."
Misha grinned. "Or wield all three."