conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “The Ninth Match is Master Rod and Misha. Take your places.” Rod, lordly as always, and Misha, cool and composed, walked out to the center of the athletic field.
conversations.prefix: Narrator:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value:  “Competitors, are you ready?”
conversations.prefix: Referee:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “Yes.”
conversations.prefix: Rod:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value:  “Ready when you are.”
conversations.prefix: Misha:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “Then on my mark… Begin!”
conversations.prefix: Referee:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value:  Rod moved at once. He took several large steps back and spread his arms wide toward the sky. “Bring it!” As his voice echoed through the air, the temperature of the athletic field increased a few sharp degrees. Fire spread across the field at about knee-height. Upon closer inspection, the flames were shaped like small soldiers, about thirty in number. This was Rod’s battle style, called The Flame Troops. As I mentioned before, he had a medium aptitude for fire magic, which wasn’t very high.
conversations.prefix: Rod: