I am Malachi Eiden. I have chronicled the events in Ashkelon through two generations. Some I witnessed, some I learned from others, and the rest I survived.
At one point, dozens, if not hundreds, of legendary heroes walked the earth of Ashkelon. Wielding mighty enchanted weapons and aided by clerics, rogues, and wizards of all types, these heroes lived in a time of epic adventure.
Now, they are gone, and with them, their names lost to antiquity save a few recorded by historians such as I. For some, though, their legacy remains, but not in written word, but through their descendants who have risen to prominence in Ashkelon:
Ardon Neriad is a distant descendant of both the archmage Shifra Neriad and the nomadic hero known as ‘Dar’ of several years past. Not surprisingly, he is exceptionally strong and quick, and seems to have a natural affinity with the animals. I’ve even heard that he can communicate with them, so that the hawk is his eyes, the lion his strength, the wolverine his endurance, and the badger his cunning. Would that I could meet him in person for myself.
To my knowledge, there are no longer large standing armies of knights or soldiers at arms on the grand scale of generations past anymore. The closest thing now is that ragtag band led by Talon Adrastus, Master of the Free Company. A warrior, a general, a buccaneer, and freebooter, Talon has amassed quite the following as a liberator of towns and villages in plight. How many number in his group? It varies. Sometimes there’re as many as five hundred, other times no more than say, twenty or so.
Talon has organized his free company into two wings, each with different purposes and members. The first is for all intents and purposes, his military wing, made up of all sorts of warriors, knights, scouts, archers, and skirmishers. They spend most of their time roving from place to place, liberating some unnamed village from a petty tyrant or band of raiders. The pay isn’t much and at best, they receive some supplies from the town or village they rescue. The seasoned veteran soldier Gilead Henda leads this wing, second only to Talon.
The second, more interestingly, is his wing of freebooters: thieves, treasure-seekers, bards, and other related unsavory sorts of that kind. They are led by the expert treasure hunter Keren Einarion, a distant descendant of the archmage Alderik Einarion. Given the number of ruined cities that exist on Ashkelon, the opportunities are plentiful for her to seek out lost antiquities with her fellow freebooters.
From what I’ve heard, the going average is that for every five freebooters that go into an old city, only two or three come out alive. Those that perish are often eaten by the monstrous denizens of the fallen cities. One would think that ratio would deter others from joining Talon’s group, but on the contrary, his numbers swell when those survivors tell the tale and show off their newly gained affluence with Keren at the helm.
What has lacked in quantity in recent years has been made up for in quality, personified in Talori Agkeidon, a warrior mage of epic scale. Some even go so far as to call her, “the Warrior Goddess.” Although her lineage is directly that of the archmage Ojare Agkeidon, she has thankfully not inherited his impulsive temperament, self-righteousness, or his overconfidence. Quite the contrary, Talori Agkeidon has proven humble and wise beyond her years and is a guardian of maintaining peace in Ashkelon. Perhaps it is the shame of her forefather than drives her as such.
On the opposite end of the spectrum are Tzion and Merav Tavi, who are the offspring of the archmages Chiram Tavi and Prerana Sethos. Not surprisingly, they’ve inherited their parents’ penchant for sadism and raw, uninhibited magical power. One would think they would rival one another but surprisingly, they compliment each other in the most effective way.
Unlike their father, Tzion has emerged as a fierce warrior, not a warlock. What little magic he knows, it’s to create brutish minions to aid him in battle. Merav is very much like their parents, however, commanding a deadly array of spells. Tzion’s raw skills and strength compliment Merav, just as she compliments his with her sophisticated command of the supernatural. A would-be upstart dared attempt to usurp their dominion, only to succumb to a most gruesome fate of blood and fire. Truly, Tzion and Merav Tavi have redefined the phrase, “assault and battery” to a whole new level.
Miraculously, the delicate balance that prevails in Ashkelon involves Tzion and Merav Tavi and Talori Agkeidon keeping one another in check.
The great kingdoms, nations, and empires of old no longer exist on Ashkelon. The closest thing to them is the Areszan Alliance formed by Micah Shamiran and his sister, Adara, among the hamlets, towns, and villages spanning a wide swath of Ashkelon. In its charter are basic agreements of defense, commerce, and rights among their people. Not surprisingly, Talon Adrastus and his Free Company are frequently employed by them, as is Talori Agkeidon’s help often requested.
Cadmus Cromwell may be the illegitimate descendant to his royal ancestor Titus, but he certainly inherited the power lust and cunning of his forefather. The empire that once existed long gone, Cadmus is seeking to make his name through another direction. Where that path lies, no one knows for sure…rumors circulate of him being a demonologist, or a warlock, or even a necromancer. Last I heard he was supporting Tzion and Merav Tavi, so anything is possible.
Truly, that phrase has been the enduring belief on Ashkelon in spite of everything that’s happened…
Continuation to this story arc that explains what happened to the diverse races that once inhabited Ashkelon.
I was blessed to see the strength of my clan prevail, yet I find myself cursed to be the witness of its fall, and with it the race of Dwarves on Ashkelon.
I am Angus Skeldheim, last chieftain of the Dwarven clans. I sit in a vacant hall of a once glorious citadel. There are five, maybe six other Dwarves that occupy this empty, vacant stronghold with me. They are older than I am, and their final days are few and numbered, just as mine are.
We endured the wars waged by prideful heroes and vainglorious wizards. We defeated demons and dragons. Yet, after all the triumph we succored on the battlefield, we will ultimately lose the most basic of wars: the war of survival.
My beard was once red and thick; it is now white and thin. Our halls are empty of the mirth and song that once filled it nightly. The wars on Ashkelon have taken their toll on my people, and a generation was lost as parents outlived their children. This would be the omen of our downfall that was not from the sword or to dragon fire, but from the passage of time.
We grew older and our numbers grew fewer with no Dwarven children. The only children seen these in the last generation were that of the human warrior Deianara when she took refuge with us. She and her family would eventually leave to return to her people after the deaths of the five archmages.
We foolishly allowed our youth to die, and in so doing, the Dwarven lineage on Ashkelon will end with me. While it’s possible to have half-Dwarven/half-human children, there isn’t enough gold in all the Dwarven citadels combined to make human women of childbearing age come here to sire them with a handful of wizened Dwarves.
These stone citadels of my forefathers were built to last generations. Shamefully, they and the golden trinkets within them shall outlive our race.
Author's note: This storyline takes place a generation after Storms Over Ashkelon that I had written months ago. I've attached a map of Ashkelon as a reference. Enjoy!
Call me Malachi. I have chronicled the events in Ashkelon to the best of my abilities as a scholar, no longer a boy but an aging grandfather blessed to see two generations of his family grow up healthy in spite of everything that’s happened.
Ashkelon: a vast land teeming with elemental and supernatural forces where light, fire, water, earth, and even death itself can be harnessed. Here great heroes and epic legends once lived. Valiant knights and heroes commanding great armies fought against vile evils that threatened the land. Mages soared through the sky on magical beasts. Demons and dragons fell before shining sword and lance. Wondrous cities and palaces filled the countryside. It was a time of high adventure and sorcery, a time of abundance. I remember their legendary names like it was yesterday: Lord Ultim of Lanceor, Sir Faeric, Sir Taiburon, Master Thorin Apyrus, Lord Demetrio, Lady Melisande…so many others like them.
I was a young boy, a mere student scribe when it all changed. Feuds became battles. Battles became wars. The land bled as hundreds of thousands perished from the onslaught of war and the pestilence that followed. Kingdoms and empires fell. Alliances faded and friend turned against friend. The days of adventure became a time of madness and hunger as a generation seemed lost to war, famine, and disease. Even the continent itself broke apart from the magical fury unleashed from the constant wars. The Archmage Iser Abiram’s attempt at reconciliation and peace failed, ultimately costing him his life.
A brief respite followed in Ashkelon under the tenuous watch of five archmages: Ojare Agkeidon, Shifra Neriad, Alderik Einarion, Prerana Sethos, and Chiram Tavi. This, too, did not last beyond a few seasons as Ojare Agkeidon waged a crusade across Ashkelon, plunging it into war once again. The last of the great cities were destroyed along with the vainglorious archmages that ruled them, leaving only scattered remnants of a once wondrous era throughout Ashkelon.
How I’ve survived a generation of war, I don’t know. Perhaps it was divine intervention or dumb luck. All I know is that I’ve seen the fall of greatness that became buried under overgrowth with the passage of time as the land healed itself. The primal energies that flow throughout Ashkelon remain, but who is there to wield such power?
Who, indeed? Once, a vast array of races populated Ashkelon: Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Goblins, Trolls, Ogres, Humans, Centaurs, Fairies, and a host of others, great and small. Sadly, it appears that now only the humans remain, their numbers significantly depleted from a generation ago. The wondrous races of old are now virtually extinct, decimated beyond repair.
The wide array of monsters, however, seems to prevail in Ashkelon, taking up residence in the abandoned remnants of fallen cities, shrouded in the overgrowth. However, their presence has not detered a newfound generation of treasure hunters, seeking lost riches abandoned by their previous owners among the palatial ruins. Feeding on carrion and the unlucky treasure seeker, these great beasts are the new residents of kingdoms lost to antiquity.
Small towns and hamlets miraculously spared from the destruction have gradually grown into reminders of a once bountiful era. Crops grow once again, but only in small slivers of farmland. Lydda, Magdala, Hesbon, Cadasa, and others like them may have been small villages of no consequence before, but they’ve become the foundation of Ashkelon’s rebirth.
It is the year 1034 in the recorded common history of Ashkelon. A generation has passed since the deaths of the five archmages, but their respective houses of Agkeidon, Neriad, Einarion, Tavi, and Sethos have endured on Ashkelon. New champions will soon emerge, and I hope, no, I pray, that they exercise more wisdom than their forefathers…
Since we're not limited to the Greek pantheon for this contest, here's an information link to other pantheons for mythological deities to draw inspiration or serve as a starting point.
The setting sun bathed the grassy field below a dark red and golden light, where a small shrine stood amongst a tranquil garden. There, Shingon Akihiro, known to nearly all on Kamigawa as greatest and most powerful of the shugenja, stood quietly before the shrine to pay his respects.
The wind subtly shifted as some small leaves blew past Shingon Akihiro. A small, subtle half-smile formed, knowing who had joined him.
“Higore Mamoru,” announced Shingon Akihiro, catching a glint of the ninja in the corner of his eye. “Deadliest of the ninja and undisputed Ninjutsu master on Kamigawa…”
“I am not as you claim, Shingon Akihiro,” Higore Mamoru corrected. “I am only second best.”
“Oh, and who might the best be, then?” Shingon Akihiro said.
“I have not met that one yet,” Higore Mamoru replied before providing his ancestral offering gift and paying his respects at the shrine. “Kiyomi often spoke of how wonderful it was having you as a brother.”
“Shingon Kiyomi spoke even more of how beloved you were to her as her best friend, Mamoru,” Shingon Akihiro responded. “She spoke even more of her dream to spend the rest of natural life with you someday.”
“I shared that dream as well,” he admitted. “But the winds of fate proved fickle, taking her away from us at the age of ten, have they not?”
“They have,” Shingon Akihiro admitted when an awkward pause hovered over them.
“It has taken quite some time, but I now know who is responsible for Kiyomi’s death,” he stated. Higore Mamoru turned, his eyes hardened.
“A planeswalker known as Geyadrone Dihada,” Shingon Akihiro stated. “She is a disciple to one known as Tevesh Szat.”
“The doom of fools,” Higore Mamoru said in an angry whisper. “Where is she now? Is she on Kamigawa?”
“No, she crosses the great planes to evade capture, but such magic is so powerful that it leaves a residual trail can last for several years,” Shingon Akihiro said, showing him a silver compass and an array of other artifacts before rolling them up in a cloth carrying case to hand it to him.
“These are gifts from me and the Myojin to you to dispense justice.”
“Any message from you to Geyadrone Dihada?” Higore Mamoru said.
“You are my message.”
* * *
The plane: Gaea
“Are you ready, my lady?” asked Sir Tobias while in human form dressed in the formal, ceremonial garb of a knight while wearing the small magical medallion given to him by Avram Carthalion.
“Just about,” said Lady Leondra Coeur d’Acier, adorned in a formal, ceremonial dress of her own. The tall, slender, and athletic Leondra had her braided neatly behind her back and wore an ornate ceremonial circlet on her forehead reflecting her rank and status as one of Charlemagne’s paladins. To Sir Tobias, who had typically seen Leondra only in armor or a knight’s tunic with her hair bundled up in a messy ponytail, he was quite surprised to see how feminine she really was.
“You look…radiant, my lady,” Tobias said, taking a formal bow.
“You’re cute,” Leondra teased, feeling awkward to receive such as compliment. The two walked together down the hall to the main concourse, joining the wedding reception of their friends and fellow comrades, Sir Tiras and Genevieve. Every few steps however, Tobias was scratching his back, followed by his stomach, and then his legs.
“Tobias, are you all right?” Leondra asked.
“Yes, my lady,” replied Tobias awkwardly. “It’s just that this clothing that humans wear is not something I’m used to.”
“It will take time,” Leondra admitted, pausing to look behind her.
“My lady?” asked Tobias.
“Nothing,” answered Leondra. “I thought I heard something but it must have been the wind blowing through the window.”
Leondra and Tobias joined arms formally and entered the grand hall, where the Master of Ceremonies announced them. From there, they joined wedding party to partake in the celebration.
Meanwhile, Higure Mamoru slipped back into the shadows; Geyadrone Dihada was on this plane known as Gaea once before, but how long ago wasn’t clear. Regardless, Higure Mamoru would use the magical compass to search elsewhere.
The plane: Oranos
“ADURO MEI INIMI!!!” shouted Kyna Dawnbringer, releasing a barrage of fire darts to strike her foe. After many months of training under her mentor Master Garron, Kyna Dawnbringer’s skills and powers as a cleric became increasingly sophisticated. Her opponent was visibly caught off-guard by her initial attack, staggering backwards before raising a magical defense of her own followed by a counter-attack.
“LUCIDUS MICO!” Kyna exclaimed, generating a shield of white light that protected her. Kyna then drew out her small mace from her belt as her eyes began to glow.
“VOCARTE GLORIFICUS!!!” intoned Kyna, bashing her foe’s in the face with her magically-infused weapon. Kyna’s opponent shrieked in pain followed by anger, delivering a vicious backhand out of instinct that knocked the much smaller Kyna Dawnbringer back. Just as Kyna was about to strike again, her adversary unleashed her fury.
“ENOUGH!” angrily shouted Geyadrone Dihada, spitting out one of her teeth before blasting Kyna against the wall with a wave of green energy, making her drop her weapon on impact followed by shooting out a stream of sticky black webs that pinned Kyna against the wall. Entangled, Kyna tried to invoke another spell until Geyadrone Dihada released another stream of black webs over Kyna’s face, covering her nose and mouth to smother her. Kyna’s blue eyes widened in panic while desperately fighting for air and struggling to break free.
“GET THE ^%$#@* AWAY FROM MY SISTER!!!” roared Aden Dawnbringer, viciously embedding his battle axe into Geyadrone Dihada’s spine. She shrieked in pain, staggering backwards.
“Perhaps I underestimated this world,” she muttered bitterly before leaping out of the window, disappearing into the fog bank below.
Master Garron entered next, seeing Aden free his sister. Kyna coughed heavily and took in deep breaths when Aden removed the webbing from her face as he helped her stand.
“What happened?” Aden asked.
“I was researching one of the old magic tomes,” said Kyna. “And then, from the other end of library, this strange woman appeared from the shadows, sifting through the tomes. She discarded some and was attempting to steal others. When I got closer, she hissed at me and all of a sudden fangs sprouted from her mouth.”
“I see that you knocked one of them out,” commented Aden, picking it up from the floor.
“Let me see it,” asked Master Garron. Aden handed it to him.
“Hmm…perhaps it’s best I do my own research about this sort of creature,” Master Garron said before leaving the chamber.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” offered Aden. A weary Kyna nodded ‘yes’.
Just then Master Garron arrived on the scene with six guards behind him.
“I heard the commotion,” Master Garron said. “Are you all right?”
“Master Garron?” Kyna with a confused look. “Weren’t you just here?”
“No, I was in the outer courtyard when I saw this strange looking woman leap from the window before mysteriously disappearing,” Master Garron answered.
“Master Garron, don’t you remember me giving you the fanged tooth?” Aden asked.
“Tooth? What tooth?” responded Master Garron. “I’ve just arrived.”
Kyna and Aden Dawnbringer looked at one another in disbelief.
Elsewhere, Higore Mamoru shed his magical guise off. Geyadrone Dihada was here indeed, and the magical trail left behind was as radiant as the sun.
The plane: Ulgrotha
At her citadel located on the periphery of land ruled by Baron Sengir, Geyadrone Dihada muttered nothing but obscenities as her imp servants removed the axe embedded in her back followed by applying a special healing ointment to seal the visibly gaping wound. Despite the pain, she still had enough magical power remaining to escape, and not empty-handed. Geyadrone Dihada smiled over her stolen prize: a small collection of magical tomes.
Geyadrone Dihada unexpectedly felt a sharp pin prick at the base of her neck. When she turned around to curse at her imp servant for being so clumsy, she saw that he was already dead, along with the other three.
“Where are you?” angrily hissed Geyadrone Dihada, attempting to summon forth her magic. Yet, nothing happened. Geyadrone Dihada’s eyes turned to rage, as her attempt to tap the dark mana in Ulgrotha failed again and again. Before she could vent her frustration any further, a sudden feeling of cold coursed through her veins until Geyadrone Dihada collapsed to the floor with vacant eyes. Geyadrone Dihada had lived since the early days of Dominaria but now lay dead after mere seconds.
A shadowy figure emerged from the recesses of the chamber, where he removed the pithing needle that he stealthily inserted in the base of her neck to render her powerless. Cut off from the mana that fueled her strength and defenses, Geyadrone Dihada proved easy prey for the numerous poison darts Higore Mamoru silently inserted into her body. Unsheathing his katana blade, Higore Mamoru finished what he had set out to do before disappearing back into the shadows.
From the safety of his fortress Castle Sengir, Baron Sengir watched what transpired with his seeing crystal, catching only flashes of movement and then…. the headless body of Geyadrone Dihada lying lifeless on the floor.
Baron Sengir sat back in his throne and stroked his chin. Clearly, whoever this person was, he was of Kamigawa; that much he was sure of. But how did he get here? Where did he go? Why assassinate Geyadrone Dihada beyond the obvious fact that she had a lot of enemies? More and more questions circulated through his mind when the following facts emerged: one, that whoever this was had the skill to evade her guards, magical defenses, and had some type of artifact capable of rendering even planeswalkers impotent; two, that this one possessed no type of honor whatsoever.
“If only I had such men under me…” he briefly thought.
The plane: Kamigawa
At a tavern in a humble fishing village, Hideki returned from his long day gathering fish and decided to treat himself for some drinks following a sizeable catch that earned him a little extra money. When he entered, Hideki ordered a couple hot pork buns along with some rice wine.
When he looked up, he saw a bizarre, hideously-looking woman’s head being kept in a jar of brine mounted on top of a shelf. Whatever it was, Hideki, thought, was only marginally human.
“What is THAT for?” Hideki asked.
“It’s a guide to know when you drank too much,” the tavern owner said. “When you think she’s beautiful, then it’s time for you to go home.”
Hideki laughed, taking his first drink and looked up.
Legendary heroes, villains, and even great planeswalkers are not uncommon to the world of Dominaria or to the other planes that exist: Kamigawa, Alara, and so many others. As the famed adage goes, few were born great, others achieved greatness, others had greatness forced upon them, and some allowed greatness to pass them by. It is those that rare few that have lasting legacies beyond their deeds that are listed here before you…
Lady Onala
Lady Onala Andregon was but a humble squire of Kjeldor who during its age of bitter cold and ice. As the Ice Age ended and snow thawed to a lasting spring, Onala would grow in strength, wisdom, and grace to become one of Kjeldor’s greatest knights. The alliance of the men of Kjeldor and the elves of Yavimaya was forged by the valor of those like Onala that stood firm against the foe, but living and undead.
Dakkon Blackblade
As a mortal, Dakkon was a master blacksmith and a warrior. Visited by the planeswalker Geyadrone Dihada, Dakkon was offered to ascend with the power of a planeswalker. The cost was simple: Dakkon was to forge for her the most powerful blade in existence. The proud Dakkon agreed and Geyadrone shared with him the sorcery required to make the sword a soul-drinker, a blade capable of stealing the energy of those it killed. Dakkon forged the blade with supernatural fire, cooling it with the blood of a slave he killed after each time he heated the forge. When he completed the sword, Dakkon could not help but test it in battle. Charging into battle, Dakkon felt his strength grow with each kill. So ferocious and merciless was he that his name became Dakkon Blackblade. His strength was that of the mountains, his fury that of a crushing tidal wave and his fury burning bright like an inferno; Dakkon Blackblade stood master of all before him.
That was, until, Dihada returned to fulfill their pact. In exchange for the Blackblade, Geyadrone Dihada made Dakkon a planeswalker, having sensed the spark within him when they first met. But Dihada proved more deceitful than the vainglorious Dakkon could ever foresee, for immediately afterwards she stabbed the Blackblade into Dakkon's shadow and absorbed his soul, but not his life. Dakkon was left wandering Dominaria searching for his lost soul, wondering why Dihada would grant him so much power only to make him her most bitter enemy.
“Such is the game of immortals,” Dihada said before vanishing before his sight.
Rylend Cristos a.k.a. “R.C.” Stellan
Rylend Cristos Stellan would be renowned as the luckiest man ever to walk on Dominaria. Born on the seventh second of the seventh minute in the seventh hour during the seventh day of the seventh month in the lunar year, Rylend Cristos Stellan was blessed with miraculous luck and a natural charisma. People liked him, and would come across the most opportune instances regardless of the circumstances. When he slipped on some ice and fell, he found a gold piece underneath him. When bullies tried to attacked, they would stumble into one another and knock each other out with their own blows. Academics wanted to study him, and wizards wanted to seize him, fumbling over one another while Rylend Cristos Stellan slipped out from underneath all their noses back to his loving family. Although he and his beloved wife lived a humble lifestyle as a merchant and farmer, when he and his wife passed away from old age, all were astonished by what the seemingly modest Rylend Cristos Stellan and his wife left their seven heirs: an estate of 777 acres of farmland and lush vineyards, 77 head of cattle, seven prized stallions, and a family fortune of 7,777 gold crowns.
Tevesh Szat
Tevesh Szat, known as the Doom of Fools, was not always a diabolical planeswalker and betrayer. In fact, he was a quiet hermit mage for a good many years, living peacefully in the forests of Sarpadia under the name Tevelin Loneglade with his beloved sister, Tymolin. As the once great Sarpadian Empire began to decline from internal strife and external war, Tevelin to himself while his sister Tymolin fought alongside her husband, a dwarf chieftain. Tymolin was there when the Dwarf clans fell to the orcs and goblins, fleeing to the forest and her brother’s home. After much coaxing by Tymolin, Tevelin agreed to accompany his sister to Icatia to warn of the impending goblin invasion.
But Tymolin Loneglade would never reach the border forts of Icatia to warn the people. They were intercepted by the Tymolin’s former lover, a mad religious zealot named Oliver Farrel and his retinue of warriors in a hasty alliance with the Order of the Ebon Hand. Tymolin died, and whatever humanity remained in Tevelin Loneglade died with her. Revealing himself as Tevesh Szat, the planeswalker, he would unleash his fury upon Sarpadia, gruesome annihilating Oliver Farrel and his followers before accelerating the fall of Sarpadia.
Tevesh Szat would remain a bane in Dominaria for thousands of years until the Phyrexian Invasion. Joining other planewalkers in a daring and desperate attempt to destroy Phyrexia from within, Tevesh Szat’s natural sense of betrayal would manifest again.
Murdering planeswalkers Kristine of the Woods, Daria, and Taysir before at last Urza destroyed him, Tevesh Szat would be eternally remembered as his namesake, the “Doom of Fools” willing to trust him.
It was not long after Avram Carthalion surpassed his sixteenth winter that the early manifestation of the planeswalker spark emerged. Realizing this wondrous gift, Avram decide to follow in his beloved Uncle Othniel’s footsteps to be an explorer versus being some type of battle lord like his father. Avram spent much of his time studying the wondrous planes his Uncle Othniel visited, helping him chronicle everything in writing, along with continuing his own magical studies. For the young, impetuous Avram, waiting until he past his twentieth winter season was too long to wait before he would journey to another plane, however. So, one night, he put on a set of his traveling clothes, loaded up his pack of artifacts that he expected to be useful, and went off on his journey to explore another plane.
But the young Avram Carthalion’s raw talent lacked control, and as he tapped the mana within Dominaria, the magical energies unleashed catapulted him across the multiverse where he landed hard on his back upon on a wood and stone floor. Upon impact, Avram heard several things in his pack break, and to his dismay, the broken items were the mana batteries that stored the magical energy he was counting on using during his journey and to return back to Dominaria.
The young Avram looked around the relatively small chamber and noticed a large wooden tub that was filled with hot water, evident from the steam emanating from it. When he turned around, Avram received a swift kick in his groin from a woman’s bare foot. Avram doubled over, landing on his side writhing in pain. Avram looked up, seeing a tall, slender yet muscle-toned woman wearing a towel wrapped around her body that covered her up from her armpit level down to the middle of her shins with her hair haphazardly bundled up above her neck. Avram then realized she was holding a sword, pointing it squarely underneath his chin as she stated something in a language he had never heard of before. Avram gulped and quickly recited the translation spell he learned from his uncle, hoping that he had enough innate magic for it to work.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the woman stated. “I’ll not ask again, stranger.”
Avram gasped a momentary sigh of relief, understanding what she was saying as he replied in her language, “I am Avram…Avram Carthalion, my lady…”
The woman’s eyes narrowed sternly.
Avram immediately noticed a blue tunic with white trim bearing a white cross symbol, chainmail shirt, and other pieces of armor neatly mounted on the wall before continuing, “I am your new page…it’s my first day.”
The woman lifted up her sword and took a couple steps back.
“What are you doing in here as I am about to bathe?” she questioned. “Are you a pervert or just stupid?”
Avram turned bright red, fumbling his words when the door barged opened when a mongoose sprang into the room dressed in a military styled tunic and armed with a crossbow, pointing its tip squarely at Avram’s nose.
“My lady!” the mongoose cried out. “I heard commotion…is everything all right?”
Avram’s eyes lit up in shock over the sight of a talking mongoose dressed like a knight and armed; he certainly wasn’t in Dominaria anymore.
The woman smiled and replied, “Everything is fine, Sir Tobias. This is allegedly my new page, Avram. Put him to work and show him around a bit. I’ll be down later.”
The woman then sheathed her sword and picked up the still startled Avram Carthalion with one arm, putting him back on his feet. Although sixteen, Avram was small and with slight of build, making him appear a few years younger.
“Come along, then,” said Tobias, motioning Avram to follow. Avram followed behind Tobias, who closed the door behind them just as the woman opened up her towel and slowly stepped into the tub.
“Sir Tobias,” said Avram awkwardly. “Forgive my ignorance, but I’m afraid my wits aren’t quite about me. Who was she and where exactly am I?”
Sir Tobias looked up at him with a confused look.
“You don’t even know the name of the knight you’re serving?” questioned Tobias. “Did you hit your head or something on the way in? She is Lady Leondra Coeur d’Acier, one of Charlemagne’s paladins and as far as where we are, we’re in Benoic, a small province of Charlemagne’s European empire.”
Sir Tobias led Avram outside of what turned out to be a small stone keep, guarded by several dozen human men at arms and protected a village populated by some humans but mostly talking animals like Sir Tobias dressed in clothes and carrying about their business. Sir Tobias led Avram to the stables, where the sergeant at arms greeted them.
“Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery,” said Sergeant at Arms Ludvig warmly. “What can I do for you, my lord?”
“This is Avram, Lady Leondra’s new page,” said Sir Tobias. “What work do you have for a page today?”
“Oh, they’re always a need for stable work,” replied Sergeant at Arms Ludvig. “A couple good hours, I think. This one’s a little scrawny, though. Is he up for it?”
“He doesn’t have a choice, so we’ll find out soon enough,” quipped Sir Tobias. “Go on, then, Avram, I’ll check on you shortly.”
Sergeant at Arms Ludvig showed Avram the layout of the stables, the location of the well, and went over the list of chores he had to do: put fresh water in the troughs, clean the stables, and take the horses’ leavings to the keep’s vegetable garden as fertilizer. Avram noted what he had to do and went to work.
It took Avram four round trips to the well to get enough water to refill the two troughs in the stable, carrying a bucket of water in each arm. By the time he was finished with the first chore, his arms were already exhausted but knew that if he didn’t finish his task, the sergeant at arms would probably beat him or worse.
Avram began shoveling up the horses’ leavings into a wheel barrow and when full, took it to the garden and emptied it into a pile that a local farmer was using to spread across the field while his two sons and one daughter began planting seeds.
“You’re new here,” said the young girl, who was about Avram’s age. “What’s your name?”
“Avram,” said Avram. “What’s yours?”
“Gwendolyn,” she answered before wrinkling her nose. “You stink.”
Avram didn’t know whether to laugh or cry after Gwendolyn laughed at him before returning to her chore of planting the next harvest crop. Avram pushed the wheel barrow back to the stables and took a whiff of himself and Gwendolyn was right. He reeked of horse and their leavings, along with his own body odors from working outside. For Avram Carthalion who lived a life of luxury and royalty growing up, his first journey to a different plane was something he had never expected. Instead of seeing the sites and exploring a new world, he was toiling in a stable. After about three hours Avram finished his task and Sir Tobias returned, showing him to his small room above the stables.
“Clean up a bit and meet us in the practice yard over there,” said Sir Tobias, pointing it out through the window. “We’ll see you then.”
Avram changed out of his clothes, cleaned himself up a bit and put on the page’s garb left for him, arriving on the practice field where Leondra Coeur d’Acier awaited him. There was a wooden waiting for him on the ground, and Leondra was already finishing up some training maneuvers. Avram caught only a brief glimpse of Leondra’s fighting technique, but readily saw that her combat skills were quite advanced.
“Pick it up,” ordered Leondra, alluding to the wooden sword while Sir Tobias stood by the periphery to observe. “Let’s see what you’re made of. If you’re going to be my page, you have to be able to defend yourself; I need to see what I have to work with.”
Avram picked up the wooden sword, wishing that he had paid attention to his father’s lessons when he was younger. When Leondra went it for her initial strike, Avram shrieked like a little girl before dropping his sword.
“What was THAT?!” said Leondra, wondering whether to punish her would-be page or start laughing at him over such a pathetic display.
“I believe you have a lot of work ahead of you, my lady,” answered Sir Tobias awkwardly.
“I will not entrust my life to a coward,” stated Leondra to Avram. “Pick it up and let’s try this again.”
Avram reluctantly did, and when Leondra performed a basic fighting maneuver, Avram cowed like a frightened child. With no magic and no protection of his Uncle Othniel over him anymore, Avram was truly alone and vulnerable.
“Stand up,” ordered Leondra. Avram did, ashamed by his display earlier.
“Show me your hands,” said Leondra, inspecting them followed by gently slapping his arms and chest to gauge what, if any, muscle mass there was.
“You don’t have the strength to hold a sword, much less defend yourself,” commented Leondra, placing her hands on her hips. “So, Avram Carthalion, are you going to quit, or do you want to train?”
Avram’s first inclination was to indeed quit and walk away, and then perhaps continue his journey to explore this new world before him once he was clear of the keep. Yet, something inside him said otherwise, knowing that to walk away now would be a foolish mistake.
“I want to train,” Avram stated.
“Good,” said Leondra with a smile. “We’ll need to build some strength in that scrawny frame of yours, first. Report to Sergeant at Arms Ludvig and split logs and then report to the kitchen.”
Sure enough, Avram Carthalion went back to work, splitting logs for the next hour before being summoned to the keep’s kitchen where he quickly washed up a bit and went to work preparing food. He brought in water to boil in a large kettle, along with any other mundane chore that needed to be done. During the course of his work he happened to see Gwendolyn again, who was helping her mother, the keep’s cook, slice vegetables.
“Hello,” said Avram, recognizing her.
“You smell better than before,” Gwendolyn said. “But if you’re going to stand there, you might as well be of some use. Go wash those potatoes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Avram with a smile, going back to work. Gwendolyn’s mother was almost as gruff as Sergeant at Arms Ludvig at times, barking orders on preparing the dinner meal for the keep’s attendants and the men at arms protecting it. Once again as it was every day, everything came together in the last hour, as the servants brought out a large roast pig and roasted chickens with vegetables and wild rice. Once Lady Leondra and her retinue were served, the cooking staff and servants enjoyed a hearty meal of their own in the cookhouse where they worked. Avram was able to sit next to Gwendolyn as they ate. To Avram, it seemed like common food compared to what he enjoyed at home in the Carthalion estate but to Gwendolyn, it was a sumptuous feast.
“You disapprove?” commented Gwendolyn, noticing his expression when he ate.
“Not at all,” replied Avram.
“Liar,” muttered Gwendolyn. “I don’t know where you’re from, Avram, but you’ll not find a better knight to serve under than Lady Leondra, save perhaps Sir Tiras. We may be servants, but she pays us and makes sure that we are offered the same quantity and quality of food that she receives. Name another knight willing to do that.”
Avram really couldn’t answer that, as the knights he knew of back in Dominaria generally don’t do such as thing.
“All right, then,” said Gwendolyn. Not long after their meal was finished, Avram joined Gwendolyn and the rest to clean up the dining hall as the last chore of the night. Whereas Gwendolyn joined her family that played music with a small mandolin by her brother and a flute by her mother while she sang and a few others danced afterwards outside their large cottage, Avram retired to his room and collapsed in his bed exhausted.
The next two weeks flashed like a blur. Avram’s morning routine was splitting some wood, followed by breakfast, tending the garrison such as bringing bricks to replace damaged ones or helping the blacksmith, and of course, maintain the stables. After lunch were more physical chores to build up some more strength, followed by a lesson in weapons training with Leondra before helping prepare dinner. In between conversation with various traders and merchants who came and went through Benoic, Avram learned that the world overall was known as „Gaea’ and while magic existed, it was nowhere near the level in Dominaria and worse yet, he had no idea how to tap into it. After the second week, Avram stayed to participate in their nightly merriment, offering something to Gwendolyn.
“What’s this?” asked Gwendolyn, seeing the small brass object shaped like a small hawk.
Unknown to her, it was once a vessel to store mana but after the vessel inside it broke, it was now just an ornate brass hawk figurine.
“A gift,” said Avram. “I’ve also given something similar to your parents and brothers.”
“How does a page come across such things?” asked Gwendolyn. “These aren’t stolen, are they?”
“No, not at all,” insisted Avram. “They’re just trinkets my family kept, that’s all.”
“I see,” said Gwendolyn, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Meanwhile, in her private chamber, Lady Leondra was with Sir Tobias reviewing a map and message received from Lady Bradamante late that afternoon.
“The rumors are true,” said Leondra, reviewing the note. “The demon knight exists.”
“Demon knight, my lady?” asked Tobias.
“I read about him some time ago when I was studying at Mont St. Michel,” recalled Leondra. “He's a supernatural being from the time of King Arthur Pendragon who merged his soul with that of a demon. He was a villainous knight whose name was Breunis, known at the knight without pity. He was defeated and later trapped in a tomb, hidden away somewhere and forgotten. Apparently, some tomb robbers stumbled upon it and unwittingly released him. He’s already struck three towns and two villages already, and appears to be coming towards here.”
“We have fifty men at arms in the keep here and can summon another fifty by tomorrow, my lady,” offered Tobias.
Leondra reviewed another note sent from her comrade in arms, Riordan, annotating the information onto her map.
“Riordan is already on the move trying to anticipate Breunis’s next attack, as is Sir Astolpho, and Sir Rinaldo,” described Leondra. “Breunis is avoiding a direct confrontation with them and attacking helpless targets. If I assemble a large force and ride after him, he will avoid me as well.”
“What do you propose my lady?” asked Tobias. “Ride out towards him alone perfumed and pretty like bait to draw him out?”
Leondra smiled.
“That is exactly what I have planned, Sir Tobias,” said Leondra, scratching his furry cheeks. “Are you with me?”
“But of course, my lady!”
“Good, tell my page Avram to prepare for a journey tomorrow.”
* * *
For the next two days Leondra donned a lavish royal cloak to conceal her armor and tunic with a large hood over her head, laden with an exotic perfume that could be smelled at great distances. Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery trailed alongside her, remaining hidden in the woods and tall grass. Avram, as her page, rode behind her carrying a lavish banner, dressed in royal garb and wearing perfume himself. Ironically, the clothing and scent reminded him of life back in Dominaria at the Carthalion estate.
They rode out in the late morning at a leisurely pace, taking frequent breaks for their horses to gently graze and drink water at a nearby pond before resuming their journey. Sir Tobias joined them under the secluded grove, handing Avram a water skin and offering him a drink. Avram took a drink, followed by Lady Leondra’s spontaneous laughter; when Avram saw his reflection, he saw that his lips and teeth had turned purple!
“What the…what just….?” blurted out Avram, cleaning out his teeth with a rag and trying to rinse his mouth out.
“Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery is often referred to as „Tom’ for short,” commented Leondra, regaining her composure. “And he’s a bit a prankster…”
“So I see, my lady,” said Avram. “Does Sir Tom Foolery play pranks on you, my lady?”
Leondra looked at Tobias with a stern yet furtive smile.
“I know better not to,” stated Tobias.
“Well, day two and no sign of Sir Breunis,” commented Leondra, spraying on some more perfume. “I wonder if I’m trying too hard to where it’s obviously a trap.”
“I wish I knew, my lady,” answered Tobias. “But the scent of your perfume is quite…nice.”
Leondra smiled, kneeling down to kiss him on the forehead before getting back on her horse to resume their journey. The sun began to set when Leondra saw a black dot amidst the sun get larger and larger until she recognized the outline.
“Breunis,” she whispered while unclasping her royal cloak. When Sir Breunis emerged on his dark winged steed, Leondra cast off her cloak and drew Arondight from her scabbard and took a swipe at him as he flew by, narrowly missing him.
“SEEK COVER!” shouted Leondra to Avram, who dropped the banner and rode to the cover of the nearby forest. Sir Tobias dashed past him with his crossbow loaded, trying to get a bead on Breunis’s steed. Breunis swept down again from the sky to strike, missing Leondra as she maneuvered her horse out of the way. Tobias fired his crossbow and struck home, hitting Breunis’s steed’s lower body. Forced to land, Breunis drew his demonic blade that glowed pale green energy after dismounting while Leondra dismounted with Arondight in one hand, and a cross in the other.
“In name of God, in the name of Jesus Christ, I send you to Hell,” stated Leondra as golden light emanated from her cross. Breunis yelled in pain initially but then laughed, resisting
Leondra’s spiritual power. Breunis attacked, parried by Leondra who then kicked him to separate them with some standoff.
“It will take more than amateur paladin powers to stop me, woman,” mocked Breunis, licking his lips. “Although I’ve never raped a female paladin before.”
“And you never will,” replied Leondra, letting out a war cry and attacked. Breunis parried and delivered a hard backhand, bloodying Leondra’s face and knocking the cross out of her left hand. Leondra attacked again, striking Breunis’s arm to lightly wound him. Breunis attacked but missed when Leondra evaded his strike and retaliated, cleaving his helmet apart to reveal his face. Breunis’s once human form was more serpentine and demonic, bearing the eyes of a serpent, two small horns from his head, and a mix of scaly skin patches on his face. Breunis grinned, spitting venom that struck Leondra’s eyes, blinding her.
“MY LADY!!!!” shouted Tobias, leaping into the fray with his short sword drawn. Sir Tobias scurried about striking Sir Breunis and evading his strikes, buying Leondra precious time to wipe the venom from her eyes. Breunis eventually caught Tobias mid-stride, grabbing him and taking a massive bite into his body to inject his venom before tossing him aside. Breunis laughed when suddenly Leondra unleashed her fury upon him, chopping off his sword hand following by chopping off his right foot just above the ankle with Arondight. Breunis collapsed in a heap, bitterly cursing her when she retrieved her cross.
“In the name of God…in the name Christ…go back to Hell…” Leondra said coldly, burning him in holy light before driving Arondight deep into his chest, piercing his armor, flesh, and bone to destroy the demon knight at last.
Leondra’s attention immediately turned to the mortally wounded Tobias. Leondra whistled for her warhorse, who rushed to her side followed by Avram on his small riding horse. Leondra saw Tobias’s eyes fluttering weakly; she was losing him as she retrieved her healing salves from her pack and applied them on his wounds. Avram saw in Leondra’s eyes what he had never seen before: fear.
“It’s not working,” said Leondra.
“Demon magic,” said Avram in a shocked, hushed tone. “A portion of his demonic power is poisoning him…I…I think I can heal him, though….”
Leondra looked at Avram, cautiously nodding “yes” and took a step away. Avram retrieved his pack and placed a medallion around Tobias’s neck. Tobias began to glow from the medallion’s magic, transforming from a mongoose into a young man with a slender yet lean, wiry body. His wound remained and Avram put on a brass claw of some kind and magically extracted what appeared to be a shard of demonic power from Tobias’s body. Tobias’s shallow breathing picked up, showing more signs of life.
“Your healing salves should work now,” said an exhausted Avram.
Leondra was speechless, applying her healing salves and bandages onto Tobias’s wounds. His eyes opened up, feeling himself cold and having five fingers and five toes on each of his hands and feet.
“My lady…?” asked Tobias in disbelief. “What..what has happened?”
* * *
Although enchanted, the healing salve has its limitation and Tobias would be fit for travel until the morning. Leondra and Avram established a hasty bivouac site in the nearby woods, where they got a fire going and ate a meal of travel rations that consisted of salted meats and dried fruits.
“Thank you for saving my friend,” said Leondra. “I thought I had lost him.”
“You almost did, but it is you who I should thank as well, my lady,” replied Avram.
Leondra had a bewildered look.
“You believed in me,” said Avram.
“So who are you, really? What’s your story?” asked Leondra. “When I first met you, you looked like a pampered prince but yet you saved my friend with magic that I’ve only read about.”
“I am a mage apprentice, my lady,” answered Avram. “From a far away land and whose teleportation spell didn’t work out as planned.”
“No, it certainly didn’t,” teased Leondra. “Why the transformation spell?”
“The spell techniques I learned for exorcising demonic powers were for humans,” explained Avram. “I wasn’t sure if they would work on your friend’s animal form, so it was easier to turn him into a human first.”
“I see,” said Leondra, noticing Tobias asleep, huddling amidst some blankets shivering. “I’m afraid my beloved friend Tobias is not used to being without his natural fur. I will tend to him while you keep first watch.”
“Yes, my lady,” agreed Avram, putting some more wood in the fire. Avram turned his back to Leondra to watch the outside perimeter as she undressed to her undershirt and pantaloons before crawling in underneath the blankets behind Tobias, gently holding him from behind to warm him up with her body. Tobias soon stopped shivering and Leondra smiled before drifting to sleep herself.
Leondra took last watch and was already dressed back in her armor and uniform when the sun rose. She heated up some water for some personal hygiene and checked on Tobias’s wounds, which were healed but Tobias was undoubtedly still weak and needed more time to rest once they returned to Benoic. Avram awoke and checked on his pack for a quick inventory, noticing a small pouch that he had forgotten about. Upon opening it, Avram Carthalion’s eyes opened wide, seeing the dried black lotus petals that were inside of it, giving him the mana power necessary to return back to Dominaria.
Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery had awoken and unknowingly activated the medallion’s magic, returning back to his mongoose form and feeling much better. Removing it, Tobias gratefully thanked Avram and returned it for him.
“Keep it,” replied Avram, handing it back to him. “In case you ever want to be human again.”
Sir Tobias shrugged, putting the medallion in a pouch attached to his weapons belt.
“Returning home?” asked Leondra, putting her saddle back onto her warhorse.
“Yes, my lady,” answered Avram. “I’m long overdue.”
“Very well,” said Leondra, mounting her warhorse as Tobias scurried up and sat behind her. Leondra pulled her cross off of her belt and handed it to Avram, followed by Tobias giving him his hat that bore a small feather plume.
“Something to remember us by,” added Leondra, before riding off to return back to Benoic.
* * *
Tapping into the mana within the black lotus petals, Avram Carthalion launched himself back to Dominaria through the dimensional portal from the plane of Gaea. As it was before, Avram stumbled and fell, landing on the floor where his Uncle Othniel received him, reading a book while a crystal mounted in a brass base glowed.
“Ah, good to see you again, my boy!” said Othniel, helping him up. “I was starting to think something ate you. How was your first journey? Where did you go?”
“A new place none of us had been to before…a plane called Gaea,” explained Avram. “But I had no idea how I got there….how did I get back?”
“Well, this of course,” alluded Othniel, pointing to the glowing crystal. “When I found out you left I activated it, just as I do normally before I traverse to another plane. It’s like a homing beacon to make sure you can return here.”
“You’re…not mad at me, are you, Uncle?” asked Avram.
“Me? Not really. Your father, on the other hand, well, that’s a different story,” warned Othniel. “What did you learn on your first trip alone?”
“The value of hard work,” answered Avram, alluded to the training regimen Leondra put him through.
“Well, good, because you’re going to work off your debt for losing those artifacts you took,” stated Othniel, alluding to the empty shelf where they were kept. “You’ll start by cleaning up this mess in here, then tend to the gardens with the servants until lunch, and then clean the stables until dinner.”
“Yes, Uncle,” answered Avram, momentarily wondering if his Uncle Othniel and Lady Leondra were somehow related.
My name is Avram, son of Shadrach, but more importantly, the nephew of Othniel Carthalion, the planeswalker. Unlike others who wielded such great power, however, my beloved uncle was driven by the love of exploration, and not conquest. In all of his travels to the various planes beyond Dominaria, Othniel chose to blend-in with the local populace, learning everything he could of their culture, their way of life, and bringing back wondrous items from those places.
After much coaxing and perhaps his own wanderlust growing within him once again, Uncle Othniel agreed to take me with him on another one of his wonderful journeys. It was several years since he last visited the plane of Oranos, so he decided for us to visit there. His maps were admittedly a bit dated, no doubt, so we hoped for the best and planned for the worst as they say and through Othniel’s great magic, traversed the great dimensional gateway to Oranos.
We arrived to the city known as Dimos Ischyron in the land of Omnia Res. The journey was particularly taxing for my uncle, nearly collapsing when we first arrived. We arrived under the guise of wealthy merchants who had ample money, so it was easy for me to get him set up in more than adequate lodgings. Food seemed plentiful, as we had arrived during the summer harvest. The fruits were sweet and the roasted meats were tender and delicious; Othniel enjoyed his slow but delectable recuperation of good food and plenty of rest.
In the meantime, I toured the city. The market district was nothing I had ever seen before. So vast. So beautiful. One could get lost but not want to be found. Jewelers, metal smiths, artisans, painters, craftsmen, and every known food vendor was there selling their goods. Competition was plentiful, so prices seemed reasonable. Well, at least to me when comparing them to the price of similar goods in the city streets of Corondor.
Omnia Res was as diverse as Uncle Othniel described. There were humans, known as Luthamadan on this world, dwarves, known as the Asgan, and centaurs, known as the Alogodras. Although the Alogodras were a nomadic race, they were quite common in Dimos Ischyron and the surrounding area. I saw them tending large flocks of sheep in addition to elite lancers in armor patrolling the open plains outside the city.
When Othniel recovered his strength, we mentioned the option of traveling as part of a small merchant caravan to Dimos Ischyron’s sister city, Dimos Dynati, or to the Dwarven city of Kaienin. Othniel had been to both, and decided that we would travel to Kaienin to show me around the wondrous splendors it offered. Dwarves no longer exist on Dominaria, so the idea of visiting a great city of theirs immediately perked my interest.
Initially, the journey was uneventful, but I was able to see the wondrously vast land that was Omnia Res. The land was green and farmland verdant, like Dominaria was described to me in its youth, before the Antiquities War between Urza and Mishra.
Our seemingly uneventful journey ended abruptly with the arrival of a company of some two or three hundred centaur lancers that rode ahead of us. There was talk of an enemy force moving towards Dimos Dynati, and this group was part of many assembling to reinforce the existing garrison protecting the city.
By itself, the company of well-armed and armored centaurs didn’t seem out of the ordinary until I heard about their leader at the head of their column: a Luthamadan female known as Captain Marayn si Galad. From what I’m told, she is the only non-centaur the Alogodras deemed worthy enough to directly lead them into battle.
The merchant caravan was redirected back to the safety of Dimos Ischyron. My uncle, on the other hand, assumed a new guise as a chirgeon to support them and I, as his assistant. We rejoined the group of Omnia Resian soldiers as part of a small group of healers sent to support them. Between the two of us we knew a good deal of medicinal skills and our healing magic would prove helpful as well. Unlike the knights of Niadhraon that kept their healers far to the rear of the battle, the Omnia Resians expected some of their healers to be much closer to the field ready to render aid. Othniel allowed me to join that group, and it was then that I saw first-hand how Captain Marayn si Galad earned the respect of the Alogodras.
We arrived at the early onset of battle. Kaienin was under attack from a great host of beast-men, known as Beithor on this world. However they were unable to breach its walls. The city’s defenses looked like something Urza himself created. Great ballista launched steel tipped bolts, smashing apart crudely made siege towers. Searing streams of flaming oil shot out from stone gargoyles that overlooked one of the city gates, incinerating the would-be attackers and their battering ram. Massive catapults hurled stones and clay pots filled with fiery oil or shrapnel, striking down even more Beithor. But still, the Beithor stormed the walls with reckless abandon.
Marayn si Galad sent her force of centaur lancers into two columns as part of a much larger force of cavalry to break the main siege line. She led the first column, striking the Beithor from the flank with a rain of arrows and javelins while the second trampled through the broken ranks that remained.
She was amazing…riding what must have been a full gallop on her horse and taking shot after shot with her bow, striking down armored Beithor. Victory seemed inevitable, until Beithor reinforcements arrived. At the head was a fearsome warrior I later learned was named Magnus Athos.
Magnus Athos was a Deimhenn warlord who was infused with great supernatural power through a ritual called “the soul harvest”. He arrived on a giant bat as his mount, glowing with demonic fire it seemed. I felt my own soul rattle at his sight. With a fresh host of Beithor warriors, Magnus Athos launched another wave.
Marayn si Galad’s soft blue eyes hardened to steel, forming up her centaur lancers. While her centaur lancers provided her cover, Marayn set her sights squarely on Magnus Athos.
She proved the better rider, easily maneuvering her horse to avoid Magnus Athos’s attempts to swoop down from the sky to slay her. Marayn dismounted her horse to the cover of some nearby trees, biding her time to catch him off guard while he circled around. Marayn took aim and fired three arrows at him. The first deflected off his armor, the second struck the bat in its belly, and most importantly, the third struck the bat through its head. A great cheer roared through her forces as Magnus Athos came crashing down to the earth.
But Magnus Athos would not be defeated so easily, for he emerged from the dirt cloud cleaving through four Omnia Resian lancers like they were straw. Marayn put away her bow and drew her sword and shield, entering the fray.
Marayn clashed steel against Magnus Athos, who cleaved through another two centaur lancers to get to Marayn. The smaller, quicker Marayn si Galad dodged his attack and bashed his head repeatedly with her metal shield. Magnos Athos retaliated, cleaving through her shield with what was undoubtedly an enchanted blade of some kind, wounding her arm. When Magnus Athos saw the short sword Marayn wielded, one could sense that underneath his helmet Magnus Athos was grinning, mocking her as a warrior. Little did he know, Marayn si Galad would show him what true skill was.
When he attempted to strike again, Marayn dodged his attack and chopped off his sword arm, right around the forearm, following through with a thrust into his chest, right through his heart. Magnus Athos’s death was silent, dropping to his knees before falling over dead. The demonic fire that glowed so bright extinguished into smoldering embers.
Panic flashed through the Beithor like a flood drowning trapped rats. They retreated back to their lands in complete disarray. I later learned that despite its humble appearance, Marayn si Galad wielded an even greater magical blade of her own called Spathi Antria, known in the common language “the Sword of Courage”. I was also told that she slew a dragon with it.
While I never had the chance to meet Marayn si Galad in person, I certainly agreed with the comments of a dwarf I met named Gilius Thunderhead at the banquet held that night among the victorious defenders.
“That’s why I’m glad she’s on our side.”
***
We remained in Kaienin for about four days. Having never seen Dwarves up close, visiting a whole city of them was quite unique. Kaienin was nothing I had ever seen before. Two thirds of the city was carved into the mountain itself, housing great halls and chambers. The forward third was a massive bastion protected by assorted siege works and engines.
The Asgan certainly loved a good brawl here and there, and they certainly demonstrated a great loyalty to their family clans. I learned that it was not uncommon for Dwarven males to have two or three Dwarf females as wives. Skirmishes against the Beithor were common, and it was customary that Dwarven “brothers-in-arms” meant that should one fall in battle, the other would adopt the other’s family as his own. It was definitely an “Asgan-only” tradition, for I learned that Omnia Resian law forbade polygamy for the Luthamadan and that the Asgan could not have multiple human wives. Intriguingly enough, though, Omnia Resian law allowed divorce among the Luthamadan but under Asgan tradition, divorce was explicitly forbidden. In a stark contrast to both races, the Alogodras don’t even follow any such tradition regarding marriage.
Gilius Thunderhead was a generous host during our visit, showing us some of the mines and battle forges, in addition to allowing us partake in a great family feast with his two wives and numerous adopted children. While Gilius seemed to enjoy all of their company, their incessant prattling at times made him think that his fallen brothers-in-arms intentionally got themselves killed on purpose since they couldn’t get divorced. Well, that’s what he said after his fifth or sixth pint of ale.
After departing Omnia Res we soon found ourselves in Niadhraon, reaching the capital city of Sol Tirin. There, Othniel met up with the niece of an associate he knew during his last visit to the Oranos plane: a female knight named Elisia Darcune. She seemed very nice, albeit overly formal sometimes, and made sure we were taken care of as our host. I learned that Elisia Darcune was an accomplished knight of renown in Niadhraon as well, having fought against a great magical avatar known as Aima-Dolofonos and also a dragon at one point. While her accomplishments didn’t surprise Uncle Othniel at all, her appearance did. It turns out that when he first met her, she was a young squire training to become a knight. Her hair was short back then, arguably like that of a boy, Uncle Othniel described. But now, her hair went slightly past the base of her neck. Uncle Othniel found out later that Elisia Darcune’s new hair length was fairly recent and due to her aunt’s concern about “her favorite niece looking so butch”.
Coincidentally, it was this same aunt of Elisia Darcune’s that sponsored her training to become a knight and convinced her parents to support her endeavor. No doubt, Elisia viewed her beloved aunt as a mentor and felt somewhat beholden to her, resulting in her acceptance of her advice, albeit reluctantly.
Our stay in Niadhraon was fairly brief compared to our time in Omnia Res, and before I knew it we were on a ship departing the port town of Dragonmoor to Aedh Caelinn, the land of the Sidhcaire Elves. To our combined surprise, when we arrived at the port we were received by Sidhcaire warriors in armor who provided us escort to the nearest town. Like Omnia Res, Aedh Caelinn was also recently attacked, but by a large group of evil human warriors allied with the Deimhenn. While easily repelling their enemy, the Sidhcaire remained at a high state of battle readiness. Uncle Othniel was quite surprised when he saw the Sidhcaire elf Darien Aislean, who arrived as part of the escort party in full battle armor. He was so used to seeing her in dresses that he did a double-take when she greeted us.
Once inside the safety of the elven city of Túr Eayst, Uncle Othniel and I encountered the Sidhcaire that he described before: most were golden-haired elves of magical grace, save a few who pursued magic in the ways of nature like Darien, turning their hair a robust earthly dark brown.
Darien Aislean’s cousin, Firinne Gealach, would be our host during the visit to Aedh Caelinn. Like Darien, Firinne also pursued nature magic in addition to magic of light and water, as her hair was a rich reddish brown. She was lovely and fair, with a wisdom far beyond her years for she smiled, realizing that Othniel was no mere merchant trading goods to the elves. She sensed his power and somehow knew that she was not from the plane of Oranos. Because of this, she entrusted him with an everlasting gift to take back to Dominaria.
When we returned back home to Dominaria, my Uncle Othniel smiled in a way I had never seen before.
What Firinne gave him was a young sapling of their great trees that protected their land, destined to grow and bear leaves of gold and silver. Othniel smiled, holding it in its small pot before taking outside to a special grove to plant it.
Of all the gifts he gathered in his many years of traversing the planes, my Uncle Othniel Carthalion received the greatest gift of all: new life.
Avram Carthalion rested his chin on his hands on the desk, staring at the black metal sliver that was once part of the magical sword Adrolann. Every so often, black ethereal tendrils would slowly coalesce from it before being suppressed by the magical safeguards Othniel Carthalion emplaced upon it.
“Uncle Othniel,” Avram asked. “Did Peritor and Elspeth ever rid themselves of the demonic presence trapped within themselves?”
“Why yes, they did,” said Othniel, adjusting his spectacles.
“How? Was it by holy ritual? Or perhaps an exorcism?” suggested Avram, recalling some of his lessons.
Othniel rubbed his chin, recalling one of his visits to the Oranos plane.
“Actually, it was neither,” Othniel answered. “Before I start, though, I must tell you more about Oranos.”
Othniel stopped with what he was doing and pulled up a chair near Avram, followed by pouring himself a small cup of tea.
“As I once said before, Oranos is a world full of raw elemental power and diverse races. Humans, centaurs, elves, and dwarves live there with a host of wondrous flora and fauna. When I was there, I also learned of three malevolent races that were the banes of life: the Beithor, who were savage creatures that usually bore the head of a jackal, goat, or wolf on a man’s body; the Follanmahr, brutish creatures that were double or triple the size of a normal man with two, maybe even three heads and four arms; and lastly, and most feared: the Deimhenn.”
“Did you see any of them? What were they like?” asked Avram.
“Beithor? Yes, very much so when I was in Niadhraon and Omnia Res,” answered Othniel. “They were a little bit smaller than a normal man but bigger than a goblin. They were usually fodder, sort of like how goblins are in Dominaria. I never saw a Follanmahr; I only heard about them. From what I was told, there weren’t many to begin with and by the time I got there most had died off in battle. The Deimhenn, however, were a much different story.”
Avram’s eyes widened with curiosity.
“The Deimhenn were deceivers,” explained Othniel. “While many were accomplished warriors or sorcerers, their best, and most favored, skill was to turn brother against brother and tempt others to do their bidding. They used their magic to assume a fair form rivaling that of the Sidhcaire elves. Even worse, they were immortal.”
“Immortal? Like, gods?” said Avram.
“Not quite,” started Othniel. “They extended their lifespan through a ritual that was known as the ‘soul harvest’. I’m not sure of the specifics, but they apparently did blood sacrifices to harness the primal life force of their victims to extend their lifespan, making them effectively immortal; that ability alone made many fall prey to their evil temptation.”
“But what do the Deimhenn and this so-called ‘soul harvest’ have to do with Peritor and Elspeth?” questioned Avram.
“The Deimhenn and the soul harvest have everything do with Peritor and Elspeth, my boy! It‟s quite ironic, really.” answered Othniel, taking another sip of tea. “It happened somewhere on an unnamed battlefield in Niadhraon. A Deimhenn lord named Meilyr à Gamhlas had raised an army of Beithor and fought against the knights of Niadhraon that was reinforced by a small host of Sidhcaire Elves of Aedh Caelinn. Originally, most thought that it was another raid by some petty Deimhenn lord to gather victims for the soul harvest, but the scheming Meilyr proved cleverer than the defenders thought, “ started Othniel. “It was indeed a raid for victims, but they weren’t looking for villagers or townspeople to kidnap: it was Peritor and Elspeth.”
“Meilyr à Gamhlas launched wave after wave of Beithor warriors to isolate Peritor and Elspeth from the rest of the group, knowing at some point fatigue and the blood-filled carnage would eventually wear down Peritor’s will and Elspeth’s magical strength; he was right. Peritor and Elspeth both went berserk, slaying many Beithor and rushing in to attack with mad bloodlust in their eyes, further isolating themselves until they both collapsed from exhaustion,” continued Othniel. “Retrieving what was left of them was easy.”
“They awoke as captives of Meilyr à Gamhlas, who began the soul harvest ritual to cull the pure demonic power trapped by Peritor’s will and Elspeth’s grace. Both screamed in agony as Meilyr drew forth the demonic energies trapped within their bodies, adding to his own power. Meilyr smiled and roared triumphantly, feeling his magical power grow greater and greater with every passing moment until…”
“Until what?” asked Avram in anticipation.
“He exploded,” Othniel said, taking another sip of tea.
“WHAT?!” blurted out Avram. “That…makes no sense!”
“It doesn’t?” asked Othniel. “Avram, bring me that glass goblet over there.”
Avram complied, bringing it to his uncle. Othniel took the teapot and quickly began pouring the hot tea into the glass goblet, shattering it into fragments.
“Do you see what happened? Meilyr was undoubtedly drawing more power than his body could take, and like that glass, broke apart as a result,” explained Othniel. “Peritor and Elspeth freed themselves and escaped. When they rendezvoused with the rescue party sent after them, all could see that they were forever changed by what had occurred.”
“How so?” said Avram.
“The most obvious was that Elspeth had regained her magical grace, for her hair was a radiant blonde again,” described Othniel. “From what I was told by those who were around him, Peritor was much different as well.”
“Their combined strength kept a demonic power in check from a spiritual bond that formed during that fateful night when Peritor first helped Elspeth. Over time, this spiritual bond changed them for the better, I would imagine. Elspeth gained a measure of Peritor’s will that enhanced her magic greatly and Peritor gained a portion of Elspeth’s grace that protected him from the darkest of evils. From then on, Elspeth was known as Elspeth d’Aiteas, meaning „the joyous‟ in their language, if I remember correctly, to forever remember that joyous day,” continued Othniel. “The whole event is quite ironic, when you consider everything. It was not holy ritual, but Deimhenn magic, the most evil out there, mind you, that liberated Peritor and Elspeth from an evil presence. And, I might add, their would-be „liberator‟ was trying to kill them slowly and painfully and when he got what he wanted, he caused his own gruesome demise. ”
“You’re right, it’s funny, Uncle, but also kind of gross, too,” commented Avram before asking, “Did you ever see them again?”
“I briefly crossed paths with Elspeth once; she was radiant, but to my surprise, her hair was black! I later learned that she chose to have it dyed that way because she had grown to like having dark hair. Imagine that!” said Othniel.
“And Peritor?”
“I missed him on that occasion, and would not see him again in person,” added Othniel. “When I met their eldest daughter Ciara na Suthainn years later, however, she did show me a painting of her father displayed in one of the citadels. She said it always gave her a laugh, knowing how much her father hated posing for it in ceremonial armor.”
“What’s next, Uncle Othniel?” said Avram, who went back to staring at the metal shard of Adrolann.
“First, you need to clean up that mess,” said Othniel, alluding to the pile of broken glass and spilled tea. “And then I believe it’s time for lunch.”
Avram chuckled, getting up to retrieve a rag and a broom.
Author’s Notes: I first wrote this story in 1998 inspired by The Magic: The Gathering Mirage and Visions sets while working overseas and updated it around 2002. Over the years, it has since circulated through assorted Xena fan fiction web-sites before they respectively ended. This is an updated version based on my more recent foreign experience and seems like something readers in this forum would enjoy. In relation to the television series timeline, this story takes place around Season 2, before Xena and Gabrielle encounter Dahak and the death of Xena’s son, Solan.
Wizards of the Coast briefly published a Xena: The Warrior Princess trading game card in the late 1990s and a part of me hopes that the company will someday depict those characters as legends.
***
GENERAL COPYRIGHT/DISCLAIMER: Xena: Warrior Princess, Gabrielle, Argo and all other characters who have appeared in the syndicated series Xena: Warrior Princess, together with the names, titles and back-story are the sole copyright property of MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this fan fiction. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This story cannot be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of this story may be made for private use only and must include all disclaimers and copyright notices.
***
High in the desert sky, the sun blazed its heat on the surface below. Pockets of tropical life dotted the harsh landscape of Arabia through a series of oases that shielded the weary traveler with shade, food, and water.
Gabrielle had just finished picking up some dates and some small fruits and walked toward Xena with a small, filled bag.
“Mmmm…these are really good…” commented Gabrielle, her mouth half-stuffed full of fruit.
“Thanks for saving me some, Gabrielle,” joked Xena after taking a bite and spitting one out. "You eat the best and leave me the sour ones...”
“Whoops. Sorry...” apologized Gabrielle with a smirk. "I'm sure the food we find in Medina will be much better."
“I should hope so,” replied Xena while filling her waterskin. “Medina is the central city among four major provinces that make up Arabia; four powerful tribes maintain a loose alliance that barely holds it together."
“Four tribes?” asked Gabrielle. “Who are they?”
“The Fulanif. The Saud’Ata. The Al-Dhafir. The Zahran.” explained Xena, drawing their symbols in the sand with a stick. “All very strong and proud tribes that don’t like each other, nor do they even respect one another in some cases. It seems their senses of honor and religious beliefs clash.”
“What do you mean? A warrior’s honor is a warrior’s honor, right?” commented Gabrielle.
“Not exactly,” responded Xena, wiping the sand clean before she and Gabrielle got to their feet and made their way to their horses. “The Saud’Ata and Al-Dhafir are masters of the hit and run tactic with their cavalry, which the Fulanif and Zahran perceive as dishonorable since they believe in combat between champions to settle a dispute, not large armies. The Saud’Ata are also known to use assassins; I don’t even want to begin discussing their religious differences.”
“They don’t much different than the politicians in Athens with their intrigues,” commented Gabrielle.
“Yes, but don’t tell any of them that,” replied Xena, mounting Argo while Gabrielle got on her small riding horse. “We'll reach Medina by nightfall in time for its festival.”
“So what keeps the alliance together?” called out a puzzled Gabrielle.
“Laith El-Khaldun,” answered Xena.
“Bless you,” replied Gabrielle.
“I didn’t sneeze, Gabrielle,” said Xena. “I mean Laith El-Khaldun, a powerful lord in this region. He’s a cruel tyrant who makes Ares look like Hercules. It took the combined might of all four tribes to force a stalemate in battle, and he still holds land and a dominant. Right now he controls a loose confederation of bandit tribes in this region and commands influence in the Al-Shammari tribe. The great festival in Medina is more than just a celebration; it’s a meeting to discuss peace. Apparently there have been some recent border skirmishes.”
“So where does Autolycus fit in all this?” asked Gabrielle, recalling a message exchange between them in the days leading up to their journey to Arabia.
“He was hired by Laith to spy on the others,” answered Xena with a smile before picking up the pace.
***
By early sunset Xena and Gabrielle reached the glimmering city of Medina. A great alabaster wall surrounded the mighty city, with ivory turban shaped towers covered in bronze paint dotting the many battlements within its structure. Entering the massive gate, Xena and Gabrielle passed through the massive streets filled with peddlers and merchants of all forms.
“What a beautiful city…look at these silks....they must be imported from Cathay,” said Gabrielle excitedly.
“These high prices have my attention,” added Xena, overhearing the people haggling for the cost of food, supplies, and goods. “We’ll be out of dinars after our third meal.”
“Ladies, leave that to me,” came a suave voice. It was none other than the legendary King of Thieves, Autolycus. Dressed in simple yet elegantly tailored clothes, Autolycus sprang from the doorway to greet his friends.
“Not at all, Xena,” insisted Autolycus while helping Gabrielle down from her horse. “This is the gift of my employer, Laith El-Khaldun. This medallion here buys me anything I need. Food, lodging, fancy clothes...women...wine…well, you get the idea.”
“What kind of service is he getting then? A medallion that grants you unlimited buying in Medina isn’t something he would give to anyone,” Xena replied sternly.
“Why, the expert advice and spying of the legendary Autolycus, King of Thieves!” boasted Autolycus, leading Xena and Gabrielle into the inn. “However,”
“However,” corrected Xena. “You’re here at my request to see what he’s planning.”
“Well, yes,” admitted Autolycus begrudgingly. “But you’re killing my reputation, Xena. People need to know that Autolycus is here as the personal spy selected by the feared and respected Laith El-Khaldun, not for Xena.”
“The people can believe whatever they like,” warned Xena, grabbing Autolycus by his shirt. “Just as long as you have a clear understanding of who’s in charge.”
“Oh yes, very clear understanding,” replied Autolycus.
“Well, now, shall we begin?”
“Who said that?” asked Gabrielle, turning around
“This is Siraj Jiburi, a cavalier and general among in the Zahran tribes,” introduced Xena.
Siraj Jiburi was a tall and broad shouldered Arabian man in his prime. Dark haired with bronze skin with a thick mustache and well-trimmed beard, he escorted the three into a private chamber under the heavy guard of his elite warriors.
“I am glad that you came at such short notice, Xena,” said Siraj. “The alliance is waning; I fear that by the end of this festival at least one of the major tribes will join Laith El-Khaldun. He’s already been politicking with the Al-Dhafir and Saud’Ata ambassadors. I’ve been able to keep the Fulanif allied with my tribe, but I don’t know for how long.”
“What do you know about his plans, so far, Autolycus?” asked Gabrielle.
“Well, not much really,” explained Autolycus with a shrug. “When I first showed up he greeted me with open arms and gave me the medallion. I’ve been kind of busy seeing the sights of Medina ever since.”
“Excellent,” said Xena with a smile.
“What do you mean?” asked Gabrielle. “I thought Autolycus was supposed to spy on him.”
“Laith is clever. He can smell a spy out for him several leagues away,” commented Siraj Jiburi. “He took Autolycus’s arrival as an attempt to spy on him by the Fulanif or me, and probably feels that he has taken care of the spy.”
“Exactly,” agreed Xena. “Now I can infiltrate to learn how he plans to break apart the alliance.”
“Great!” exclaimed Gabrielle. “What are you going to do, Xena? Climb the towers to his palace under the cloak of darkness or maybe through a waterway?”
“Not exactly,” admitted Xena. “Like Siraj described, Laith is extremely clever. Even with Autolycus marginalized his palace is filled with his assassins looking for enemy spies. I’m going to have to take a more subtle approach to get inside the palace.”
“How will I get in, then?” asked Gabrielle.
“Like any good thief to a party,” said Siraj Jiburi with a smile. “You’re invited.”
***
Two days later, the entourages of the four tribes arrived at the palace of Laith El-Khaldun. The Saud’Ata was the first to arrive, led by the fierce warrior Rashikh Masood. Rashikh was in fine red, black, and gold decorated robes worthy of a prince while his elite bodyguards dressed for battle in light bronze scalemail armor over black garb adorned with white turbans over their bronze helmets. The Al-Dhafir was the next to arrive, led by its chieftain Talib Tahir and his bodyguards, clad in lamellar armor over their scarlet and gold robes. The Fulanif soon arrived afterwards, led by Hanif Tawfiq dressed in polished breastplates over their white tunics laced with red. The last to arrive were the Zahran, led by Siraj Jiburi, dressed in shining white and gold ceremonial armor with a dark red cape. At his side was Gabrielle, dressed in as one of his personal attendants.
In the main banquet hall the four tribes sat alongside the mighty Laith El-Khaldun, a darkly handsome man with a thick, black beard and bearing a scarlet and black turban upon his head. His dark eyes and intense visage pierced like the serpent.
“My honored guests,” he announced. “I am blessed with the company of strength set before me in my house. In this time of great festivities, I offer you the hospitality of my house, its sumptuous food, and the courtesy of my servants.”
“Your words ring true, most honored Laith El-Khaldun,” said Rashikh. “It is indeed a time to celebrate.”
The crowd cheered in response and the festivities began. Hours passed into the night as the various groups consumed the sumptuous feast. Meanwhile, Siraj Jiburi kept a watchful eye on Laith El-Khaldun. With Gabrielle at his side, Siraj Jiburi planned his next move.
“Why don't you get us some more fruit,” suggested Siraj, subtly alluding to Laith who was nearby.
“Fruit, yes, absolutely,” replied Gabrielle nervously before making her way to the dining table and eavesdropped on the conversation.
“Noble Talib Tahir,” complemented Laith. “The Al-Dhafir has the finest cavalry Arabia has ever seen. Truly, I was foolish to consider warring against you years before. Wisdom has proven to be a great counselor towards understanding the world the way I know now. Tell me, how are the fall harvests in the great fields of Al-Qassim?”
"Nay, Laith,” replied Talib Tahir. “Those lands no longer belong to my tribe. It is now ruled by the Fulanif as part of the terms we agreed upon.”
“Really!?” asked Laith, visibly surprised. “Your grandfather and his father fought valiantly to defend those lands in years past from invaders. Songs of their valor are still sung here in Medina. It is a pity that such rich land has been to the cattle and goat herders of the Fulanif.”
Talib Tahir’s eyes narrowed, gulping his wine hard before saying, “Absolutely. Siraj Jiburi’s constant prattling about peace muddle the warrior’s heart. Peace is kept through strength, not the chatter of women. Were we more numerous, I would reclaim what is rightfully ours from the Fulanif.”
“Indeed,” Laith agreed with a devilish smile. “Perhaps we should talk later, when the poets have retired for the night. We have much in common, as do the Saud’Ata.”
“Yes! Yes! Warrior to warrior,” agreed Talib. "
Gabrielle made her way back to Siraj Jiburi, reporting, “It doesn't look good. Laith El-Khaldun is planting seeds of deceit to harvest soon.”
“Perhaps then it is time reap what I have sown,” replied Siraj.
***
“Great Laith El-Khaldun,” announced Siraj Jiburi. “Your hospitality transcends the glory of the heavens itself. The food, the wine, and entertainment are worthy of a blessing bestowed by the most powerful of Djinn. Please accept this humble token of thanks from the Zahran.”
Laith smiled and nodded in acceptance. The grand doors of the main hall opened and emerging from the smoky mists that shot forth was a tall, statuesque woman with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes: Xena. Disguised as a dancer, Xena wore a silky blue and red outfit decorated with gold lace and a blue veil, revealing only her piercing blue eyes to the observer.
“Yes, most magnificent,” commented Laith in admiration.
Xena seductively strode toward Laith and began to dance as the musicians played on. Intrigued by her performance, Talib and Rashikh pulled back to their groups and away from Laith to acquire a better look.
“Where’s Autolycus? I haven’t seen him all night,” whispered Gabrielle.
“I don’t know. Perhaps we should,” started Siraj before being interrupted by one of his warriors.
“We’ve just received word that the main camp has been attacked,” he said.
“Attacked?” whispered Siraj Jiburi in disbelief. “By whom?”
“I do not know, my lord,” he replied. “Your elite guard is waiting below. Here is Dawuud’s message requesting your assistance.”
“I must depart at once,” said Siraj.
“I understand, Siraj,” replied Gabrielle. “We will meet you back at the inn tomorrow.”
Siraj nodded in agreement and quickly left to meet his escorting guards. Minutes later, Siraj Jiburi and his small force left Medina to their camp located beyond the city’s walls. Xena continued to dance while Gabrielle slipped away to look for the missing Autolycus.
“Excellent. Excellent, my raven-haired beauty; your beauty and grace transcend the shimmering onyx itself,” boasted Laith while clapping. “My guest of honor must enjoy this performance also. Call for him.”
A large gong sounded, and escorted in with two beautiful women at each side and on a trail of freshly laid rose petals, was none other than Joxer. Joxer’s eyes lit up in shock when he recognized the woman performing in the great hall.
“XENA!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” exclaimed Joxer.
“XENA!? SO, AT LONG LAST WE MEET!” shouted Laith. “SEIZE THEM!”
Xena’s eyes flared wildly over her discovery as guards flooded the room. Grabbing a goblet of wine, oil, and a torch, Xena ripped off her veil, took a quick gulp and spat the wine into a quick burst of flame that threw the initial wave off-balance.
Xena let out a war cry as she back-flipped onto the dining table and kicked a guard in the face. She flipped another guard over, knocking him unconscious. More guards filled the room, and Xena made a dash for the window to escape, kicking another guard away and dodging two more.
“STOP!” demanded Rashikh. Xena turned around.
“If you leave the dullard you call a friend dies,” announced Rashikh, standing over Joxer with his scimitar at his throat. Joxer remained motionless in a cold sweat, giving an apologetic shrug. More guards entered, bringing in Gabrielle as their prisoner. Xena reluctantly surrendered Laith’s guards secured Xena, Gabrielle, and Joxer and took them away.
“I will deal with them in due time,” Laith replied, looking around to see no sign of the Zahran delegation. "Behold, noble Hanif Tawfiq, noble Rashikh, and noble Talib Tahir, we are beset by cobras! Who brought this so-called ‘gift’ to me!?”
“SIRAJ JIBURI!” roared the crowd angrily.
“YES!” shouted Laith in response. “And where is he now? GONE! Like a coward with no honor he comes as friend and unleashes a foreign witch in our land. Do you want to keep an alliance with this pig-swine? Do you, brave Rashikh!?”
“NO!” cursed Rashikh.
“Do you, mighty Talib Tahir?”
“NO!” shouted Talib Tahir.
“Then I say join me and abandon the dog Siraj Jiburi. With our cunning and our steel, we can unite Arabia and extend our kingdom belong the seas. WHAT SAY YOU!?” yelled Laith amongst the rousing ovation of the crowd.
“DEATH TO THE ZAHRANIAN TRAITORS! DEATH TO SIRAJ JIBURI!” chanted the crowd.
“We Fulanif do not rush to war,” answered Hanif Tawfiq. “But I will give you an audience with what you offer.”
“My brothers,” said Laith confidently. “This is truly a time to celebrate. Enjoy my hospitality while I deal with the intruders.”
With a wave of his hand, two dozen more harem girls entered the great hall with more exotic food and wine.
“Let the revels begin,” whispered Laith to himself.
***
Elsewhere, Siraj Jiburi and his men rode hard back to their camp. Arriving on site, they found the area remarkably calm.
“My lord Siraj!” exclaimed a Zahranian soldier. “We did not expect you until morning!”
“What happened? Where did they attack from?” demanded Siraj Jiburi.
“Attack? There’s been no attack,” replied Dawuud, one of commanders who emerged from the camp. “Nothing has happened?”
“I’ve been tricked!” cursed Siraj Jiburi. “Get me a fresh horse and summon forty men. I must return to Medina!”
***
Meanwhile, in a dungeon in the bowels of Laith El-Khaldun’s palace, Gabrielle, Joxer, and Autolycus sat in their call under heavy guard.
“I cannot believe you did that!!” scolded Gabrielle. “You yell out, ‘XENA,’ like that in the grand palace hall with all of his guards and assassins looking on. Couldn’t you tell that she was in disguise?”
“Okay, okay, so I messed up,” muttered Joxer. “I was invited by Laith who welcomed me as this great warrior! How was I to know that he was just using me as a means to identify Xena?”
“Because you’re stupid, Joxer,” answered Autolycus. “You let yourself get manipulated.”
“Oh, and I suppose those fancy clothes weren’t part of the way Laith tricked you!” accused Gabrielle. “You were supposed to find out what his plans were, remember?”
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” acknowledged Autolycus, looking at his clothes. “But this is real silk!”
“I’m very, very, happy for you,” replied Gabrielle, dripping with sarcasm in her tone. “But we need to get out of here! We have to save Xena before the gods know what that tyrant does to her!”
***
In another cell on the other end of the palace, Xena was immobilized on the floor, wrapped in the coils of giant python that pinned her arms at her sides and legs together. A serpent’s coil was dangerous wrapped around her neck and tightened subtly when Laith entered the chamber.
“Cute pet you have,” commented Xena. “What do you feed it?”
“Small goats, occasionally a side of raw beef, but mostly spies,” Laith answered with an evil smile. “My pet is quite well-trained. A lesser animal would have crushed you to death by now.”
“Lucky me,” Xena replied.
“Lucky? Perhaps not, for you will suffer a slow, crushing death by the serpent’s embrace as your lungs burn and heart beats no more,” warned Laith. “Your theatrics in the hall was the spike I needed to split the alliance. The Saud’Ata and Al-Dhafir support me and soon, the Fulanif as well. The Zahran will be driven from their lands and ground into dust.”
“Nice plan, but why Joxer in all this?” questioned Xena.
“Autolycus is dumb, but not dumb enough to tell me what you look like. I’ve never laid eyes on you, but I knew that you were beautiful,” answered Laith. “I guessed correctly that you would try to infiltrate in through my weakness for beauty. It was just a question of when and how; Joxer was merely my guarantee on your identification.”
“You will be dead before sunrise,” promised Xena, struggling.
“I’ve heard that before, and I stand before you,” Laith replied before leaving.
The great serpent began to slowly tighten its grip around Xena. Despite her efforts to slip an arm free, the serpent would compensate with its body, retaining its deadly grip around her. Desperate, Xena bit into the hide of the serpent, piercing its skin and drawing blood.
The serpent hissed in pain and quickly retracted its coils, releasing Xena. Xena rolled to the side and quickly got to her feet. The serpent assumed an attack stance and struck, but received a spinning kick delivered to the head from Xena. Xena grabbed an old manacle and chain from the floor, wielding the makeshift flail and struck the serpent with several blows to the head before it embedded into its flesh. Whipping its death throes, the serpent collapsed.
“I wonder how much that hide would fetch in the open market in Medina,” quipped Xena before picking the lock with a piece of metal.
***
Back in their cell Gabrielle, Joxer, and Autolycus attempted a means of escape.
“Hey there, big boy,” offered Gabrielle “I’m feeling kind of lonely...”
“I don’t think the ‘seduce the guard into giving you the key’ technique is going to work, Gabrielle,” commented Autolycus. “Well, no offense, but your seduction doesn’t outweigh their fear of Laith’s wrath if they allowed us to escape.”
“None taken,” muttered Gabrielle with a punch to Autolycus’s gut.
“What are they going to do with us?” lamented Joxer.
“I have a good idea,” answered Autolycus, sitting down in the cell. “They’ll probably chop off my head in the public square as an exhibition, sell Gabrielle into slavery, and probably neuter you like a dog, Joxer.”
“Well that might be so bad,” commented Joxer before shrieking, “HEY! NEUTERED LIKE A DOG!? You mean they’re going to chop off my…”
“None of that is going to happen!” interrupted Gabrielle. “We mustn’t panic and need to plan our escape.”
***
Xena stealthily moved through the shadows avoiding the guards until she reached a dungeon storehouse where they kept the confiscated weapons.
“Let’s see, what have we here,” whispered Xena to herself. “Here’s Joxer’s old armor and sword, and the rucksack left by Siraj Jiburi. Lucky the guards lost interest when they didn’t find any gold in it.”
Xena opened the pack revealing her battle armor, leather boots and guards, and chakram.
“Time to keep a promise,” said Xena with a smile.
***
By this time Laith, Rashikh, and Talib Tahir were in the war room planning the assault against Siraj Jiburi and his forces. Hanif Tawfiq was a step behind them, listening intently.
“The main force of Al-Dhafir cavalry shall attack from the south...and while Jiburi is busy attempting to negotiate, my forces will attack from his flank, leaving him open for the final attack with the Saud’Ata. Within a few weeks their provincial capital will be ours,” proposed Laith.
“Well done,” complemented Rashikh. “Siraj Jiburi’s warrior senses have been dulled from his talk of false promises. The Saud’Ata stand ready."
“What of the Fulanif?” asked Talib Tahir, looking directly as Hanif Tawfiq.
“We will not raise arms against the Zahran, but you will be allowed safe passage through our lands,” he answered.
“So it is agreed....this night begins the fall of the accursed Zahran and the dawn of a new age in the Arabia!" shouted Rashikh confidently.
“Don’t count your victories before the banner falls, gentlemen,” interrupted Xena, entering the room with chakram at the ready. “Can't you see you’re being tricked by Laith? He’s using you to shatter the alliance so he can eventually take over! Laith is the devil, having you forsake your honor for his own personal goal.”
“How DARE you speak to us in such a manner, Xena,” replied Rashikh. “You are nothing more than a filthy gutter-child who got lucky and a won few skirmishes”
“Only one way to find out,” said Xena when Rashikh drew his sword. As Rashikh advanced, Xena dropped her chakram to the floor.
“I will not fight you Rashikh for I know that you are a warrior of honor and will not strike at an unarmed foe. My fight is with that venomous snake Laith,” she added.
“BAH!” scoffed Rashikh. “Die like the filth that you truly are!”
Xena stood firm. Rashikh slashed with his sword, only to be parried by the blades of Talib Tahir and Hanif Tawfiq.
“So it’s true,” said Talib, cautiously pacing towards Xena with Hanif Tawfiq. “You’ve forsaken your honor; no true warrior would strike down an unarmed opponent as such.”
“What has gotten into you two!?” yelled Laith. “Honor is the solace losers give themselves after being defeated by a superior foe. What good has the idle prattle from Siraj Jiburi been? I offer you a chance to re-shape Arabia. Will you be a part of it, or a victim of it? With your steel, Rashikh’s valor, and my cunning, even the power beyond the Mediterranean Sea will cower before us! What say you?"
“Without honor, we are nothing,” replied Talib as he and Hanif attacked Rashikh. Laith drew his scimitar as Xena kicked up her chakram and deflected the attack.
“Not bad for an old man,” Xena said, leaping into the air and onto the table. Laith responded with a quick strike, throwing a small dagger that slashed Xena's left arm.
“I’ll live long enough to see you dead at my feet, witch!” he replied.
“My sentiments exactly,” responded Xena, throwing her chakram and shattering his scimitar into pieces before returning to her hand.
“Peasant skills,” replied Laith, quickly throwing small poisoned blades at Xena. She deflected the first two but missed the third, landing in her left leg. Xena yelled in pain and dropped to a knee while Rashikh slew Talib Tahir and continued his battle against Hanif. Laith smiled and drew another throwing knife.
“The next time you have a chance to kill your foe, Xena, don’t hesitate,” Laith announced.
Xena cried out in agony, pulling the blade out of her leg and lunged forward, impaling him in the throat. Laith coughed up blood before falling dead on the floor.
“Thanks for the advice; I’ll use it sometime,” replied Xena.
Hanif proved the better fighter against Rashikh, slaying him with his sword.
Hanif Tawfiq helped Xena to her feet.
“Come, we must bandage your wound and get you out of here before the poison kills you,” said Hanif. “We’re fortunate that Laith keeps his war room isolated from the rest of the palace, but we must hurry.”
“Thank you,” said a weakened Xena.
***
Hanif Tawfiq hastily bandaged her wound and smuggled Xena out of the palace, but not before manufacturing the release of Joxer, Gabrielle, and Autolycus to his control by using Laith’s seal on a scroll from the war room.
The small Fulanif force reached Siraj Jiburi’s group that had just returned to Medina.
“Hold!” called out Siraj Jiburi. “Hanif Tawfiq of the Fulanif, are we still friend, or do we now stand against each other as foe?”
“You truly are a clown, Siraj Jiburi,” replied Hanif, signaling his men to return Gabrielle, Joxer, Autolycus, and a wounded Xena to Siraj. “Leave your politicking to others. The next time I will not retrieve your playthings from the enemy’s camp. Expect the Saud’Ata to attack you within the next few days alongside the Al-Shammari.”
With that, Hanif exchanged a final accusatory glare at Siraj before leaving with his group.
***
Four days passed and Xena, Gabrielle, Joxer, and Autolycus recovered under the Siraj Jiburi’s protection. On the fifth day Xena and Gabrielle said goodbye to Joxer and Autolycus, who sailed back to Greece. On the sixth day, Xena and Gabrielle prepared to depart. News of widespread skirmishes rang throughout the streets of Medina between the Zahran, Fulanif, Saud’Ata, Al-Dhafir, and Al-Shammari tribes as temporary alliances of convenience formed and broke with the sunrise and sunset.
Even worse, Laith El-Khaldun wasn’t even dead. Instead, Xena had killed one of his body-doubles and the real one was alive and well, commanding his forces to strike at will throughout the territory.
“I am sorry for what has happened,” said Xena.
“Forgive me first for involving you in the first place,” said Siraj. “The alliance is not broken, only changed. Another stalemate will come and with it, an uneasy peace based upon shakier alliance, but it will do.”
“Farewell, Siraj,” said Xena, riding out the gate with Gabrielle. Gabrielle appeared visibly perturbed after their departure from the city.
“Why the long face, Gabrielle,” Xena asked.
“All that time in Medina and all I got was this lousy smock,” muttered Gabrielle, inspecting the only item that she could afford in the marketplace.
“Catchy phrase, Gabrielle,” replied Xena. “You should write it on the smock and sell it in the market.”
I had the opportunity to visit the plane of Oranos a couple more times, although apparently in my next visit, some considerable time had passed since my first encounter with Elspeth and Peritor. For one thing, they were now married, and had four children: two girls and two boys, although I do not know their order of birth. What I also learned was that the overwhelming majority of Sidhcaire Elves of Aedh Caelinn had fair blonde hair. Apparently, the Sidhcaire race was created through the primal elements of light and water by an omnipotent deity known as Deios, resulting in their fair complexion and hair. However, being a magical race, the Sidhcaire’s physical traits can apparently change over time.
For instance, I learned that Elspeth d’Aidmheil’s natural hair color was a golden blonde. It was not until her possession by the remnants of a demonic storm wraith (known as the gaoth meamna in their language) after slaying it did her hair turn black as a result. From what I read in their archives, Elspeth was also a raving lunatic as a result before meeting Peritor.
Of Peritor and Elspeth’s children, I was fortunate enough to meet the eldest one in the guise of an old merchant visiting from Niadhraon. It was their daughter named Ciara na Suthainn, meaning ‘Ciara the Eternal’ in their language for being the first to continue their family lineage. She was young, perhaps no more than seventeen or eighteen winters by my count but was the most remarkable woman I ever met. She had her mother Elspeth’s magical grace and her father’s Peritor’s sharp mind, from what I was told. When I first met her she was in a modest dress, but when she heard the battle horn sound a warning in the distance, Ciara grabbed my hand and we ran back to the watchtower, outpacing a running deer along the way. I could not have run so fast by myself; did she somehow bestow some of her power to me?
Once inside, Ciara placed me and the others who could not fight in a safe part of the watchtower and quickly donned her battle armor, consisting of custom crafted metal plates of gold and bronze with a white cloak. Once outside, her warhorse was brought to her and she mounted it, drawing her sword and let out a war cry before riding off to battle. I would not see her until sunset when she returned with the blood of many foes stained on her white cloak. I learned that it was an army of men from what is called the Shadowlands in the common tongue that had attacked via the sea on ships and the air on winged serpents that had been repelled. I also learned that the magical trees with the silver and gold leaves are the true strength of Aedh Caelinn, protecting it in a magical light that is a bane to even the most powerful demons and dragons. Why do such creatures still attack?
Apparently, the primal energies that dwell within Aedh Caelinn’s reservoirs are too tempting to ignore. Having remembered planewalkers battle relentlessly for control of the Black Lotus plant on Dominaria, I can almost understand their folly…almost, mind you.
I would later meet another beautiful Sidhcaire elf named Darien Aislean. What made her stand out from the others was her long walnut brown hair. From my brief conversation with her, I learned that she was becoming more in tune with the magic of the woods and earth in her training, resulting in the change as her power grew. Darien Aislean was a lovely young lady; I’m just glad that her hair didn’t turn moss green or fungus gray.
The Sidhcaire Elves of Aedh Caelinn were truly blessed with a magical grace. By contrast, in my travels to the plane of Lorwyn the elves there were nothing of the kind, although they certainly promoted themselves as such.
But the hour is drawing late and my vision is starting to blur. It is best to stop now for the night.
Othniel Carthalion was tidying up his robust study and trophy room of mementos when his young nephew Avram arrived.
“Hello, Uncle Othniel,” greeted Avram.
“Ah, good to see you my boy,” said Othniel, adjusting his spectacles. “So, you’ve finally decided to see my personal study. Well, what do you think?”
To the young Avram Carthalion, his Uncle Othniel’s room contained items far beyond what he even dreams. He saw exotic artifacts on display and armor designs mounted on the wall that he had never knew possible.
“Where did you get those?” Avram asked, referring to the exotic looking helmet and sword set.
“That would be from the plane of Kamigawa,” Othniel explained. “Kamigawa’s a very unique place with a culture that I’ve never seen before. Instead of knights, there were ronin, an elite warrior class that followed an honor code known as Bushido. They weren’t just mindless warriors like the Keldons, either, mind you, but scholars, artists, and poets as well.”
“Where else have you visited?” Avram asked.
“Oh, let’s see now,” Othniel said, opening up a large map on his desk to reveal the numerous planes. Although there were several planes marked, only the ones he visited were annotated with a small red seal of the Carthalion family. “Kamigawa, of course… Alara… Ravnica…and a few others.”
“How were you able to slip in and out like that?”
“The power of a planeswalker enables one to traverse the multiverse as needed,” explained Othniel, readjusting his spectacles. “Although I’m a bit too old to be exploring now. The spells I used to blend into the local surroundings and learn local dialects were really quite simple. Usually, I appeared as a traveling merchant, so no one really bothered me. Perhaps someday you’ll learn those spells as well.”
“And that?” Avram asked, alluding to a piece of black metal kept in a magical case encapsulated in what were undoubtedly numerous enchantments.
“This, oh yes, I found this when I was in Oranos,” said Othniel proudly.
“Oranos? I never heard you or father talking about Oranos before,” said Avram.
“Well, I only visited there a few times,” conceded Othniel. “It’s a very remote plane and required tremendous power to get there and return.”
“What’s it like there?”
“A lot smaller than Dominaria, but a bit bigger than Ulgrotha, if that makes any sense,” started Othniel. “Oranos’ land was very much filled with primal energy; I was able to tap into the mana to gain more than enough magic to return home. The people I met seemed friendly enough. One kingdom was called Niadhraon, if I remember right, and it was protected by knights; sort of like Bant but without the angels. The other country was called Omnia Res, and it had all sorts of different races: dwarves and centaurs that lived with the humans. The centaurs were far more numerous and civilized than the ones here on Dominaria; a large number of them serve in their elite cavalry as lancers. In full armor, no less.”
Avram Carthalion was a bit surprised, as the centaurs he encountered before tended to be wild hunters who preferred to be left alone.
“Were there elves on Oranos, Uncle?”
“Why yes, there were,” recalled Othniel. “Far more sophisticated that those wild, barbaric elves you see in Llanowar. Their land was called Aedh Caelinn, if I remember right, and it seemed to be bathed in a soft yet protective light from magical trees that had leaves of silver or gold. The Sidhcaire, they called themselves, had two beautiful cities. Unlike the other races there, though, they weren’t nearly as numerous.”
“What’s so special about this metal shard? Is it enchanted?”
“Oh yes, very much so,” added Othniel. “Which is why I have so many enchantments on it. That, my boy, is a shard from the sword Adrolann wielded by a knight I met on Oranos named Peritor Vedh-Donas. There was an elven princess as well…what was her name again? Ah, I remember now. Elspeth. He was with an elf named Elspeth d’Aidmheil.”
“When I arrived to Oranos, it was shortly before a large battle, so I assumed the guise of a human healer. Peritor and Elspeth seemed friendly when I met them. They were leading a group of knights and elven warriors to battle and I noticed Peritor’s sword blade was black. When I asked around, I learned that Peritor’s sword blade turned black after he somehow took control of a portion of a storm demon’s essence that had possessed Elspeth. The two were now spiritually linked it seemed, as it was a combination of Peritor’s will and Elspeth’s magical grace that kept the demon possessing them suppressed,” continued Othniel. “In battle, however, there were rare occasions where one would lose control and go berserk, not capable of telling friend from foe. Nevertheless, Peritor and Elspeth commanded great loyalty and fought many battles against much more powerful opponents. In particular, a great battle lord named Sovann Ruathar who also knew magic. As a planeswalker, I sensed that his power level exceeded mine.”
“The knights of Niadhraon and elven warriors of Aedh Caelinn battled Sovann Ruathar’s army. Many fell on both sides as bodies lay strewn about the field. Peritor and Elspeth became separated amidst the fog of war. At some point in the battle Elspeth d’Aidmheil found Sovann Ruathar and locked her eyes upon him. The two battled fiercely. You should have seen it, my boy, they fought like dueling planeswalkers. Elspeth hurled javelins of light at Sovann, who deflected them with a magical shield and attacked with a great warhammer, shaking the very ground on impact. Even at a distance, I could see the pure hate in each other’s eyes. Sovann eventually gained the upper hand until Peritor entered the fray and attacked, cleaving Sovann’s right arm off with a deadly stroke. But Sovann would not be felled so easily, and launched a crimson lightning bolt at Peritor that blasted him back and shattered his sword Adrolann. Elspeth attacked again, only to be grabbed and lifted off the ground by Sovann’s left arm as he began to slowly choke the life out of her.“
“What happened next?”
“Well, Peritor still had Adrolann’s hilt and a portion of the blade remained. He rammed into Sovann from behind and impaled him with the remnants of Adrolann. Sovann let out a massive scream as his hair turned white before dropping to his knees. Elspeth then broke free of Sovann’s grip, picked up her sword and lopped off Sovann’s head with one stroke her blade, fused with magical light.”
“And then?”
“Well, they both nearly collapsed from exhaustion and I ran to their aid. Sovann’s army was beaten and fleeing for their lives. I and the other healers I met tended to the wounded. The Sidhcaire warriors recovered what they could of Adrolann’s remnants for safekeeping also. Apparently, the shards still contained a portion of the trapped storm demon’s power.”
“I tended to Peritor and Elspeth’s injuries and let them rest near a small grove of trees. Elspeth briefly awoke, noticing Peritor nearby and slowly moved towards him, resting herself upon his chest before drifting off to sleep as Peritor gently put his arm around her. All seemed peaceful until Elspeth began snoring so loudly that she woke Peritor.”
“Elspeth…you’re snoring…’” said Peritor sternly.
Elspeth, with her eyes still shut, smacked her lips briefly and replied, “Hmm, so I am…’” before going back to sleep, snoring even louder than before.
“What did Peritor do?”
“What could he do?” said Othniel with a laugh. “He could barely walk! He shrugged at me before I left to tend to other wounded men and stared at the trees above him, counting leaves before finally falling asleep.”
“I eventually returned back to Dominaria, but little did I know, a small piece of Adrolann’s fragments had snagged on my robe. I felt a strange burning and when I found the metal shard, I put it in here under several protective enchantments to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“And this coin?” noted Avram, seeing bronze coin mounted on a display near the metal shard.
“Oh, yes, I remember that! That was from my second journey to Oranos. I happened to encounter Peritor and Elspeth again under more pleasant circumstances. It was during a spring festival in Niadhraon, and I was in the guise of a vendor selling roasted chicken kabobs and fruit. Nearby was another vendor offering those interested to win, or lose, their money through games of chance. Apparently, Peritor had quite the fondness for such games and was notoriously lucky at times. I saw Peritor and Elspeth nearby as he relished the opportunity to play.”
“Don’t even think about rubbing my tummy for luck, Squire Peritor,” warned Elspeth coldly, placing her hands on her hips.
“Peritor said nothing and smiled, sauntering by the tables as to which game to try his luck. By contrast, Elspeth was quite hungry, as I could’ve sworn I heard her stomach grumble from where I was. At any case, the lovely Sidhcaire princess had lost patience and snatched up Peritor’s money purse and emptied its contents onto a game table involving dice. Peritor was speechless, as were the others around him, when Elspeth unexpectedly undressed herself before them,” continued Othniel. “They were all quite taken by the beauty before them.”
“If you must know about luck, Peritor, the Sidhcaire are luckiest when we are naked before nature,” stated Elspeth before casting the dice. “There, I’ve won. Collect your money, Peritor.”
Still speechless and stunned, the vendor handed Peritor double his money as he retrieved the bet Elspeth initially placed. Elspeth then retrieved her clothes and quickly put them back while walking out with Peritor to my food stand, where they ordered and a puzzled Peritor paid for her meal.”
“What exactly did you roll, anyway?” asked Peritor.
Elspeth shrugged with a furtive smile.
“How should I know? It wasn’t my job to watch the table.”
“I thought you said the Sidhcaire were civilized!” interrupted Avram. “She stripped naked in front of them!”
“Yes, quite a clever ruse, wasn’t it?” commented Othniel, momentarily recalling the mental image. “She was…very lovely.”
“Are the female elves of Llanowar comparable, Uncle Othniel?” asked Avram.
“Hardly,” answered Othniel.
“Why? What’s wrong with them?” Avram said.
“Well, for one thing, they’re not feminine enough to warrant a male’s affections,” replied Othniel. “I’ll explain a bit more when you’re older.”
With that, Othniel and Avram Carthalion left the study room for the outer courtyard.
At one point, dozens, if not hundreds, of legendary heroes walked the earth of Ashkelon. Wielding mighty enchanted weapons and aided by clerics, rogues, and wizards of all types, these heroes lived in a time of epic adventure.
Now, they are gone, and with them, their names lost to antiquity save a few recorded by historians such as I. For some, though, their legacy remains, but not in written word, but through their descendants who have risen to prominence in Ashkelon:
Ardon Neriad is a distant descendant of both the archmage Shifra Neriad and the nomadic hero known as ‘Dar’ of several years past. Not surprisingly, he is exceptionally strong and quick, and seems to have a natural affinity with the animals. I’ve even heard that he can communicate with them, so that the hawk is his eyes, the lion his strength, the wolverine his endurance, and the badger his cunning. Would that I could meet him in person for myself.
To my knowledge, there are no longer large standing armies of knights or soldiers at arms on the grand scale of generations past anymore. The closest thing now is that ragtag band led by Talon Adrastus, Master of the Free Company. A warrior, a general, a buccaneer, and freebooter, Talon has amassed quite the following as a liberator of towns and villages in plight. How many number in his group? It varies. Sometimes there’re as many as five hundred, other times no more than say, twenty or so.
Talon has organized his free company into two wings, each with different purposes and members. The first is for all intents and purposes, his military wing, made up of all sorts of warriors, knights, scouts, archers, and skirmishers. They spend most of their time roving from place to place, liberating some unnamed village from a petty tyrant or band of raiders. The pay isn’t much and at best, they receive some supplies from the town or village they rescue. The seasoned veteran soldier Gilead Henda leads this wing, second only to Talon.
The second, more interestingly, is his wing of freebooters: thieves, treasure-seekers, bards, and other related unsavory sorts of that kind. They are led by the expert treasure hunter Keren Einarion, a distant descendant of the archmage Alderik Einarion. Given the number of ruined cities that exist on Ashkelon, the opportunities are plentiful for her to seek out lost antiquities with her fellow freebooters.
From what I’ve heard, the going average is that for every five freebooters that go into an old city, only two or three come out alive. Those that perish are often eaten by the monstrous denizens of the fallen cities. One would think that ratio would deter others from joining Talon’s group, but on the contrary, his numbers swell when those survivors tell the tale and show off their newly gained affluence with Keren at the helm.
What has lacked in quantity in recent years has been made up for in quality, personified in Talori Agkeidon, a warrior mage of epic scale. Some even go so far as to call her, “the Warrior Goddess.” Although her lineage is directly that of the archmage Ojare Agkeidon, she has thankfully not inherited his impulsive temperament, self-righteousness, or his overconfidence. Quite the contrary, Talori Agkeidon has proven humble and wise beyond her years and is a guardian of maintaining peace in Ashkelon. Perhaps it is the shame of her forefather than drives her as such.
On the opposite end of the spectrum are Tzion and Merav Tavi, who are the offspring of the archmages Chiram Tavi and Prerana Sethos. Not surprisingly, they’ve inherited their parents’ penchant for sadism and raw, uninhibited magical power. One would think they would rival one another but surprisingly, they compliment each other in the most effective way.
Unlike their father, Tzion has emerged as a fierce warrior, not a warlock. What little magic he knows, it’s to create brutish minions to aid him in battle. Merav is very much like their parents, however, commanding a deadly array of spells. Tzion’s raw skills and strength compliment Merav, just as she compliments his with her sophisticated command of the supernatural. A would-be upstart dared attempt to usurp their dominion, only to succumb to a most gruesome fate of blood and fire. Truly, Tzion and Merav Tavi have redefined the phrase, “assault and battery” to a whole new level.
Miraculously, the delicate balance that prevails in Ashkelon involves Tzion and Merav Tavi and Talori Agkeidon keeping one another in check.
The great kingdoms, nations, and empires of old no longer exist on Ashkelon. The closest thing to them is the Areszan Alliance formed by Micah Shamiran and his sister, Adara, among the hamlets, towns, and villages spanning a wide swath of Ashkelon. In its charter are basic agreements of defense, commerce, and rights among their people. Not surprisingly, Talon Adrastus and his Free Company are frequently employed by them, as is Talori Agkeidon’s help often requested.
Cadmus Cromwell may be the illegitimate descendant to his royal ancestor Titus, but he certainly inherited the power lust and cunning of his forefather. The empire that once existed long gone, Cadmus is seeking to make his name through another direction. Where that path lies, no one knows for sure…rumors circulate of him being a demonologist, or a warlock, or even a necromancer. Last I heard he was supporting Tzion and Merav Tavi, so anything is possible.
Truly, that phrase has been the enduring belief on Ashkelon in spite of everything that’s happened…
…anything is possible.
I was blessed to see the strength of my clan prevail, yet I find myself cursed to be the witness of its fall, and with it the race of Dwarves on Ashkelon.
I am Angus Skeldheim, last chieftain of the Dwarven clans. I sit in a vacant hall of a once glorious citadel. There are five, maybe six other Dwarves that occupy this empty, vacant stronghold with me. They are older than I am, and their final days are few and numbered, just as mine are.
We endured the wars waged by prideful heroes and vainglorious wizards. We defeated demons and dragons. Yet, after all the triumph we succored on the battlefield, we will ultimately lose the most basic of wars: the war of survival.
My beard was once red and thick; it is now white and thin. Our halls are empty of the mirth and song that once filled it nightly. The wars on Ashkelon have taken their toll on my people, and a generation was lost as parents outlived their children. This would be the omen of our downfall that was not from the sword or to dragon fire, but from the passage of time.
We grew older and our numbers grew fewer with no Dwarven children. The only children seen these in the last generation were that of the human warrior Deianara when she took refuge with us. She and her family would eventually leave to return to her people after the deaths of the five archmages.
We foolishly allowed our youth to die, and in so doing, the Dwarven lineage on Ashkelon will end with me. While it’s possible to have half-Dwarven/half-human children, there isn’t enough gold in all the Dwarven citadels combined to make human women of childbearing age come here to sire them with a handful of wizened Dwarves.
These stone citadels of my forefathers were built to last generations. Shamefully, they and the golden trinkets within them shall outlive our race.
Call me Malachi. I have chronicled the events in Ashkelon to the best of my abilities as a scholar, no longer a boy but an aging grandfather blessed to see two generations of his family grow up healthy in spite of everything that’s happened.
Ashkelon: a vast land teeming with elemental and supernatural forces where light, fire, water, earth, and even death itself can be harnessed. Here great heroes and epic legends once lived. Valiant knights and heroes commanding great armies fought against vile evils that threatened the land. Mages soared through the sky on magical beasts. Demons and dragons fell before shining sword and lance. Wondrous cities and palaces filled the countryside. It was a time of high adventure and sorcery, a time of abundance. I remember their legendary names like it was yesterday: Lord Ultim of Lanceor, Sir Faeric, Sir Taiburon, Master Thorin Apyrus, Lord Demetrio, Lady Melisande…so many others like them.
I was a young boy, a mere student scribe when it all changed. Feuds became battles. Battles became wars. The land bled as hundreds of thousands perished from the onslaught of war and the pestilence that followed. Kingdoms and empires fell. Alliances faded and friend turned against friend. The days of adventure became a time of madness and hunger as a generation seemed lost to war, famine, and disease. Even the continent itself broke apart from the magical fury unleashed from the constant wars. The Archmage Iser Abiram’s attempt at reconciliation and peace failed, ultimately costing him his life.
A brief respite followed in Ashkelon under the tenuous watch of five archmages: Ojare Agkeidon, Shifra Neriad, Alderik Einarion, Prerana Sethos, and Chiram Tavi. This, too, did not last beyond a few seasons as Ojare Agkeidon waged a crusade across Ashkelon, plunging it into war once again. The last of the great cities were destroyed along with the vainglorious archmages that ruled them, leaving only scattered remnants of a once wondrous era throughout Ashkelon.
How I’ve survived a generation of war, I don’t know. Perhaps it was divine intervention or dumb luck. All I know is that I’ve seen the fall of greatness that became buried under overgrowth with the passage of time as the land healed itself. The primal energies that flow throughout Ashkelon remain, but who is there to wield such power?
Who, indeed? Once, a vast array of races populated Ashkelon: Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Goblins, Trolls, Ogres, Humans, Centaurs, Fairies, and a host of others, great and small. Sadly, it appears that now only the humans remain, their numbers significantly depleted from a generation ago. The wondrous races of old are now virtually extinct, decimated beyond repair.
The wide array of monsters, however, seems to prevail in Ashkelon, taking up residence in the abandoned remnants of fallen cities, shrouded in the overgrowth. However, their presence has not detered a newfound generation of treasure hunters, seeking lost riches abandoned by their previous owners among the palatial ruins. Feeding on carrion and the unlucky treasure seeker, these great beasts are the new residents of kingdoms lost to antiquity.
Small towns and hamlets miraculously spared from the destruction have gradually grown into reminders of a once bountiful era. Crops grow once again, but only in small slivers of farmland. Lydda, Magdala, Hesbon, Cadasa, and others like them may have been small villages of no consequence before, but they’ve become the foundation of Ashkelon’s rebirth.
It is the year 1034 in the recorded common history of Ashkelon. A generation has passed since the deaths of the five archmages, but their respective houses of Agkeidon, Neriad, Einarion, Tavi, and Sethos have endured on Ashkelon. New champions will soon emerge, and I hope, no, I pray, that they exercise more wisdom than their forefathers…
Enjoy!
Thanks for the update! Does the same information apply for the Photoshop contest? I submitted mine a few days before working on my art contest entry.
The setting sun bathed the grassy field below a dark red and golden light, where a small shrine stood amongst a tranquil garden. There, Shingon Akihiro, known to nearly all on Kamigawa as greatest and most powerful of the shugenja, stood quietly before the shrine to pay his respects.
The wind subtly shifted as some small leaves blew past Shingon Akihiro. A small, subtle half-smile formed, knowing who had joined him.
“Higore Mamoru,” announced Shingon Akihiro, catching a glint of the ninja in the corner of his eye. “Deadliest of the ninja and undisputed Ninjutsu master on Kamigawa…”
“I am not as you claim, Shingon Akihiro,” Higore Mamoru corrected. “I am only second best.”
“Oh, and who might the best be, then?” Shingon Akihiro said.
“I have not met that one yet,” Higore Mamoru replied before providing his ancestral offering gift and paying his respects at the shrine. “Kiyomi often spoke of how wonderful it was having you as a brother.”
“Shingon Kiyomi spoke even more of how beloved you were to her as her best friend, Mamoru,” Shingon Akihiro responded. “She spoke even more of her dream to spend the rest of natural life with you someday.”
“I shared that dream as well,” he admitted. “But the winds of fate proved fickle, taking her away from us at the age of ten, have they not?”
“They have,” Shingon Akihiro admitted when an awkward pause hovered over them.
“It has taken quite some time, but I now know who is responsible for Kiyomi’s death,” he stated. Higore Mamoru turned, his eyes hardened.
“A planeswalker known as Geyadrone Dihada,” Shingon Akihiro stated. “She is a disciple to one known as Tevesh Szat.”
“The doom of fools,” Higore Mamoru said in an angry whisper. “Where is she now? Is she on Kamigawa?”
“No, she crosses the great planes to evade capture, but such magic is so powerful that it leaves a residual trail can last for several years,” Shingon Akihiro said, showing him a silver compass and an array of other artifacts before rolling them up in a cloth carrying case to hand it to him.
“These are gifts from me and the Myojin to you to dispense justice.”
“Any message from you to Geyadrone Dihada?” Higore Mamoru said.
“You are my message.”
* * *
The plane: Gaea
“Are you ready, my lady?” asked Sir Tobias while in human form dressed in the formal, ceremonial garb of a knight while wearing the small magical medallion given to him by Avram Carthalion.
“Just about,” said Lady Leondra Coeur d’Acier, adorned in a formal, ceremonial dress of her own. The tall, slender, and athletic Leondra had her braided neatly behind her back and wore an ornate ceremonial circlet on her forehead reflecting her rank and status as one of Charlemagne’s paladins. To Sir Tobias, who had typically seen Leondra only in armor or a knight’s tunic with her hair bundled up in a messy ponytail, he was quite surprised to see how feminine she really was.
“You look…radiant, my lady,” Tobias said, taking a formal bow.
“You’re cute,” Leondra teased, feeling awkward to receive such as compliment. The two walked together down the hall to the main concourse, joining the wedding reception of their friends and fellow comrades, Sir Tiras and Genevieve. Every few steps however, Tobias was scratching his back, followed by his stomach, and then his legs.
“Tobias, are you all right?” Leondra asked.
“Yes, my lady,” replied Tobias awkwardly. “It’s just that this clothing that humans wear is not something I’m used to.”
“It will take time,” Leondra admitted, pausing to look behind her.
“My lady?” asked Tobias.
“Nothing,” answered Leondra. “I thought I heard something but it must have been the wind blowing through the window.”
Leondra and Tobias joined arms formally and entered the grand hall, where the Master of Ceremonies announced them. From there, they joined wedding party to partake in the celebration.
Meanwhile, Higure Mamoru slipped back into the shadows; Geyadrone Dihada was on this plane known as Gaea once before, but how long ago wasn’t clear. Regardless, Higure Mamoru would use the magical compass to search elsewhere.
The plane: Oranos
“ADURO MEI INIMI!!!” shouted Kyna Dawnbringer, releasing a barrage of fire darts to strike her foe. After many months of training under her mentor Master Garron, Kyna Dawnbringer’s skills and powers as a cleric became increasingly sophisticated. Her opponent was visibly caught off-guard by her initial attack, staggering backwards before raising a magical defense of her own followed by a counter-attack.
“LUCIDUS MICO!” Kyna exclaimed, generating a shield of white light that protected her. Kyna then drew out her small mace from her belt as her eyes began to glow.
“VOCARTE GLORIFICUS!!!” intoned Kyna, bashing her foe’s in the face with her magically-infused weapon. Kyna’s opponent shrieked in pain followed by anger, delivering a vicious backhand out of instinct that knocked the much smaller Kyna Dawnbringer back. Just as Kyna was about to strike again, her adversary unleashed her fury.
“ENOUGH!” angrily shouted Geyadrone Dihada, spitting out one of her teeth before blasting Kyna against the wall with a wave of green energy, making her drop her weapon on impact followed by shooting out a stream of sticky black webs that pinned Kyna against the wall. Entangled, Kyna tried to invoke another spell until Geyadrone Dihada released another stream of black webs over Kyna’s face, covering her nose and mouth to smother her. Kyna’s blue eyes widened in panic while desperately fighting for air and struggling to break free.
“GET THE ^%$#@* AWAY FROM MY SISTER!!!” roared Aden Dawnbringer, viciously embedding his battle axe into Geyadrone Dihada’s spine. She shrieked in pain, staggering backwards.
“Perhaps I underestimated this world,” she muttered bitterly before leaping out of the window, disappearing into the fog bank below.
Master Garron entered next, seeing Aden free his sister. Kyna coughed heavily and took in deep breaths when Aden removed the webbing from her face as he helped her stand.
“What happened?” Aden asked.
“I was researching one of the old magic tomes,” said Kyna. “And then, from the other end of library, this strange woman appeared from the shadows, sifting through the tomes. She discarded some and was attempting to steal others. When I got closer, she hissed at me and all of a sudden fangs sprouted from her mouth.”
“I see that you knocked one of them out,” commented Aden, picking it up from the floor.
“Let me see it,” asked Master Garron. Aden handed it to him.
“Hmm…perhaps it’s best I do my own research about this sort of creature,” Master Garron said before leaving the chamber.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” offered Aden. A weary Kyna nodded ‘yes’.
Just then Master Garron arrived on the scene with six guards behind him.
“I heard the commotion,” Master Garron said. “Are you all right?”
“Master Garron?” Kyna with a confused look. “Weren’t you just here?”
“No, I was in the outer courtyard when I saw this strange looking woman leap from the window before mysteriously disappearing,” Master Garron answered.
“Master Garron, don’t you remember me giving you the fanged tooth?” Aden asked.
“Tooth? What tooth?” responded Master Garron. “I’ve just arrived.”
Kyna and Aden Dawnbringer looked at one another in disbelief.
Elsewhere, Higore Mamoru shed his magical guise off. Geyadrone Dihada was here indeed, and the magical trail left behind was as radiant as the sun.
The plane: Ulgrotha
At her citadel located on the periphery of land ruled by Baron Sengir, Geyadrone Dihada muttered nothing but obscenities as her imp servants removed the axe embedded in her back followed by applying a special healing ointment to seal the visibly gaping wound. Despite the pain, she still had enough magical power remaining to escape, and not empty-handed. Geyadrone Dihada smiled over her stolen prize: a small collection of magical tomes.
Geyadrone Dihada unexpectedly felt a sharp pin prick at the base of her neck. When she turned around to curse at her imp servant for being so clumsy, she saw that he was already dead, along with the other three.
“Where are you?” angrily hissed Geyadrone Dihada, attempting to summon forth her magic. Yet, nothing happened. Geyadrone Dihada’s eyes turned to rage, as her attempt to tap the dark mana in Ulgrotha failed again and again. Before she could vent her frustration any further, a sudden feeling of cold coursed through her veins until Geyadrone Dihada collapsed to the floor with vacant eyes. Geyadrone Dihada had lived since the early days of Dominaria but now lay dead after mere seconds.
A shadowy figure emerged from the recesses of the chamber, where he removed the pithing needle that he stealthily inserted in the base of her neck to render her powerless. Cut off from the mana that fueled her strength and defenses, Geyadrone Dihada proved easy prey for the numerous poison darts Higore Mamoru silently inserted into her body. Unsheathing his katana blade, Higore Mamoru finished what he had set out to do before disappearing back into the shadows.
From the safety of his fortress Castle Sengir, Baron Sengir watched what transpired with his seeing crystal, catching only flashes of movement and then…. the headless body of Geyadrone Dihada lying lifeless on the floor.
Baron Sengir sat back in his throne and stroked his chin. Clearly, whoever this person was, he was of Kamigawa; that much he was sure of. But how did he get here? Where did he go? Why assassinate Geyadrone Dihada beyond the obvious fact that she had a lot of enemies? More and more questions circulated through his mind when the following facts emerged: one, that whoever this was had the skill to evade her guards, magical defenses, and had some type of artifact capable of rendering even planeswalkers impotent; two, that this one possessed no type of honor whatsoever.
“If only I had such men under me…” he briefly thought.
The plane: Kamigawa
At a tavern in a humble fishing village, Hideki returned from his long day gathering fish and decided to treat himself for some drinks following a sizeable catch that earned him a little extra money. When he entered, Hideki ordered a couple hot pork buns along with some rice wine.
When he looked up, he saw a bizarre, hideously-looking woman’s head being kept in a jar of brine mounted on top of a shelf. Whatever it was, Hideki, thought, was only marginally human.
“What is THAT for?” Hideki asked.
“It’s a guide to know when you drank too much,” the tavern owner said. “When you think she’s beautiful, then it’s time for you to go home.”
Hideki laughed, taking his first drink and looked up.
“Still ugly.” He said.
Lady Onala
Lady Onala Andregon was but a humble squire of Kjeldor who during its age of bitter cold and ice. As the Ice Age ended and snow thawed to a lasting spring, Onala would grow in strength, wisdom, and grace to become one of Kjeldor’s greatest knights. The alliance of the men of Kjeldor and the elves of Yavimaya was forged by the valor of those like Onala that stood firm against the foe, but living and undead.
Dakkon Blackblade
As a mortal, Dakkon was a master blacksmith and a warrior. Visited by the planeswalker Geyadrone Dihada, Dakkon was offered to ascend with the power of a planeswalker. The cost was simple: Dakkon was to forge for her the most powerful blade in existence. The proud Dakkon agreed and Geyadrone shared with him the sorcery required to make the sword a soul-drinker, a blade capable of stealing the energy of those it killed. Dakkon forged the blade with supernatural fire, cooling it with the blood of a slave he killed after each time he heated the forge. When he completed the sword, Dakkon could not help but test it in battle. Charging into battle, Dakkon felt his strength grow with each kill. So ferocious and merciless was he that his name became Dakkon Blackblade. His strength was that of the mountains, his fury that of a crushing tidal wave and his fury burning bright like an inferno; Dakkon Blackblade stood master of all before him.
That was, until, Dihada returned to fulfill their pact. In exchange for the Blackblade, Geyadrone Dihada made Dakkon a planeswalker, having sensed the spark within him when they first met. But Dihada proved more deceitful than the vainglorious Dakkon could ever foresee, for immediately afterwards she stabbed the Blackblade into Dakkon's shadow and absorbed his soul, but not his life. Dakkon was left wandering Dominaria searching for his lost soul, wondering why Dihada would grant him so much power only to make him her most bitter enemy.
“Such is the game of immortals,” Dihada said before vanishing before his sight.
Rylend Cristos a.k.a. “R.C.” Stellan
Rylend Cristos Stellan would be renowned as the luckiest man ever to walk on Dominaria. Born on the seventh second of the seventh minute in the seventh hour during the seventh day of the seventh month in the lunar year, Rylend Cristos Stellan was blessed with miraculous luck and a natural charisma. People liked him, and would come across the most opportune instances regardless of the circumstances. When he slipped on some ice and fell, he found a gold piece underneath him. When bullies tried to attacked, they would stumble into one another and knock each other out with their own blows. Academics wanted to study him, and wizards wanted to seize him, fumbling over one another while Rylend Cristos Stellan slipped out from underneath all their noses back to his loving family. Although he and his beloved wife lived a humble lifestyle as a merchant and farmer, when he and his wife passed away from old age, all were astonished by what the seemingly modest Rylend Cristos Stellan and his wife left their seven heirs: an estate of 777 acres of farmland and lush vineyards, 77 head of cattle, seven prized stallions, and a family fortune of 7,777 gold crowns.
Tevesh Szat
Tevesh Szat, known as the Doom of Fools, was not always a diabolical planeswalker and betrayer. In fact, he was a quiet hermit mage for a good many years, living peacefully in the forests of Sarpadia under the name Tevelin Loneglade with his beloved sister, Tymolin. As the once great Sarpadian Empire began to decline from internal strife and external war, Tevelin to himself while his sister Tymolin fought alongside her husband, a dwarf chieftain. Tymolin was there when the Dwarf clans fell to the orcs and goblins, fleeing to the forest and her brother’s home. After much coaxing by Tymolin, Tevelin agreed to accompany his sister to Icatia to warn of the impending goblin invasion.
But Tymolin Loneglade would never reach the border forts of Icatia to warn the people. They were intercepted by the Tymolin’s former lover, a mad religious zealot named Oliver Farrel and his retinue of warriors in a hasty alliance with the Order of the Ebon Hand. Tymolin died, and whatever humanity remained in Tevelin Loneglade died with her. Revealing himself as Tevesh Szat, the planeswalker, he would unleash his fury upon Sarpadia, gruesome annihilating Oliver Farrel and his followers before accelerating the fall of Sarpadia.
Tevesh Szat would remain a bane in Dominaria for thousands of years until the Phyrexian Invasion. Joining other planewalkers in a daring and desperate attempt to destroy Phyrexia from within, Tevesh Szat’s natural sense of betrayal would manifest again.
Murdering planeswalkers Kristine of the Woods, Daria, and Taysir before at last Urza destroyed him, Tevesh Szat would be eternally remembered as his namesake, the “Doom of Fools” willing to trust him.
But the young Avram Carthalion’s raw talent lacked control, and as he tapped the mana within Dominaria, the magical energies unleashed catapulted him across the multiverse where he landed hard on his back upon on a wood and stone floor. Upon impact, Avram heard several things in his pack break, and to his dismay, the broken items were the mana batteries that stored the magical energy he was counting on using during his journey and to return back to Dominaria.
The young Avram looked around the relatively small chamber and noticed a large wooden tub that was filled with hot water, evident from the steam emanating from it. When he turned around, Avram received a swift kick in his groin from a woman’s bare foot. Avram doubled over, landing on his side writhing in pain. Avram looked up, seeing a tall, slender yet muscle-toned woman wearing a towel wrapped around her body that covered her up from her armpit level down to the middle of her shins with her hair haphazardly bundled up above her neck. Avram then realized she was holding a sword, pointing it squarely underneath his chin as she stated something in a language he had never heard of before. Avram gulped and quickly recited the translation spell he learned from his uncle, hoping that he had enough innate magic for it to work.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the woman stated. “I’ll not ask again, stranger.”
Avram gasped a momentary sigh of relief, understanding what she was saying as he replied in her language, “I am Avram…Avram Carthalion, my lady…”
The woman’s eyes narrowed sternly.
Avram immediately noticed a blue tunic with white trim bearing a white cross symbol, chainmail shirt, and other pieces of armor neatly mounted on the wall before continuing, “I am your new page…it’s my first day.”
The woman lifted up her sword and took a couple steps back.
“What are you doing in here as I am about to bathe?” she questioned. “Are you a pervert or just stupid?”
Avram turned bright red, fumbling his words when the door barged opened when a mongoose sprang into the room dressed in a military styled tunic and armed with a crossbow, pointing its tip squarely at Avram’s nose.
“My lady!” the mongoose cried out. “I heard commotion…is everything all right?”
Avram’s eyes lit up in shock over the sight of a talking mongoose dressed like a knight and armed; he certainly wasn’t in Dominaria anymore.
The woman smiled and replied, “Everything is fine, Sir Tobias. This is allegedly my new page, Avram. Put him to work and show him around a bit. I’ll be down later.”
The woman then sheathed her sword and picked up the still startled Avram Carthalion with one arm, putting him back on his feet. Although sixteen, Avram was small and with slight of build, making him appear a few years younger.
“Come along, then,” said Tobias, motioning Avram to follow. Avram followed behind Tobias, who closed the door behind them just as the woman opened up her towel and slowly stepped into the tub.
“Sir Tobias,” said Avram awkwardly. “Forgive my ignorance, but I’m afraid my wits aren’t quite about me. Who was she and where exactly am I?”
Sir Tobias looked up at him with a confused look.
“You don’t even know the name of the knight you’re serving?” questioned Tobias. “Did you hit your head or something on the way in? She is Lady Leondra Coeur d’Acier, one of Charlemagne’s paladins and as far as where we are, we’re in Benoic, a small province of Charlemagne’s European empire.”
Sir Tobias led Avram outside of what turned out to be a small stone keep, guarded by several dozen human men at arms and protected a village populated by some humans but mostly talking animals like Sir Tobias dressed in clothes and carrying about their business. Sir Tobias led Avram to the stables, where the sergeant at arms greeted them.
“Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery,” said Sergeant at Arms Ludvig warmly. “What can I do for you, my lord?”
“This is Avram, Lady Leondra’s new page,” said Sir Tobias. “What work do you have for a page today?”
“Oh, they’re always a need for stable work,” replied Sergeant at Arms Ludvig. “A couple good hours, I think. This one’s a little scrawny, though. Is he up for it?”
“He doesn’t have a choice, so we’ll find out soon enough,” quipped Sir Tobias. “Go on, then, Avram, I’ll check on you shortly.”
Sergeant at Arms Ludvig showed Avram the layout of the stables, the location of the well, and went over the list of chores he had to do: put fresh water in the troughs, clean the stables, and take the horses’ leavings to the keep’s vegetable garden as fertilizer. Avram noted what he had to do and went to work.
It took Avram four round trips to the well to get enough water to refill the two troughs in the stable, carrying a bucket of water in each arm. By the time he was finished with the first chore, his arms were already exhausted but knew that if he didn’t finish his task, the sergeant at arms would probably beat him or worse.
Avram began shoveling up the horses’ leavings into a wheel barrow and when full, took it to the garden and emptied it into a pile that a local farmer was using to spread across the field while his two sons and one daughter began planting seeds.
“You’re new here,” said the young girl, who was about Avram’s age. “What’s your name?”
“Avram,” said Avram. “What’s yours?”
“Gwendolyn,” she answered before wrinkling her nose. “You stink.”
Avram didn’t know whether to laugh or cry after Gwendolyn laughed at him before returning to her chore of planting the next harvest crop. Avram pushed the wheel barrow back to the stables and took a whiff of himself and Gwendolyn was right. He reeked of horse and their leavings, along with his own body odors from working outside. For Avram Carthalion who lived a life of luxury and royalty growing up, his first journey to a different plane was something he had never expected. Instead of seeing the sites and exploring a new world, he was toiling in a stable. After about three hours Avram finished his task and Sir Tobias returned, showing him to his small room above the stables.
“Clean up a bit and meet us in the practice yard over there,” said Sir Tobias, pointing it out through the window. “We’ll see you then.”
Avram changed out of his clothes, cleaned himself up a bit and put on the page’s garb left for him, arriving on the practice field where Leondra Coeur d’Acier awaited him. There was a wooden waiting for him on the ground, and Leondra was already finishing up some training maneuvers. Avram caught only a brief glimpse of Leondra’s fighting technique, but readily saw that her combat skills were quite advanced.
“Pick it up,” ordered Leondra, alluding to the wooden sword while Sir Tobias stood by the periphery to observe. “Let’s see what you’re made of. If you’re going to be my page, you have to be able to defend yourself; I need to see what I have to work with.”
Avram picked up the wooden sword, wishing that he had paid attention to his father’s lessons when he was younger. When Leondra went it for her initial strike, Avram shrieked like a little girl before dropping his sword.
“What was THAT?!” said Leondra, wondering whether to punish her would-be page or start laughing at him over such a pathetic display.
“I believe you have a lot of work ahead of you, my lady,” answered Sir Tobias awkwardly.
“I will not entrust my life to a coward,” stated Leondra to Avram. “Pick it up and let’s try this again.”
Avram reluctantly did, and when Leondra performed a basic fighting maneuver, Avram cowed like a frightened child. With no magic and no protection of his Uncle Othniel over him anymore, Avram was truly alone and vulnerable.
“Stand up,” ordered Leondra. Avram did, ashamed by his display earlier.
“Show me your hands,” said Leondra, inspecting them followed by gently slapping his arms and chest to gauge what, if any, muscle mass there was.
“You don’t have the strength to hold a sword, much less defend yourself,” commented Leondra, placing her hands on her hips. “So, Avram Carthalion, are you going to quit, or do you want to train?”
Avram’s first inclination was to indeed quit and walk away, and then perhaps continue his journey to explore this new world before him once he was clear of the keep. Yet, something inside him said otherwise, knowing that to walk away now would be a foolish mistake.
“I want to train,” Avram stated.
“Good,” said Leondra with a smile. “We’ll need to build some strength in that scrawny frame of yours, first. Report to Sergeant at Arms Ludvig and split logs and then report to the kitchen.”
Sure enough, Avram Carthalion went back to work, splitting logs for the next hour before being summoned to the keep’s kitchen where he quickly washed up a bit and went to work preparing food. He brought in water to boil in a large kettle, along with any other mundane chore that needed to be done. During the course of his work he happened to see Gwendolyn again, who was helping her mother, the keep’s cook, slice vegetables.
“Hello,” said Avram, recognizing her.
“You smell better than before,” Gwendolyn said. “But if you’re going to stand there, you might as well be of some use. Go wash those potatoes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Avram with a smile, going back to work. Gwendolyn’s mother was almost as gruff as Sergeant at Arms Ludvig at times, barking orders on preparing the dinner meal for the keep’s attendants and the men at arms protecting it. Once again as it was every day, everything came together in the last hour, as the servants brought out a large roast pig and roasted chickens with vegetables and wild rice. Once Lady Leondra and her retinue were served, the cooking staff and servants enjoyed a hearty meal of their own in the cookhouse where they worked. Avram was able to sit next to Gwendolyn as they ate. To Avram, it seemed like common food compared to what he enjoyed at home in the Carthalion estate but to Gwendolyn, it was a sumptuous feast.
“You disapprove?” commented Gwendolyn, noticing his expression when he ate.
“Not at all,” replied Avram.
“Liar,” muttered Gwendolyn. “I don’t know where you’re from, Avram, but you’ll not find a better knight to serve under than Lady Leondra, save perhaps Sir Tiras. We may be servants, but she pays us and makes sure that we are offered the same quantity and quality of food that she receives. Name another knight willing to do that.”
Avram really couldn’t answer that, as the knights he knew of back in Dominaria generally don’t do such as thing.
“All right, then,” said Gwendolyn. Not long after their meal was finished, Avram joined Gwendolyn and the rest to clean up the dining hall as the last chore of the night. Whereas Gwendolyn joined her family that played music with a small mandolin by her brother and a flute by her mother while she sang and a few others danced afterwards outside their large cottage, Avram retired to his room and collapsed in his bed exhausted.
The next two weeks flashed like a blur. Avram’s morning routine was splitting some wood, followed by breakfast, tending the garrison such as bringing bricks to replace damaged ones or helping the blacksmith, and of course, maintain the stables. After lunch were more physical chores to build up some more strength, followed by a lesson in weapons training with Leondra before helping prepare dinner. In between conversation with various traders and merchants who came and went through Benoic, Avram learned that the world overall was known as „Gaea’ and while magic existed, it was nowhere near the level in Dominaria and worse yet, he had no idea how to tap into it. After the second week, Avram stayed to participate in their nightly merriment, offering something to Gwendolyn.
“What’s this?” asked Gwendolyn, seeing the small brass object shaped like a small hawk.
Unknown to her, it was once a vessel to store mana but after the vessel inside it broke, it was now just an ornate brass hawk figurine.
“A gift,” said Avram. “I’ve also given something similar to your parents and brothers.”
“How does a page come across such things?” asked Gwendolyn. “These aren’t stolen, are they?”
“No, not at all,” insisted Avram. “They’re just trinkets my family kept, that’s all.”
“I see,” said Gwendolyn, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Meanwhile, in her private chamber, Lady Leondra was with Sir Tobias reviewing a map and message received from Lady Bradamante late that afternoon.
“The rumors are true,” said Leondra, reviewing the note. “The demon knight exists.”
“Demon knight, my lady?” asked Tobias.
“I read about him some time ago when I was studying at Mont St. Michel,” recalled Leondra. “He's a supernatural being from the time of King Arthur Pendragon who merged his soul with that of a demon. He was a villainous knight whose name was Breunis, known at the knight without pity. He was defeated and later trapped in a tomb, hidden away somewhere and forgotten. Apparently, some tomb robbers stumbled upon it and unwittingly released him. He’s already struck three towns and two villages already, and appears to be coming towards here.”
“We have fifty men at arms in the keep here and can summon another fifty by tomorrow, my lady,” offered Tobias.
Leondra reviewed another note sent from her comrade in arms, Riordan, annotating the information onto her map.
“Riordan is already on the move trying to anticipate Breunis’s next attack, as is Sir Astolpho, and Sir Rinaldo,” described Leondra. “Breunis is avoiding a direct confrontation with them and attacking helpless targets. If I assemble a large force and ride after him, he will avoid me as well.”
“What do you propose my lady?” asked Tobias. “Ride out towards him alone perfumed and pretty like bait to draw him out?”
Leondra smiled.
“That is exactly what I have planned, Sir Tobias,” said Leondra, scratching his furry cheeks. “Are you with me?”
“But of course, my lady!”
“Good, tell my page Avram to prepare for a journey tomorrow.”
* * *
For the next two days Leondra donned a lavish royal cloak to conceal her armor and tunic with a large hood over her head, laden with an exotic perfume that could be smelled at great distances. Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery trailed alongside her, remaining hidden in the woods and tall grass. Avram, as her page, rode behind her carrying a lavish banner, dressed in royal garb and wearing perfume himself. Ironically, the clothing and scent reminded him of life back in Dominaria at the Carthalion estate.
They rode out in the late morning at a leisurely pace, taking frequent breaks for their horses to gently graze and drink water at a nearby pond before resuming their journey. Sir Tobias joined them under the secluded grove, handing Avram a water skin and offering him a drink. Avram took a drink, followed by Lady Leondra’s spontaneous laughter; when Avram saw his reflection, he saw that his lips and teeth had turned purple!
“What the…what just….?” blurted out Avram, cleaning out his teeth with a rag and trying to rinse his mouth out.
“Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery is often referred to as „Tom’ for short,” commented Leondra, regaining her composure. “And he’s a bit a prankster…”
“So I see, my lady,” said Avram. “Does Sir Tom Foolery play pranks on you, my lady?”
Leondra looked at Tobias with a stern yet furtive smile.
“I know better not to,” stated Tobias.
“Well, day two and no sign of Sir Breunis,” commented Leondra, spraying on some more perfume. “I wonder if I’m trying too hard to where it’s obviously a trap.”
“I wish I knew, my lady,” answered Tobias. “But the scent of your perfume is quite…nice.”
Leondra smiled, kneeling down to kiss him on the forehead before getting back on her horse to resume their journey. The sun began to set when Leondra saw a black dot amidst the sun get larger and larger until she recognized the outline.
“Breunis,” she whispered while unclasping her royal cloak. When Sir Breunis emerged on his dark winged steed, Leondra cast off her cloak and drew Arondight from her scabbard and took a swipe at him as he flew by, narrowly missing him.
“SEEK COVER!” shouted Leondra to Avram, who dropped the banner and rode to the cover of the nearby forest. Sir Tobias dashed past him with his crossbow loaded, trying to get a bead on Breunis’s steed. Breunis swept down again from the sky to strike, missing Leondra as she maneuvered her horse out of the way. Tobias fired his crossbow and struck home, hitting Breunis’s steed’s lower body. Forced to land, Breunis drew his demonic blade that glowed pale green energy after dismounting while Leondra dismounted with Arondight in one hand, and a cross in the other.
“In name of God, in the name of Jesus Christ, I send you to Hell,” stated Leondra as golden light emanated from her cross. Breunis yelled in pain initially but then laughed, resisting
Leondra’s spiritual power. Breunis attacked, parried by Leondra who then kicked him to separate them with some standoff.
“It will take more than amateur paladin powers to stop me, woman,” mocked Breunis, licking his lips. “Although I’ve never raped a female paladin before.”
“And you never will,” replied Leondra, letting out a war cry and attacked. Breunis parried and delivered a hard backhand, bloodying Leondra’s face and knocking the cross out of her left hand. Leondra attacked again, striking Breunis’s arm to lightly wound him. Breunis attacked but missed when Leondra evaded his strike and retaliated, cleaving his helmet apart to reveal his face. Breunis’s once human form was more serpentine and demonic, bearing the eyes of a serpent, two small horns from his head, and a mix of scaly skin patches on his face. Breunis grinned, spitting venom that struck Leondra’s eyes, blinding her.
“MY LADY!!!!” shouted Tobias, leaping into the fray with his short sword drawn. Sir Tobias scurried about striking Sir Breunis and evading his strikes, buying Leondra precious time to wipe the venom from her eyes. Breunis eventually caught Tobias mid-stride, grabbing him and taking a massive bite into his body to inject his venom before tossing him aside. Breunis laughed when suddenly Leondra unleashed her fury upon him, chopping off his sword hand following by chopping off his right foot just above the ankle with Arondight. Breunis collapsed in a heap, bitterly cursing her when she retrieved her cross.
“In the name of God…in the name Christ…go back to Hell…” Leondra said coldly, burning him in holy light before driving Arondight deep into his chest, piercing his armor, flesh, and bone to destroy the demon knight at last.
Leondra’s attention immediately turned to the mortally wounded Tobias. Leondra whistled for her warhorse, who rushed to her side followed by Avram on his small riding horse. Leondra saw Tobias’s eyes fluttering weakly; she was losing him as she retrieved her healing salves from her pack and applied them on his wounds. Avram saw in Leondra’s eyes what he had never seen before: fear.
“It’s not working,” said Leondra.
“Demon magic,” said Avram in a shocked, hushed tone. “A portion of his demonic power is poisoning him…I…I think I can heal him, though….”
Leondra looked at Avram, cautiously nodding “yes” and took a step away. Avram retrieved his pack and placed a medallion around Tobias’s neck. Tobias began to glow from the medallion’s magic, transforming from a mongoose into a young man with a slender yet lean, wiry body. His wound remained and Avram put on a brass claw of some kind and magically extracted what appeared to be a shard of demonic power from Tobias’s body. Tobias’s shallow breathing picked up, showing more signs of life.
“Your healing salves should work now,” said an exhausted Avram.
Leondra was speechless, applying her healing salves and bandages onto Tobias’s wounds. His eyes opened up, feeling himself cold and having five fingers and five toes on each of his hands and feet.
“My lady…?” asked Tobias in disbelief. “What..what has happened?”
* * *
Although enchanted, the healing salve has its limitation and Tobias would be fit for travel until the morning. Leondra and Avram established a hasty bivouac site in the nearby woods, where they got a fire going and ate a meal of travel rations that consisted of salted meats and dried fruits.
“Thank you for saving my friend,” said Leondra. “I thought I had lost him.”
“You almost did, but it is you who I should thank as well, my lady,” replied Avram.
Leondra had a bewildered look.
“You believed in me,” said Avram.
“So who are you, really? What’s your story?” asked Leondra. “When I first met you, you looked like a pampered prince but yet you saved my friend with magic that I’ve only read about.”
“I am a mage apprentice, my lady,” answered Avram. “From a far away land and whose teleportation spell didn’t work out as planned.”
“No, it certainly didn’t,” teased Leondra. “Why the transformation spell?”
“The spell techniques I learned for exorcising demonic powers were for humans,” explained Avram. “I wasn’t sure if they would work on your friend’s animal form, so it was easier to turn him into a human first.”
“I see,” said Leondra, noticing Tobias asleep, huddling amidst some blankets shivering. “I’m afraid my beloved friend Tobias is not used to being without his natural fur. I will tend to him while you keep first watch.”
“Yes, my lady,” agreed Avram, putting some more wood in the fire. Avram turned his back to Leondra to watch the outside perimeter as she undressed to her undershirt and pantaloons before crawling in underneath the blankets behind Tobias, gently holding him from behind to warm him up with her body. Tobias soon stopped shivering and Leondra smiled before drifting to sleep herself.
Leondra took last watch and was already dressed back in her armor and uniform when the sun rose. She heated up some water for some personal hygiene and checked on Tobias’s wounds, which were healed but Tobias was undoubtedly still weak and needed more time to rest once they returned to Benoic. Avram awoke and checked on his pack for a quick inventory, noticing a small pouch that he had forgotten about. Upon opening it, Avram Carthalion’s eyes opened wide, seeing the dried black lotus petals that were inside of it, giving him the mana power necessary to return back to Dominaria.
Sir Tobias Morrigan Foolery had awoken and unknowingly activated the medallion’s magic, returning back to his mongoose form and feeling much better. Removing it, Tobias gratefully thanked Avram and returned it for him.
“Keep it,” replied Avram, handing it back to him. “In case you ever want to be human again.”
Sir Tobias shrugged, putting the medallion in a pouch attached to his weapons belt.
“Returning home?” asked Leondra, putting her saddle back onto her warhorse.
“Yes, my lady,” answered Avram. “I’m long overdue.”
“Very well,” said Leondra, mounting her warhorse as Tobias scurried up and sat behind her. Leondra pulled her cross off of her belt and handed it to Avram, followed by Tobias giving him his hat that bore a small feather plume.
“Something to remember us by,” added Leondra, before riding off to return back to Benoic.
* * *
Tapping into the mana within the black lotus petals, Avram Carthalion launched himself back to Dominaria through the dimensional portal from the plane of Gaea. As it was before, Avram stumbled and fell, landing on the floor where his Uncle Othniel received him, reading a book while a crystal mounted in a brass base glowed.
“Ah, good to see you again, my boy!” said Othniel, helping him up. “I was starting to think something ate you. How was your first journey? Where did you go?”
“A new place none of us had been to before…a plane called Gaea,” explained Avram. “But I had no idea how I got there….how did I get back?”
“Well, this of course,” alluded Othniel, pointing to the glowing crystal. “When I found out you left I activated it, just as I do normally before I traverse to another plane. It’s like a homing beacon to make sure you can return here.”
“You’re…not mad at me, are you, Uncle?” asked Avram.
“Me? Not really. Your father, on the other hand, well, that’s a different story,” warned Othniel. “What did you learn on your first trip alone?”
“The value of hard work,” answered Avram, alluded to the training regimen Leondra put him through.
“Well, good, because you’re going to work off your debt for losing those artifacts you took,” stated Othniel, alluding to the empty shelf where they were kept. “You’ll start by cleaning up this mess in here, then tend to the gardens with the servants until lunch, and then clean the stables until dinner.”
“Yes, Uncle,” answered Avram, momentarily wondering if his Uncle Othniel and Lady Leondra were somehow related.
After much coaxing and perhaps his own wanderlust growing within him once again, Uncle Othniel agreed to take me with him on another one of his wonderful journeys. It was several years since he last visited the plane of Oranos, so he decided for us to visit there. His maps were admittedly a bit dated, no doubt, so we hoped for the best and planned for the worst as they say and through Othniel’s great magic, traversed the great dimensional gateway to Oranos.
We arrived to the city known as Dimos Ischyron in the land of Omnia Res. The journey was particularly taxing for my uncle, nearly collapsing when we first arrived. We arrived under the guise of wealthy merchants who had ample money, so it was easy for me to get him set up in more than adequate lodgings. Food seemed plentiful, as we had arrived during the summer harvest. The fruits were sweet and the roasted meats were tender and delicious; Othniel enjoyed his slow but delectable recuperation of good food and plenty of rest.
In the meantime, I toured the city. The market district was nothing I had ever seen before. So vast. So beautiful. One could get lost but not want to be found. Jewelers, metal smiths, artisans, painters, craftsmen, and every known food vendor was there selling their goods. Competition was plentiful, so prices seemed reasonable. Well, at least to me when comparing them to the price of similar goods in the city streets of Corondor.
Omnia Res was as diverse as Uncle Othniel described. There were humans, known as Luthamadan on this world, dwarves, known as the Asgan, and centaurs, known as the Alogodras. Although the Alogodras were a nomadic race, they were quite common in Dimos Ischyron and the surrounding area. I saw them tending large flocks of sheep in addition to elite lancers in armor patrolling the open plains outside the city.
When Othniel recovered his strength, we mentioned the option of traveling as part of a small merchant caravan to Dimos Ischyron’s sister city, Dimos Dynati, or to the Dwarven city of Kaienin. Othniel had been to both, and decided that we would travel to Kaienin to show me around the wondrous splendors it offered. Dwarves no longer exist on Dominaria, so the idea of visiting a great city of theirs immediately perked my interest.
Initially, the journey was uneventful, but I was able to see the wondrously vast land that was Omnia Res. The land was green and farmland verdant, like Dominaria was described to me in its youth, before the Antiquities War between Urza and Mishra.
Our seemingly uneventful journey ended abruptly with the arrival of a company of some two or three hundred centaur lancers that rode ahead of us. There was talk of an enemy force moving towards Dimos Dynati, and this group was part of many assembling to reinforce the existing garrison protecting the city.
By itself, the company of well-armed and armored centaurs didn’t seem out of the ordinary until I heard about their leader at the head of their column: a Luthamadan female known as Captain Marayn si Galad. From what I’m told, she is the only non-centaur the Alogodras deemed worthy enough to directly lead them into battle.
The merchant caravan was redirected back to the safety of Dimos Ischyron. My uncle, on the other hand, assumed a new guise as a chirgeon to support them and I, as his assistant. We rejoined the group of Omnia Resian soldiers as part of a small group of healers sent to support them. Between the two of us we knew a good deal of medicinal skills and our healing magic would prove helpful as well. Unlike the knights of Niadhraon that kept their healers far to the rear of the battle, the Omnia Resians expected some of their healers to be much closer to the field ready to render aid. Othniel allowed me to join that group, and it was then that I saw first-hand how Captain Marayn si Galad earned the respect of the Alogodras.
We arrived at the early onset of battle. Kaienin was under attack from a great host of beast-men, known as Beithor on this world. However they were unable to breach its walls. The city’s defenses looked like something Urza himself created. Great ballista launched steel tipped bolts, smashing apart crudely made siege towers. Searing streams of flaming oil shot out from stone gargoyles that overlooked one of the city gates, incinerating the would-be attackers and their battering ram. Massive catapults hurled stones and clay pots filled with fiery oil or shrapnel, striking down even more Beithor. But still, the Beithor stormed the walls with reckless abandon.
Marayn si Galad sent her force of centaur lancers into two columns as part of a much larger force of cavalry to break the main siege line. She led the first column, striking the Beithor from the flank with a rain of arrows and javelins while the second trampled through the broken ranks that remained.
She was amazing…riding what must have been a full gallop on her horse and taking shot after shot with her bow, striking down armored Beithor. Victory seemed inevitable, until Beithor reinforcements arrived. At the head was a fearsome warrior I later learned was named Magnus Athos.
Magnus Athos was a Deimhenn warlord who was infused with great supernatural power through a ritual called “the soul harvest”. He arrived on a giant bat as his mount, glowing with demonic fire it seemed. I felt my own soul rattle at his sight. With a fresh host of Beithor warriors, Magnus Athos launched another wave.
Marayn si Galad’s soft blue eyes hardened to steel, forming up her centaur lancers. While her centaur lancers provided her cover, Marayn set her sights squarely on Magnus Athos.
She proved the better rider, easily maneuvering her horse to avoid Magnus Athos’s attempts to swoop down from the sky to slay her. Marayn dismounted her horse to the cover of some nearby trees, biding her time to catch him off guard while he circled around. Marayn took aim and fired three arrows at him. The first deflected off his armor, the second struck the bat in its belly, and most importantly, the third struck the bat through its head. A great cheer roared through her forces as Magnus Athos came crashing down to the earth.
But Magnus Athos would not be defeated so easily, for he emerged from the dirt cloud cleaving through four Omnia Resian lancers like they were straw. Marayn put away her bow and drew her sword and shield, entering the fray.
Marayn clashed steel against Magnus Athos, who cleaved through another two centaur lancers to get to Marayn. The smaller, quicker Marayn si Galad dodged his attack and bashed his head repeatedly with her metal shield. Magnos Athos retaliated, cleaving through her shield with what was undoubtedly an enchanted blade of some kind, wounding her arm. When Magnus Athos saw the short sword Marayn wielded, one could sense that underneath his helmet Magnus Athos was grinning, mocking her as a warrior. Little did he know, Marayn si Galad would show him what true skill was.
When he attempted to strike again, Marayn dodged his attack and chopped off his sword arm, right around the forearm, following through with a thrust into his chest, right through his heart. Magnus Athos’s death was silent, dropping to his knees before falling over dead. The demonic fire that glowed so bright extinguished into smoldering embers.
Panic flashed through the Beithor like a flood drowning trapped rats. They retreated back to their lands in complete disarray. I later learned that despite its humble appearance, Marayn si Galad wielded an even greater magical blade of her own called Spathi Antria, known in the common language “the Sword of Courage”. I was also told that she slew a dragon with it.
While I never had the chance to meet Marayn si Galad in person, I certainly agreed with the comments of a dwarf I met named Gilius Thunderhead at the banquet held that night among the victorious defenders.
“That’s why I’m glad she’s on our side.”
***
We remained in Kaienin for about four days. Having never seen Dwarves up close, visiting a whole city of them was quite unique. Kaienin was nothing I had ever seen before. Two thirds of the city was carved into the mountain itself, housing great halls and chambers. The forward third was a massive bastion protected by assorted siege works and engines.
The Asgan certainly loved a good brawl here and there, and they certainly demonstrated a great loyalty to their family clans. I learned that it was not uncommon for Dwarven males to have two or three Dwarf females as wives. Skirmishes against the Beithor were common, and it was customary that Dwarven “brothers-in-arms” meant that should one fall in battle, the other would adopt the other’s family as his own. It was definitely an “Asgan-only” tradition, for I learned that Omnia Resian law forbade polygamy for the Luthamadan and that the Asgan could not have multiple human wives. Intriguingly enough, though, Omnia Resian law allowed divorce among the Luthamadan but under Asgan tradition, divorce was explicitly forbidden. In a stark contrast to both races, the Alogodras don’t even follow any such tradition regarding marriage.
Gilius Thunderhead was a generous host during our visit, showing us some of the mines and battle forges, in addition to allowing us partake in a great family feast with his two wives and numerous adopted children. While Gilius seemed to enjoy all of their company, their incessant prattling at times made him think that his fallen brothers-in-arms intentionally got themselves killed on purpose since they couldn’t get divorced. Well, that’s what he said after his fifth or sixth pint of ale.
After departing Omnia Res we soon found ourselves in Niadhraon, reaching the capital city of Sol Tirin. There, Othniel met up with the niece of an associate he knew during his last visit to the Oranos plane: a female knight named Elisia Darcune. She seemed very nice, albeit overly formal sometimes, and made sure we were taken care of as our host. I learned that Elisia Darcune was an accomplished knight of renown in Niadhraon as well, having fought against a great magical avatar known as Aima-Dolofonos and also a dragon at one point. While her accomplishments didn’t surprise Uncle Othniel at all, her appearance did. It turns out that when he first met her, she was a young squire training to become a knight. Her hair was short back then, arguably like that of a boy, Uncle Othniel described. But now, her hair went slightly past the base of her neck. Uncle Othniel found out later that Elisia Darcune’s new hair length was fairly recent and due to her aunt’s concern about “her favorite niece looking so butch”.
Coincidentally, it was this same aunt of Elisia Darcune’s that sponsored her training to become a knight and convinced her parents to support her endeavor. No doubt, Elisia viewed her beloved aunt as a mentor and felt somewhat beholden to her, resulting in her acceptance of her advice, albeit reluctantly.
Our stay in Niadhraon was fairly brief compared to our time in Omnia Res, and before I knew it we were on a ship departing the port town of Dragonmoor to Aedh Caelinn, the land of the Sidhcaire Elves. To our combined surprise, when we arrived at the port we were received by Sidhcaire warriors in armor who provided us escort to the nearest town. Like Omnia Res, Aedh Caelinn was also recently attacked, but by a large group of evil human warriors allied with the Deimhenn. While easily repelling their enemy, the Sidhcaire remained at a high state of battle readiness. Uncle Othniel was quite surprised when he saw the Sidhcaire elf Darien Aislean, who arrived as part of the escort party in full battle armor. He was so used to seeing her in dresses that he did a double-take when she greeted us.
Once inside the safety of the elven city of Túr Eayst, Uncle Othniel and I encountered the Sidhcaire that he described before: most were golden-haired elves of magical grace, save a few who pursued magic in the ways of nature like Darien, turning their hair a robust earthly dark brown.
Darien Aislean’s cousin, Firinne Gealach, would be our host during the visit to Aedh Caelinn. Like Darien, Firinne also pursued nature magic in addition to magic of light and water, as her hair was a rich reddish brown. She was lovely and fair, with a wisdom far beyond her years for she smiled, realizing that Othniel was no mere merchant trading goods to the elves. She sensed his power and somehow knew that she was not from the plane of Oranos. Because of this, she entrusted him with an everlasting gift to take back to Dominaria.
When we returned back home to Dominaria, my Uncle Othniel smiled in a way I had never seen before.
What Firinne gave him was a young sapling of their great trees that protected their land, destined to grow and bear leaves of gold and silver. Othniel smiled, holding it in its small pot before taking outside to a special grove to plant it.
Of all the gifts he gathered in his many years of traversing the planes, my Uncle Othniel Carthalion received the greatest gift of all: new life.
“Uncle Othniel,” Avram asked. “Did Peritor and Elspeth ever rid themselves of the demonic presence trapped within themselves?”
“Why yes, they did,” said Othniel, adjusting his spectacles.
“How? Was it by holy ritual? Or perhaps an exorcism?” suggested Avram, recalling some of his lessons.
Othniel rubbed his chin, recalling one of his visits to the Oranos plane.
“Actually, it was neither,” Othniel answered. “Before I start, though, I must tell you more about Oranos.”
Othniel stopped with what he was doing and pulled up a chair near Avram, followed by pouring himself a small cup of tea.
“As I once said before, Oranos is a world full of raw elemental power and diverse races. Humans, centaurs, elves, and dwarves live there with a host of wondrous flora and fauna. When I was there, I also learned of three malevolent races that were the banes of life: the Beithor, who were savage creatures that usually bore the head of a jackal, goat, or wolf on a man’s body; the Follanmahr, brutish creatures that were double or triple the size of a normal man with two, maybe even three heads and four arms; and lastly, and most feared: the Deimhenn.”
“Did you see any of them? What were they like?” asked Avram.
“Beithor? Yes, very much so when I was in Niadhraon and Omnia Res,” answered Othniel. “They were a little bit smaller than a normal man but bigger than a goblin. They were usually fodder, sort of like how goblins are in Dominaria. I never saw a Follanmahr; I only heard about them. From what I was told, there weren’t many to begin with and by the time I got there most had died off in battle. The Deimhenn, however, were a much different story.”
Avram’s eyes widened with curiosity.
“The Deimhenn were deceivers,” explained Othniel. “While many were accomplished warriors or sorcerers, their best, and most favored, skill was to turn brother against brother and tempt others to do their bidding. They used their magic to assume a fair form rivaling that of the Sidhcaire elves. Even worse, they were immortal.”
“Immortal? Like, gods?” said Avram.
“Not quite,” started Othniel. “They extended their lifespan through a ritual that was known as the ‘soul harvest’. I’m not sure of the specifics, but they apparently did blood sacrifices to harness the primal life force of their victims to extend their lifespan, making them effectively immortal; that ability alone made many fall prey to their evil temptation.”
“But what do the Deimhenn and this so-called ‘soul harvest’ have to do with Peritor and Elspeth?” questioned Avram.
“The Deimhenn and the soul harvest have everything do with Peritor and Elspeth, my boy! It‟s quite ironic, really.” answered Othniel, taking another sip of tea. “It happened somewhere on an unnamed battlefield in Niadhraon. A Deimhenn lord named Meilyr à Gamhlas had raised an army of Beithor and fought against the knights of Niadhraon that was reinforced by a small host of Sidhcaire Elves of Aedh Caelinn. Originally, most thought that it was another raid by some petty Deimhenn lord to gather victims for the soul harvest, but the scheming Meilyr proved cleverer than the defenders thought, “ started Othniel. “It was indeed a raid for victims, but they weren’t looking for villagers or townspeople to kidnap: it was Peritor and Elspeth.”
“Meilyr à Gamhlas launched wave after wave of Beithor warriors to isolate Peritor and Elspeth from the rest of the group, knowing at some point fatigue and the blood-filled carnage would eventually wear down Peritor’s will and Elspeth’s magical strength; he was right. Peritor and Elspeth both went berserk, slaying many Beithor and rushing in to attack with mad bloodlust in their eyes, further isolating themselves until they both collapsed from exhaustion,” continued Othniel. “Retrieving what was left of them was easy.”
“They awoke as captives of Meilyr à Gamhlas, who began the soul harvest ritual to cull the pure demonic power trapped by Peritor’s will and Elspeth’s grace. Both screamed in agony as Meilyr drew forth the demonic energies trapped within their bodies, adding to his own power. Meilyr smiled and roared triumphantly, feeling his magical power grow greater and greater with every passing moment until…”
“Until what?” asked Avram in anticipation.
“He exploded,” Othniel said, taking another sip of tea.
“WHAT?!” blurted out Avram. “That…makes no sense!”
“It doesn’t?” asked Othniel. “Avram, bring me that glass goblet over there.”
Avram complied, bringing it to his uncle. Othniel took the teapot and quickly began pouring the hot tea into the glass goblet, shattering it into fragments.
“Do you see what happened? Meilyr was undoubtedly drawing more power than his body could take, and like that glass, broke apart as a result,” explained Othniel. “Peritor and Elspeth freed themselves and escaped. When they rendezvoused with the rescue party sent after them, all could see that they were forever changed by what had occurred.”
“How so?” said Avram.
“The most obvious was that Elspeth had regained her magical grace, for her hair was a radiant blonde again,” described Othniel. “From what I was told by those who were around him, Peritor was much different as well.”
“Their combined strength kept a demonic power in check from a spiritual bond that formed during that fateful night when Peritor first helped Elspeth. Over time, this spiritual bond changed them for the better, I would imagine. Elspeth gained a measure of Peritor’s will that enhanced her magic greatly and Peritor gained a portion of Elspeth’s grace that protected him from the darkest of evils. From then on, Elspeth was known as Elspeth d’Aiteas, meaning „the joyous‟ in their language, if I remember correctly, to forever remember that joyous day,” continued Othniel. “The whole event is quite ironic, when you consider everything. It was not holy ritual, but Deimhenn magic, the most evil out there, mind you, that liberated Peritor and Elspeth from an evil presence. And, I might add, their would-be „liberator‟ was trying to kill them slowly and painfully and when he got what he wanted, he caused his own gruesome demise. ”
“You’re right, it’s funny, Uncle, but also kind of gross, too,” commented Avram before asking, “Did you ever see them again?”
“I briefly crossed paths with Elspeth once; she was radiant, but to my surprise, her hair was black! I later learned that she chose to have it dyed that way because she had grown to like having dark hair. Imagine that!” said Othniel.
“And Peritor?”
“I missed him on that occasion, and would not see him again in person,” added Othniel. “When I met their eldest daughter Ciara na Suthainn years later, however, she did show me a painting of her father displayed in one of the citadels. She said it always gave her a laugh, knowing how much her father hated posing for it in ceremonial armor.”
“What’s next, Uncle Othniel?” said Avram, who went back to staring at the metal shard of Adrolann.
“First, you need to clean up that mess,” said Othniel, alluding to the pile of broken glass and spilled tea. “And then I believe it’s time for lunch.”
Avram chuckled, getting up to retrieve a rag and a broom.
Wizards of the Coast briefly published a Xena: The Warrior Princess trading game card in the late 1990s and a part of me hopes that the company will someday depict those characters as legends.
***
GENERAL COPYRIGHT/DISCLAIMER: Xena: Warrior Princess, Gabrielle, Argo and all other characters who have appeared in the syndicated series Xena: Warrior Princess, together with the names, titles and back-story are the sole copyright property of MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this fan fiction. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This story cannot be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of this story may be made for private use only and must include all disclaimers and copyright notices.
***
High in the desert sky, the sun blazed its heat on the surface below. Pockets of tropical life dotted the harsh landscape of Arabia through a series of oases that shielded the weary traveler with shade, food, and water.
Gabrielle had just finished picking up some dates and some small fruits and walked toward Xena with a small, filled bag.
“Mmmm…these are really good…” commented Gabrielle, her mouth half-stuffed full of fruit.
“Thanks for saving me some, Gabrielle,” joked Xena after taking a bite and spitting one out. "You eat the best and leave me the sour ones...”
“Whoops. Sorry...” apologized Gabrielle with a smirk. "I'm sure the food we find in Medina will be much better."
“I should hope so,” replied Xena while filling her waterskin. “Medina is the central city among four major provinces that make up Arabia; four powerful tribes maintain a loose alliance that barely holds it together."
“Four tribes?” asked Gabrielle. “Who are they?”
“The Fulanif. The Saud’Ata. The Al-Dhafir. The Zahran.” explained Xena, drawing their symbols in the sand with a stick. “All very strong and proud tribes that don’t like each other, nor do they even respect one another in some cases. It seems their senses of honor and religious beliefs clash.”
“What do you mean? A warrior’s honor is a warrior’s honor, right?” commented Gabrielle.
“Not exactly,” responded Xena, wiping the sand clean before she and Gabrielle got to their feet and made their way to their horses. “The Saud’Ata and Al-Dhafir are masters of the hit and run tactic with their cavalry, which the Fulanif and Zahran perceive as dishonorable since they believe in combat between champions to settle a dispute, not large armies. The Saud’Ata are also known to use assassins; I don’t even want to begin discussing their religious differences.”
“They don’t much different than the politicians in Athens with their intrigues,” commented Gabrielle.
“Yes, but don’t tell any of them that,” replied Xena, mounting Argo while Gabrielle got on her small riding horse. “We'll reach Medina by nightfall in time for its festival.”
“So what keeps the alliance together?” called out a puzzled Gabrielle.
“Laith El-Khaldun,” answered Xena.
“Bless you,” replied Gabrielle.
“I didn’t sneeze, Gabrielle,” said Xena. “I mean Laith El-Khaldun, a powerful lord in this region. He’s a cruel tyrant who makes Ares look like Hercules. It took the combined might of all four tribes to force a stalemate in battle, and he still holds land and a dominant. Right now he controls a loose confederation of bandit tribes in this region and commands influence in the Al-Shammari tribe. The great festival in Medina is more than just a celebration; it’s a meeting to discuss peace. Apparently there have been some recent border skirmishes.”
“So where does Autolycus fit in all this?” asked Gabrielle, recalling a message exchange between them in the days leading up to their journey to Arabia.
“He was hired by Laith to spy on the others,” answered Xena with a smile before picking up the pace.
***
By early sunset Xena and Gabrielle reached the glimmering city of Medina. A great alabaster wall surrounded the mighty city, with ivory turban shaped towers covered in bronze paint dotting the many battlements within its structure. Entering the massive gate, Xena and Gabrielle passed through the massive streets filled with peddlers and merchants of all forms.
“What a beautiful city…look at these silks....they must be imported from Cathay,” said Gabrielle excitedly.
“These high prices have my attention,” added Xena, overhearing the people haggling for the cost of food, supplies, and goods. “We’ll be out of dinars after our third meal.”
“Ladies, leave that to me,” came a suave voice. It was none other than the legendary King of Thieves, Autolycus. Dressed in simple yet elegantly tailored clothes, Autolycus sprang from the doorway to greet his friends.
“Nice threads, Autolycus,” commented Xena. “Steal them?”
“Not at all, Xena,” insisted Autolycus while helping Gabrielle down from her horse. “This is the gift of my employer, Laith El-Khaldun. This medallion here buys me anything I need. Food, lodging, fancy clothes...women...wine…well, you get the idea.”
“What kind of service is he getting then? A medallion that grants you unlimited buying in Medina isn’t something he would give to anyone,” Xena replied sternly.
“Why, the expert advice and spying of the legendary Autolycus, King of Thieves!” boasted Autolycus, leading Xena and Gabrielle into the inn. “However,”
“However,” corrected Xena. “You’re here at my request to see what he’s planning.”
“Well, yes,” admitted Autolycus begrudgingly. “But you’re killing my reputation, Xena. People need to know that Autolycus is here as the personal spy selected by the feared and respected Laith El-Khaldun, not for Xena.”
“The people can believe whatever they like,” warned Xena, grabbing Autolycus by his shirt. “Just as long as you have a clear understanding of who’s in charge.”
“Oh yes, very clear understanding,” replied Autolycus.
“Well, now, shall we begin?”
“Who said that?” asked Gabrielle, turning around
“This is Siraj Jiburi, a cavalier and general among in the Zahran tribes,” introduced Xena.
Siraj Jiburi was a tall and broad shouldered Arabian man in his prime. Dark haired with bronze skin with a thick mustache and well-trimmed beard, he escorted the three into a private chamber under the heavy guard of his elite warriors.
“I am glad that you came at such short notice, Xena,” said Siraj. “The alliance is waning; I fear that by the end of this festival at least one of the major tribes will join Laith El-Khaldun. He’s already been politicking with the Al-Dhafir and Saud’Ata ambassadors. I’ve been able to keep the Fulanif allied with my tribe, but I don’t know for how long.”
“What do you know about his plans, so far, Autolycus?” asked Gabrielle.
“Well, not much really,” explained Autolycus with a shrug. “When I first showed up he greeted me with open arms and gave me the medallion. I’ve been kind of busy seeing the sights of Medina ever since.”
“Excellent,” said Xena with a smile.
“What do you mean?” asked Gabrielle. “I thought Autolycus was supposed to spy on him.”
“Laith is clever. He can smell a spy out for him several leagues away,” commented Siraj Jiburi. “He took Autolycus’s arrival as an attempt to spy on him by the Fulanif or me, and probably feels that he has taken care of the spy.”
“Exactly,” agreed Xena. “Now I can infiltrate to learn how he plans to break apart the alliance.”
“Great!” exclaimed Gabrielle. “What are you going to do, Xena? Climb the towers to his palace under the cloak of darkness or maybe through a waterway?”
“Not exactly,” admitted Xena. “Like Siraj described, Laith is extremely clever. Even with Autolycus marginalized his palace is filled with his assassins looking for enemy spies. I’m going to have to take a more subtle approach to get inside the palace.”
“How will I get in, then?” asked Gabrielle.
“Like any good thief to a party,” said Siraj Jiburi with a smile. “You’re invited.”
***
Two days later, the entourages of the four tribes arrived at the palace of Laith El-Khaldun. The Saud’Ata was the first to arrive, led by the fierce warrior Rashikh Masood. Rashikh was in fine red, black, and gold decorated robes worthy of a prince while his elite bodyguards dressed for battle in light bronze scalemail armor over black garb adorned with white turbans over their bronze helmets. The Al-Dhafir was the next to arrive, led by its chieftain Talib Tahir and his bodyguards, clad in lamellar armor over their scarlet and gold robes. The Fulanif soon arrived afterwards, led by Hanif Tawfiq dressed in polished breastplates over their white tunics laced with red. The last to arrive were the Zahran, led by Siraj Jiburi, dressed in shining white and gold ceremonial armor with a dark red cape. At his side was Gabrielle, dressed in as one of his personal attendants.
In the main banquet hall the four tribes sat alongside the mighty Laith El-Khaldun, a darkly handsome man with a thick, black beard and bearing a scarlet and black turban upon his head. His dark eyes and intense visage pierced like the serpent.
“My honored guests,” he announced. “I am blessed with the company of strength set before me in my house. In this time of great festivities, I offer you the hospitality of my house, its sumptuous food, and the courtesy of my servants.”
“Your words ring true, most honored Laith El-Khaldun,” said Rashikh. “It is indeed a time to celebrate.”
The crowd cheered in response and the festivities began. Hours passed into the night as the various groups consumed the sumptuous feast. Meanwhile, Siraj Jiburi kept a watchful eye on Laith El-Khaldun. With Gabrielle at his side, Siraj Jiburi planned his next move.
“Why don't you get us some more fruit,” suggested Siraj, subtly alluding to Laith who was nearby.
“Fruit, yes, absolutely,” replied Gabrielle nervously before making her way to the dining table and eavesdropped on the conversation.
“Noble Talib Tahir,” complemented Laith. “The Al-Dhafir has the finest cavalry Arabia has ever seen. Truly, I was foolish to consider warring against you years before. Wisdom has proven to be a great counselor towards understanding the world the way I know now. Tell me, how are the fall harvests in the great fields of Al-Qassim?”
"Nay, Laith,” replied Talib Tahir. “Those lands no longer belong to my tribe. It is now ruled by the Fulanif as part of the terms we agreed upon.”
“Really!?” asked Laith, visibly surprised. “Your grandfather and his father fought valiantly to defend those lands in years past from invaders. Songs of their valor are still sung here in Medina. It is a pity that such rich land has been to the cattle and goat herders of the Fulanif.”
Talib Tahir’s eyes narrowed, gulping his wine hard before saying, “Absolutely. Siraj Jiburi’s constant prattling about peace muddle the warrior’s heart. Peace is kept through strength, not the chatter of women. Were we more numerous, I would reclaim what is rightfully ours from the Fulanif.”
“Indeed,” Laith agreed with a devilish smile. “Perhaps we should talk later, when the poets have retired for the night. We have much in common, as do the Saud’Ata.”
“Yes! Yes! Warrior to warrior,” agreed Talib. "
Gabrielle made her way back to Siraj Jiburi, reporting, “It doesn't look good. Laith El-Khaldun is planting seeds of deceit to harvest soon.”
“Perhaps then it is time reap what I have sown,” replied Siraj.
***
“Great Laith El-Khaldun,” announced Siraj Jiburi. “Your hospitality transcends the glory of the heavens itself. The food, the wine, and entertainment are worthy of a blessing bestowed by the most powerful of Djinn. Please accept this humble token of thanks from the Zahran.”
Laith smiled and nodded in acceptance. The grand doors of the main hall opened and emerging from the smoky mists that shot forth was a tall, statuesque woman with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes: Xena. Disguised as a dancer, Xena wore a silky blue and red outfit decorated with gold lace and a blue veil, revealing only her piercing blue eyes to the observer.
“Yes, most magnificent,” commented Laith in admiration.
Xena seductively strode toward Laith and began to dance as the musicians played on. Intrigued by her performance, Talib and Rashikh pulled back to their groups and away from Laith to acquire a better look.
“Where’s Autolycus? I haven’t seen him all night,” whispered Gabrielle.
“I don’t know. Perhaps we should,” started Siraj before being interrupted by one of his warriors.
“We’ve just received word that the main camp has been attacked,” he said.
“Attacked?” whispered Siraj Jiburi in disbelief. “By whom?”
“I do not know, my lord,” he replied. “Your elite guard is waiting below. Here is Dawuud’s message requesting your assistance.”
“I must depart at once,” said Siraj.
“I understand, Siraj,” replied Gabrielle. “We will meet you back at the inn tomorrow.”
Siraj nodded in agreement and quickly left to meet his escorting guards. Minutes later, Siraj Jiburi and his small force left Medina to their camp located beyond the city’s walls. Xena continued to dance while Gabrielle slipped away to look for the missing Autolycus.
“Excellent. Excellent, my raven-haired beauty; your beauty and grace transcend the shimmering onyx itself,” boasted Laith while clapping. “My guest of honor must enjoy this performance also. Call for him.”
A large gong sounded, and escorted in with two beautiful women at each side and on a trail of freshly laid rose petals, was none other than Joxer. Joxer’s eyes lit up in shock when he recognized the woman performing in the great hall.
“XENA!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” exclaimed Joxer.
“XENA!? SO, AT LONG LAST WE MEET!” shouted Laith. “SEIZE THEM!”
Xena’s eyes flared wildly over her discovery as guards flooded the room. Grabbing a goblet of wine, oil, and a torch, Xena ripped off her veil, took a quick gulp and spat the wine into a quick burst of flame that threw the initial wave off-balance.
Xena let out a war cry as she back-flipped onto the dining table and kicked a guard in the face. She flipped another guard over, knocking him unconscious. More guards filled the room, and Xena made a dash for the window to escape, kicking another guard away and dodging two more.
“STOP!” demanded Rashikh. Xena turned around.
“If you leave the dullard you call a friend dies,” announced Rashikh, standing over Joxer with his scimitar at his throat. Joxer remained motionless in a cold sweat, giving an apologetic shrug. More guards entered, bringing in Gabrielle as their prisoner. Xena reluctantly surrendered Laith’s guards secured Xena, Gabrielle, and Joxer and took them away.
“I will deal with them in due time,” Laith replied, looking around to see no sign of the Zahran delegation. "Behold, noble Hanif Tawfiq, noble Rashikh, and noble Talib Tahir, we are beset by cobras! Who brought this so-called ‘gift’ to me!?”
“SIRAJ JIBURI!” roared the crowd angrily.
“YES!” shouted Laith in response. “And where is he now? GONE! Like a coward with no honor he comes as friend and unleashes a foreign witch in our land. Do you want to keep an alliance with this pig-swine? Do you, brave Rashikh!?”
“NO!” cursed Rashikh.
“Do you, mighty Talib Tahir?”
“NO!” shouted Talib Tahir.
“Then I say join me and abandon the dog Siraj Jiburi. With our cunning and our steel, we can unite Arabia and extend our kingdom belong the seas. WHAT SAY YOU!?” yelled Laith amongst the rousing ovation of the crowd.
“DEATH TO THE ZAHRANIAN TRAITORS! DEATH TO SIRAJ JIBURI!” chanted the crowd.
“And you, noble Hanif Tawfiq?” Laith asked. “Will you join us?”
“We Fulanif do not rush to war,” answered Hanif Tawfiq. “But I will give you an audience with what you offer.”
“My brothers,” said Laith confidently. “This is truly a time to celebrate. Enjoy my hospitality while I deal with the intruders.”
With a wave of his hand, two dozen more harem girls entered the great hall with more exotic food and wine.
“Let the revels begin,” whispered Laith to himself.
***
Elsewhere, Siraj Jiburi and his men rode hard back to their camp. Arriving on site, they found the area remarkably calm.
“My lord Siraj!” exclaimed a Zahranian soldier. “We did not expect you until morning!”
“What happened? Where did they attack from?” demanded Siraj Jiburi.
“Attack? There’s been no attack,” replied Dawuud, one of commanders who emerged from the camp. “Nothing has happened?”
“I’ve been tricked!” cursed Siraj Jiburi. “Get me a fresh horse and summon forty men. I must return to Medina!”
***
Meanwhile, in a dungeon in the bowels of Laith El-Khaldun’s palace, Gabrielle, Joxer, and Autolycus sat in their call under heavy guard.
“I cannot believe you did that!!” scolded Gabrielle. “You yell out, ‘XENA,’ like that in the grand palace hall with all of his guards and assassins looking on. Couldn’t you tell that she was in disguise?”
“Okay, okay, so I messed up,” muttered Joxer. “I was invited by Laith who welcomed me as this great warrior! How was I to know that he was just using me as a means to identify Xena?”
“Because you’re stupid, Joxer,” answered Autolycus. “You let yourself get manipulated.”
“Oh, and I suppose those fancy clothes weren’t part of the way Laith tricked you!” accused Gabrielle. “You were supposed to find out what his plans were, remember?”
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” acknowledged Autolycus, looking at his clothes. “But this is real silk!”
“I’m very, very, happy for you,” replied Gabrielle, dripping with sarcasm in her tone. “But we need to get out of here! We have to save Xena before the gods know what that tyrant does to her!”
***
In another cell on the other end of the palace, Xena was immobilized on the floor, wrapped in the coils of giant python that pinned her arms at her sides and legs together. A serpent’s coil was dangerous wrapped around her neck and tightened subtly when Laith entered the chamber.
“Cute pet you have,” commented Xena. “What do you feed it?”
“Small goats, occasionally a side of raw beef, but mostly spies,” Laith answered with an evil smile. “My pet is quite well-trained. A lesser animal would have crushed you to death by now.”
“Lucky me,” Xena replied.
“Lucky? Perhaps not, for you will suffer a slow, crushing death by the serpent’s embrace as your lungs burn and heart beats no more,” warned Laith. “Your theatrics in the hall was the spike I needed to split the alliance. The Saud’Ata and Al-Dhafir support me and soon, the Fulanif as well. The Zahran will be driven from their lands and ground into dust.”
“Nice plan, but why Joxer in all this?” questioned Xena.
“Autolycus is dumb, but not dumb enough to tell me what you look like. I’ve never laid eyes on you, but I knew that you were beautiful,” answered Laith. “I guessed correctly that you would try to infiltrate in through my weakness for beauty. It was just a question of when and how; Joxer was merely my guarantee on your identification.”
“You will be dead before sunrise,” promised Xena, struggling.
“I’ve heard that before, and I stand before you,” Laith replied before leaving.
The great serpent began to slowly tighten its grip around Xena. Despite her efforts to slip an arm free, the serpent would compensate with its body, retaining its deadly grip around her. Desperate, Xena bit into the hide of the serpent, piercing its skin and drawing blood.
The serpent hissed in pain and quickly retracted its coils, releasing Xena. Xena rolled to the side and quickly got to her feet. The serpent assumed an attack stance and struck, but received a spinning kick delivered to the head from Xena. Xena grabbed an old manacle and chain from the floor, wielding the makeshift flail and struck the serpent with several blows to the head before it embedded into its flesh. Whipping its death throes, the serpent collapsed.
“I wonder how much that hide would fetch in the open market in Medina,” quipped Xena before picking the lock with a piece of metal.
***
Back in their cell Gabrielle, Joxer, and Autolycus attempted a means of escape.
“Hey there, big boy,” offered Gabrielle “I’m feeling kind of lonely...”
“I don’t think the ‘seduce the guard into giving you the key’ technique is going to work, Gabrielle,” commented Autolycus. “Well, no offense, but your seduction doesn’t outweigh their fear of Laith’s wrath if they allowed us to escape.”
“None taken,” muttered Gabrielle with a punch to Autolycus’s gut.
“What are they going to do with us?” lamented Joxer.
“I have a good idea,” answered Autolycus, sitting down in the cell. “They’ll probably chop off my head in the public square as an exhibition, sell Gabrielle into slavery, and probably neuter you like a dog, Joxer.”
“Well that might be so bad,” commented Joxer before shrieking, “HEY! NEUTERED LIKE A DOG!? You mean they’re going to chop off my…”
“None of that is going to happen!” interrupted Gabrielle. “We mustn’t panic and need to plan our escape.”
***
Xena stealthily moved through the shadows avoiding the guards until she reached a dungeon storehouse where they kept the confiscated weapons.
“Let’s see, what have we here,” whispered Xena to herself. “Here’s Joxer’s old armor and sword, and the rucksack left by Siraj Jiburi. Lucky the guards lost interest when they didn’t find any gold in it.”
Xena opened the pack revealing her battle armor, leather boots and guards, and chakram.
“Time to keep a promise,” said Xena with a smile.
***
By this time Laith, Rashikh, and Talib Tahir were in the war room planning the assault against Siraj Jiburi and his forces. Hanif Tawfiq was a step behind them, listening intently.
“The main force of Al-Dhafir cavalry shall attack from the south...and while Jiburi is busy attempting to negotiate, my forces will attack from his flank, leaving him open for the final attack with the Saud’Ata. Within a few weeks their provincial capital will be ours,” proposed Laith.
“Well done,” complemented Rashikh. “Siraj Jiburi’s warrior senses have been dulled from his talk of false promises. The Saud’Ata stand ready."
“What of the Fulanif?” asked Talib Tahir, looking directly as Hanif Tawfiq.
“We will not raise arms against the Zahran, but you will be allowed safe passage through our lands,” he answered.
“So it is agreed....this night begins the fall of the accursed Zahran and the dawn of a new age in the Arabia!" shouted Rashikh confidently.
“Don’t count your victories before the banner falls, gentlemen,” interrupted Xena, entering the room with chakram at the ready. “Can't you see you’re being tricked by Laith? He’s using you to shatter the alliance so he can eventually take over! Laith is the devil, having you forsake your honor for his own personal goal.”
“How DARE you speak to us in such a manner, Xena,” replied Rashikh. “You are nothing more than a filthy gutter-child who got lucky and a won few skirmishes”
“Only one way to find out,” said Xena when Rashikh drew his sword. As Rashikh advanced, Xena dropped her chakram to the floor.
“I will not fight you Rashikh for I know that you are a warrior of honor and will not strike at an unarmed foe. My fight is with that venomous snake Laith,” she added.
“BAH!” scoffed Rashikh. “Die like the filth that you truly are!”
Xena stood firm. Rashikh slashed with his sword, only to be parried by the blades of Talib Tahir and Hanif Tawfiq.
“So it’s true,” said Talib, cautiously pacing towards Xena with Hanif Tawfiq. “You’ve forsaken your honor; no true warrior would strike down an unarmed opponent as such.”
“What has gotten into you two!?” yelled Laith. “Honor is the solace losers give themselves after being defeated by a superior foe. What good has the idle prattle from Siraj Jiburi been? I offer you a chance to re-shape Arabia. Will you be a part of it, or a victim of it? With your steel, Rashikh’s valor, and my cunning, even the power beyond the Mediterranean Sea will cower before us! What say you?"
“Without honor, we are nothing,” replied Talib as he and Hanif attacked Rashikh. Laith drew his scimitar as Xena kicked up her chakram and deflected the attack.
“Not bad for an old man,” Xena said, leaping into the air and onto the table. Laith responded with a quick strike, throwing a small dagger that slashed Xena's left arm.
“I’ll live long enough to see you dead at my feet, witch!” he replied.
“My sentiments exactly,” responded Xena, throwing her chakram and shattering his scimitar into pieces before returning to her hand.
“Peasant skills,” replied Laith, quickly throwing small poisoned blades at Xena. She deflected the first two but missed the third, landing in her left leg. Xena yelled in pain and dropped to a knee while Rashikh slew Talib Tahir and continued his battle against Hanif. Laith smiled and drew another throwing knife.
“The next time you have a chance to kill your foe, Xena, don’t hesitate,” Laith announced.
Xena cried out in agony, pulling the blade out of her leg and lunged forward, impaling him in the throat. Laith coughed up blood before falling dead on the floor.
“Thanks for the advice; I’ll use it sometime,” replied Xena.
Hanif proved the better fighter against Rashikh, slaying him with his sword.
Hanif Tawfiq helped Xena to her feet.
“Come, we must bandage your wound and get you out of here before the poison kills you,” said Hanif. “We’re fortunate that Laith keeps his war room isolated from the rest of the palace, but we must hurry.”
“Thank you,” said a weakened Xena.
***
Hanif Tawfiq hastily bandaged her wound and smuggled Xena out of the palace, but not before manufacturing the release of Joxer, Gabrielle, and Autolycus to his control by using Laith’s seal on a scroll from the war room.
The small Fulanif force reached Siraj Jiburi’s group that had just returned to Medina.
“Hold!” called out Siraj Jiburi. “Hanif Tawfiq of the Fulanif, are we still friend, or do we now stand against each other as foe?”
“You truly are a clown, Siraj Jiburi,” replied Hanif, signaling his men to return Gabrielle, Joxer, Autolycus, and a wounded Xena to Siraj. “Leave your politicking to others. The next time I will not retrieve your playthings from the enemy’s camp. Expect the Saud’Ata to attack you within the next few days alongside the Al-Shammari.”
With that, Hanif exchanged a final accusatory glare at Siraj before leaving with his group.
***
Four days passed and Xena, Gabrielle, Joxer, and Autolycus recovered under the Siraj Jiburi’s protection. On the fifth day Xena and Gabrielle said goodbye to Joxer and Autolycus, who sailed back to Greece. On the sixth day, Xena and Gabrielle prepared to depart. News of widespread skirmishes rang throughout the streets of Medina between the Zahran, Fulanif, Saud’Ata, Al-Dhafir, and Al-Shammari tribes as temporary alliances of convenience formed and broke with the sunrise and sunset.
Even worse, Laith El-Khaldun wasn’t even dead. Instead, Xena had killed one of his body-doubles and the real one was alive and well, commanding his forces to strike at will throughout the territory.
“I am sorry for what has happened,” said Xena.
“Forgive me first for involving you in the first place,” said Siraj. “The alliance is not broken, only changed. Another stalemate will come and with it, an uneasy peace based upon shakier alliance, but it will do.”
“Farewell, Siraj,” said Xena, riding out the gate with Gabrielle. Gabrielle appeared visibly perturbed after their departure from the city.
“Why the long face, Gabrielle,” Xena asked.
“All that time in Medina and all I got was this lousy smock,” muttered Gabrielle, inspecting the only item that she could afford in the marketplace.
“Catchy phrase, Gabrielle,” replied Xena. “You should write it on the smock and sell it in the market.”
“You think so?”
THE END
For instance, I learned that Elspeth d’Aidmheil’s natural hair color was a golden blonde. It was not until her possession by the remnants of a demonic storm wraith (known as the gaoth meamna in their language) after slaying it did her hair turn black as a result. From what I read in their archives, Elspeth was also a raving lunatic as a result before meeting Peritor.
Of Peritor and Elspeth’s children, I was fortunate enough to meet the eldest one in the guise of an old merchant visiting from Niadhraon. It was their daughter named Ciara na Suthainn, meaning ‘Ciara the Eternal’ in their language for being the first to continue their family lineage. She was young, perhaps no more than seventeen or eighteen winters by my count but was the most remarkable woman I ever met. She had her mother Elspeth’s magical grace and her father’s Peritor’s sharp mind, from what I was told. When I first met her she was in a modest dress, but when she heard the battle horn sound a warning in the distance, Ciara grabbed my hand and we ran back to the watchtower, outpacing a running deer along the way. I could not have run so fast by myself; did she somehow bestow some of her power to me?
Once inside, Ciara placed me and the others who could not fight in a safe part of the watchtower and quickly donned her battle armor, consisting of custom crafted metal plates of gold and bronze with a white cloak. Once outside, her warhorse was brought to her and she mounted it, drawing her sword and let out a war cry before riding off to battle. I would not see her until sunset when she returned with the blood of many foes stained on her white cloak. I learned that it was an army of men from what is called the Shadowlands in the common tongue that had attacked via the sea on ships and the air on winged serpents that had been repelled. I also learned that the magical trees with the silver and gold leaves are the true strength of Aedh Caelinn, protecting it in a magical light that is a bane to even the most powerful demons and dragons. Why do such creatures still attack?
Apparently, the primal energies that dwell within Aedh Caelinn’s reservoirs are too tempting to ignore. Having remembered planewalkers battle relentlessly for control of the Black Lotus plant on Dominaria, I can almost understand their folly…almost, mind you.
I would later meet another beautiful Sidhcaire elf named Darien Aislean. What made her stand out from the others was her long walnut brown hair. From my brief conversation with her, I learned that she was becoming more in tune with the magic of the woods and earth in her training, resulting in the change as her power grew. Darien Aislean was a lovely young lady; I’m just glad that her hair didn’t turn moss green or fungus gray.
The Sidhcaire Elves of Aedh Caelinn were truly blessed with a magical grace. By contrast, in my travels to the plane of Lorwyn the elves there were nothing of the kind, although they certainly promoted themselves as such.
But the hour is drawing late and my vision is starting to blur. It is best to stop now for the night.
- Othniel Carthalion
Journal Entry 563
“Hello, Uncle Othniel,” greeted Avram.
“Ah, good to see you my boy,” said Othniel, adjusting his spectacles. “So, you’ve finally decided to see my personal study. Well, what do you think?”
To the young Avram Carthalion, his Uncle Othniel’s room contained items far beyond what he even dreams. He saw exotic artifacts on display and armor designs mounted on the wall that he had never knew possible.
“Where did you get those?” Avram asked, referring to the exotic looking helmet and sword set.
“That would be from the plane of Kamigawa,” Othniel explained. “Kamigawa’s a very unique place with a culture that I’ve never seen before. Instead of knights, there were ronin, an elite warrior class that followed an honor code known as Bushido. They weren’t just mindless warriors like the Keldons, either, mind you, but scholars, artists, and poets as well.”
“Where else have you visited?” Avram asked.
“Oh, let’s see now,” Othniel said, opening up a large map on his desk to reveal the numerous planes. Although there were several planes marked, only the ones he visited were annotated with a small red seal of the Carthalion family. “Kamigawa, of course… Alara… Ravnica…and a few others.”
“How were you able to slip in and out like that?”
“The power of a planeswalker enables one to traverse the multiverse as needed,” explained Othniel, readjusting his spectacles. “Although I’m a bit too old to be exploring now. The spells I used to blend into the local surroundings and learn local dialects were really quite simple. Usually, I appeared as a traveling merchant, so no one really bothered me. Perhaps someday you’ll learn those spells as well.”
“And that?” Avram asked, alluding to a piece of black metal kept in a magical case encapsulated in what were undoubtedly numerous enchantments.
“This, oh yes, I found this when I was in Oranos,” said Othniel proudly.
“Oranos? I never heard you or father talking about Oranos before,” said Avram.
“Well, I only visited there a few times,” conceded Othniel. “It’s a very remote plane and required tremendous power to get there and return.”
“What’s it like there?”
“A lot smaller than Dominaria, but a bit bigger than Ulgrotha, if that makes any sense,” started Othniel. “Oranos’ land was very much filled with primal energy; I was able to tap into the mana to gain more than enough magic to return home. The people I met seemed friendly enough. One kingdom was called Niadhraon, if I remember right, and it was protected by knights; sort of like Bant but without the angels. The other country was called Omnia Res, and it had all sorts of different races: dwarves and centaurs that lived with the humans. The centaurs were far more numerous and civilized than the ones here on Dominaria; a large number of them serve in their elite cavalry as lancers. In full armor, no less.”
Avram Carthalion was a bit surprised, as the centaurs he encountered before tended to be wild hunters who preferred to be left alone.
“Were there elves on Oranos, Uncle?”
“Why yes, there were,” recalled Othniel. “Far more sophisticated that those wild, barbaric elves you see in Llanowar. Their land was called Aedh Caelinn, if I remember right, and it seemed to be bathed in a soft yet protective light from magical trees that had leaves of silver or gold. The Sidhcaire, they called themselves, had two beautiful cities. Unlike the other races there, though, they weren’t nearly as numerous.”
“What’s so special about this metal shard? Is it enchanted?”
“Oh yes, very much so,” added Othniel. “Which is why I have so many enchantments on it. That, my boy, is a shard from the sword Adrolann wielded by a knight I met on Oranos named Peritor Vedh-Donas. There was an elven princess as well…what was her name again? Ah, I remember now. Elspeth. He was with an elf named Elspeth d’Aidmheil.”
“When I arrived to Oranos, it was shortly before a large battle, so I assumed the guise of a human healer. Peritor and Elspeth seemed friendly when I met them. They were leading a group of knights and elven warriors to battle and I noticed Peritor’s sword blade was black. When I asked around, I learned that Peritor’s sword blade turned black after he somehow took control of a portion of a storm demon’s essence that had possessed Elspeth. The two were now spiritually linked it seemed, as it was a combination of Peritor’s will and Elspeth’s magical grace that kept the demon possessing them suppressed,” continued Othniel. “In battle, however, there were rare occasions where one would lose control and go berserk, not capable of telling friend from foe. Nevertheless, Peritor and Elspeth commanded great loyalty and fought many battles against much more powerful opponents. In particular, a great battle lord named Sovann Ruathar who also knew magic. As a planeswalker, I sensed that his power level exceeded mine.”
“The knights of Niadhraon and elven warriors of Aedh Caelinn battled Sovann Ruathar’s army. Many fell on both sides as bodies lay strewn about the field. Peritor and Elspeth became separated amidst the fog of war. At some point in the battle Elspeth d’Aidmheil found Sovann Ruathar and locked her eyes upon him. The two battled fiercely. You should have seen it, my boy, they fought like dueling planeswalkers. Elspeth hurled javelins of light at Sovann, who deflected them with a magical shield and attacked with a great warhammer, shaking the very ground on impact. Even at a distance, I could see the pure hate in each other’s eyes. Sovann eventually gained the upper hand until Peritor entered the fray and attacked, cleaving Sovann’s right arm off with a deadly stroke. But Sovann would not be felled so easily, and launched a crimson lightning bolt at Peritor that blasted him back and shattered his sword Adrolann. Elspeth attacked again, only to be grabbed and lifted off the ground by Sovann’s left arm as he began to slowly choke the life out of her.“
“What happened next?”
“Well, Peritor still had Adrolann’s hilt and a portion of the blade remained. He rammed into Sovann from behind and impaled him with the remnants of Adrolann. Sovann let out a massive scream as his hair turned white before dropping to his knees. Elspeth then broke free of Sovann’s grip, picked up her sword and lopped off Sovann’s head with one stroke her blade, fused with magical light.”
“And then?”
“Well, they both nearly collapsed from exhaustion and I ran to their aid. Sovann’s army was beaten and fleeing for their lives. I and the other healers I met tended to the wounded. The Sidhcaire warriors recovered what they could of Adrolann’s remnants for safekeeping also. Apparently, the shards still contained a portion of the trapped storm demon’s power.”
“I tended to Peritor and Elspeth’s injuries and let them rest near a small grove of trees. Elspeth briefly awoke, noticing Peritor nearby and slowly moved towards him, resting herself upon his chest before drifting off to sleep as Peritor gently put his arm around her. All seemed peaceful until Elspeth began snoring so loudly that she woke Peritor.”
“Elspeth…you’re snoring…’” said Peritor sternly.
Elspeth, with her eyes still shut, smacked her lips briefly and replied, “Hmm, so I am…’” before going back to sleep, snoring even louder than before.
“What did Peritor do?”
“What could he do?” said Othniel with a laugh. “He could barely walk! He shrugged at me before I left to tend to other wounded men and stared at the trees above him, counting leaves before finally falling asleep.”
“I eventually returned back to Dominaria, but little did I know, a small piece of Adrolann’s fragments had snagged on my robe. I felt a strange burning and when I found the metal shard, I put it in here under several protective enchantments to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“And this coin?” noted Avram, seeing bronze coin mounted on a display near the metal shard.
“Oh, yes, I remember that! That was from my second journey to Oranos. I happened to encounter Peritor and Elspeth again under more pleasant circumstances. It was during a spring festival in Niadhraon, and I was in the guise of a vendor selling roasted chicken kabobs and fruit. Nearby was another vendor offering those interested to win, or lose, their money through games of chance. Apparently, Peritor had quite the fondness for such games and was notoriously lucky at times. I saw Peritor and Elspeth nearby as he relished the opportunity to play.”
“Don’t even think about rubbing my tummy for luck, Squire Peritor,” warned Elspeth coldly, placing her hands on her hips.
“Peritor said nothing and smiled, sauntering by the tables as to which game to try his luck. By contrast, Elspeth was quite hungry, as I could’ve sworn I heard her stomach grumble from where I was. At any case, the lovely Sidhcaire princess had lost patience and snatched up Peritor’s money purse and emptied its contents onto a game table involving dice. Peritor was speechless, as were the others around him, when Elspeth unexpectedly undressed herself before them,” continued Othniel. “They were all quite taken by the beauty before them.”
“If you must know about luck, Peritor, the Sidhcaire are luckiest when we are naked before nature,” stated Elspeth before casting the dice. “There, I’ve won. Collect your money, Peritor.”
Still speechless and stunned, the vendor handed Peritor double his money as he retrieved the bet Elspeth initially placed. Elspeth then retrieved her clothes and quickly put them back while walking out with Peritor to my food stand, where they ordered and a puzzled Peritor paid for her meal.”
“What exactly did you roll, anyway?” asked Peritor.
Elspeth shrugged with a furtive smile.
“How should I know? It wasn’t my job to watch the table.”
“I thought you said the Sidhcaire were civilized!” interrupted Avram. “She stripped naked in front of them!”
“Yes, quite a clever ruse, wasn’t it?” commented Othniel, momentarily recalling the mental image. “She was…very lovely.”
“Are the female elves of Llanowar comparable, Uncle Othniel?” asked Avram.
“Hardly,” answered Othniel.
“Why? What’s wrong with them?” Avram said.
“Well, for one thing, they’re not feminine enough to warrant a male’s affections,” replied Othniel. “I’ll explain a bit more when you’re older.”
With that, Othniel and Avram Carthalion left the study room for the outer courtyard.