Book I: Boulversement (Myth Story)

Once upon a time, many ages ago, every human on Earth, from the poorest pauper to the richest king, from the crafty merchants to the hard-working farmers, did all their business and made all their dealings in gold and silver. Every transaction, no matter how large or small, was measured out in its exact worth by these precious metals. At the time, almost all of the gold and silver produced in the world came from the mines in the surrounding areas of Lut Gholien, a sprawling metropolis in the great desert region of Medea that encompassed a hilltop palace which was said to rival that of Mt. Olympus itself.

This palace belonged to the ebony-faced Jaheira, the Goddess of Terror, who had claimed the city as hers. One of the many offspring of Kabraxis, Banisher of the Light, ebony-faced Jaheira had inherited many of the Banisher’s powers. Like all gods, ebony-faced Jaheira could change herself into whatever form she wished and mimic the voice of anyone once she had heard it. The Goddess of Terror could also morph any inanimate object to anything of her liking, although this power drained much of her strength. Besides her terrible powers, ebony-faced Jaheira possessed the Odom Crescent; a long bow made from hardened mercury, stolen from Hesphasto’s Forge. It was legended to have been powerful enough to destroy even a god. Combined with arrows with which she could light aflame with a mere touch from her fingertips, ebony-faced Jaheira had a powerful weapon to supplement her powers.

What most caused the goddess to be feared, however, was her ability to delve into the mind of anyone, and draw out their deepest, most innermost horror. Ebony-faced Jaheira would then take this fear and alter the senses of the person, placing their mind into a reality of their nightmare. None but the strongest minds are able to resist these hallucinations, and it is in this way which the ebony-faced Jaheira, Goddess of Terror, became recognized as the most terrifying and feared being in existence.

Although very few people in history have ever seen Jaheira in her true form, and none have lived to tell of it, it is known that her body was almost completely black, ranging from a dull, sooty charcoal to a polished and shimmering ebony. Whether this was the pigmentation of her skin or the clothes that she wore, no one knew. On her face, stripes of dark-red banded her cheeks, painted from the blood she drew from each of her victims. A crown that was once of gold and shimmering jewels, likely taken from a slain king or even another god, had now been encrusted with the darkness of evil, so that a black metal now framed the jewels, obsidian-like in their appearance. Slung across her right shoulder, always, was the Odom Crescent, which she kept with her at all times, even when disguised as others, during which the bow turned invisible, a special property of the weapon that could be invoked whenever the wielder wished.

Because, as a goddess, the ebony-faced Jaheira was ethereal, in her natural form she could not physically touch or alter anything on the mortal plane, nor could she permanently reside there. In order to gain control of the city of Lut Gholien, ebony-faced Jaheira had corrupted the soul of pious-minded Juris Khan, the most divine and holy priest in all the world, and was thus able to use the body as a host. It was in this way in which ebony-faced Jaheira was able to control the town. Travelers came from far off lands to present their gifts, and the townspeople came thrice every day to worship the Gods at the palace of the exalted priest, who was actually ebony-faced Jaheira in disguise.

Unbeknownst to the worshippers, every gold coin they donated and every animal that they sacrificed for the Gods went directly to ebony-faced Jaheira’s coffers. Every time a worshipper prayed at a temple of Lut Gholien, the energies of the prayers went to the Goddess of Terror, and empowered her with the strength to use her formidable powers. For years this went on, with ebony-faced Jaheira steadily gaining influence and wealth under the guise of the pious-minded Juris. Nobody in the entire world, not even the personal handmaidens and servants of pious-minded Juris, had suspected that residing beneath the holy priest’s glistening and god-like skin was the Goddess of Terror herself.

The other Gods, of course, knew of this. At first, they paid no heed to this threat, as minor demigods were common and offered no danger to them. However, after ebony-faced Jaheira had taken over the body of pious-minded Juris and constructed upon the hilltop a grand palace of worship, devout believers of every religion embarked on pilgrimages to Lut Gholien, to pray at this palace. Now that so many had left their native lands and temples to pray at the grand palace, the Gods were left weakened and powerless, for they had no one at their own temples to worship them. Gradually, all of the other Gods grew weaker and weaker, while ebony-faced Jaheira only continued to grow stronger. Many gods and other divine beings completely lost their powers altogether. The fabled Oracle of Delphi, for instance, had lost her ability to prophesize the future, and from that day on no mortal has been able to foresee the future (this includes telephone psychics.)

The Gods were now in full panic, for one evil goddess now possessed more power than all of the Gods combined, and could surely smite them all in one blow at any moment she desired. The Gods, only able to use their lesser most powers, with most of the minor gods reduced to the strength of a mortal man, were powerless to stop the Goddess of Terror, and all their hope for humanity was lost, for surely soon ebony-faced Jaheira would summon forth the Burning Legion, Hell’s legendary army, from beyond the Dark Portal to wreak havoc and destruction upon the world.

Alas, this was not the case, for ebony-faced Jaheira only continued to remain in her grand palace on the hilltop, collecting offerings to the Gods and growing even more powerful. Whether she was biding her time, waiting for the perfect instance to strike, or in fact had no intention to bring devastation to the world, one could not tell, but for certain the age of the Gods’ dominance was past, and would likely not return again.

However, one hope did remain for the Gods’ reemergence. In all the years which the Gods had lied in wait for what was to come, rosy-lipped Éerised, Goddess of Desire, Restorer of Faith, had been searching for a mortal champion, one who would stand up to and face the evil goddess. This was no easy task, for if the Goddess of Terror easily outmatched any one of the Gods, a mere human would stand even less of a chance. After scouring across the entire world, individually probing each and every mortal, rosy-lipped Éerised had at last found humanity’s champion, in, of all places, the foothills surrounding Mt. Hyjal, in the Kingdom of the Ancient Chosons.

*****

Prica Ashan walked through the terraced gardens in the mountainside palace of Quel ‘Thalan, the place the exalted Executor Tassiodar Ashan and his kin, one of the most noble and admired families in all of the Choson Kingdom, called home. Prica had always loved the gardens; it was her favorite place in the entire palace, perhaps in all the kingdom. The gardens contained almost every species of plant known to man, and each one was individually cared for by one of the palace servants. The garden contained the grandest specimens of each plant one could possibly find, including a forest of the towering red-wooded trees of Dawn, brought by sea from the southern reaches of the Shang Dynasty, a gift from Wrynn-Llane the Warlord. This forest, while large enough to be an entire town block, was miniscule compared to the other parts of the garden, where there were hundreds of ponds containing the palace’s prized koi fish, sacred to Gul ‘dan, God of the Seas and Harvest. These ponds were supplied from the crystal spring waters that flowed from the mountain. One entire edge of the garden was lined with the rare Ahtnamas tree, a prismatic tree whose leaves radiated with shades of every spectrum imaginable. On the opposite corner, an alcove housed a collection of bonsai plants, each a miniature dwarf of a much larger plant and many millennia old.

What drew Prica to this place, however, were the aromatic fragrances of the flowers, each and every one distinct and unique and... intoxicating. Prica breathed in the scents, their sweet smell the essence of pure ambrosia, and in this way she set her mind at ease. Above all, the gardens were a place of serenity, where one could sit and think tranquilly.

Of course, Prica should not have had much to be bothered by. She was by far the most desired woman in the entire kingdom, possibly even the entire world. A hundred optimistic suitors appeared everyday at Quel ‘Thalan, each hoping that he would be the one that Prica would choose. In the Shang Dynasty across the Yellow Sea, and in the lands of the Yamato Warclans, legendary Prica existed only as a myth, one fabled to have been bestowed with beauty and charm greater than even the Gods themselves.

Indeed, Prica was very beautiful. Her silky, lush hair shone with a heavenly magnificence, brilliant like the obsidian Moon. It draped down to her waist, flowing elegantly with her every motion. Prica had a slight and slender form, the envy of every other woman in the kingdom and the fantasy of every man, though her body was by no means frail nor weak. Her lips were of a pleasant and subtle light scarlet, attractive, though not ostentatious. Most of all, it was her mesmerizing eyes which demanded attention. Intense and lovely, they were of a perfect almond shape, cast with midnight luminance. Staring with almost infinite depth, her eyes alone could instill any emotion into the soul of a person, whether it be a menacing stare of foreboding or a soft and gentle gaze that brought forth sweet thoughts of romance.

But although her beauty was indeed extraordinary, it was her magnanimous personality and alluring charm that captivated the hearts of all whom met her. Her voice was pleasant and euphonic, each sentence she uttered like a harmonious song. Each word fluttered off her tongue and charmed others so that they would do anything she wished, although she never exploited or abused this gift. When she would sing, and this was on very rare occasions, for Prica Ashan was exceedingly shy and modest about her ability, all in the room would hush in an awed silence, for listening to the melody of Prica’s voice was like listening to a delightful enchantment, an enchantment that would make even the honored elders burst into tears. Prica Ashan was also charitable and unselfish; whenever she could, she would donate large amounts of her wealth and time to those of the city whom where less fortunate. Although it was below her class of nobility, and oftentimes the higher members of nobility would sneer at her and talk behind her back, Prica had spent every spare moment aiding the unfortunate. Sometimes, she would help find work for the unemployed, searching through advertisements and inquiring at businesses, and even, if her pursuit was fruitless, appealed to her father, Executor Tassiodar, to let them work as servants in the palace, to which the great lord at first refused, but eventually gave into when Prica pressed. Prica would also teach those who were too poor to afford a formal education. She gathered all of her pupils, women and men and young and old alike, to the palace courtyard every week, and here she taught them the Classic texts and proper speech and simple arithmetic. On her trip to town, she would pass the Library of the Elders, a large structure that housed the town elders and their large collection of books and manuscripts. Here, a group of young men faithfully spent all their time, day after day studying and researching the library of texts. As she passed by everyday, Prica would smile sweetly at the young men, who were deeply concentrated on their work. The young men would blush and then become disconcerted, until one of the elders came and scolded them to get back to studying. Prica Ashan would giggle and continue along her way. This she did everyday.

Prica was also a very intelligent and ingenious young woman. She had been educated personally since she was a child by Quov-Tsin, the most wise and learned man in the world. She used her great knowledge not only to aid her father in the managing of his province, recalling the systems and laws of the thousands of books which she had memorized, but also to aid the workers, inventing innovative devices from common parts which helped the palace run more efficiently. Prica also applied her knowledge to herbs and human anatomy, with which she was steadily learning the arts of healing from Sigaty, the wisest of the Zul ‘Aman monks, who lived high up in the temple at the summit of Mt. Hyjal. In addition to her knowledge of books and medicine, Prica was also well trained in the utilization of weapons and the concepts and strategies of combat. Battle had always fascinated her, even as a little girl, where she had spent many a day in the palace archives, reading the tales of commanders and wars of generations past. As she had grown older, Prica had even fashioned false weapons from the bamboo shoots which grew all around the palace, and, in secret, had been practicing in the old training room of the palace garrison. One day, she had surprised everyone by coming to the town duels, where the local boys tested their skills against one another using wooden weapons and martial arts. When one of the boys had made an insulting comment that such a young and weak looking girl did not belong in this sort of place, Prica leapt into the ring, with nothing but her body against a dozen boys with wooden swords and spears. Prica had taught herself how to use each and every weapon and combat style she encountered, and as a result, created entirely unique techniques which would surprise opponents who were not used to seeing them. She single-handedly defeated the boys using nothing but martial arts, then walked away and headed back home. Since that day, she had never shown violence toward anyone again, but the incident had left such a traumatic impression on the boys that they were still terrified at the thought, and cowered away into the nearest alley whenever they caught sight of her.

Indeed, Prica Ashan had been endowed with all of the attributes and traits of an ideal person, and lived a life of nobility in a rich home, and for this, Prica was grateful of the gods for bestowing her with such a life, almost like a dream in its perfection. But dreams have an awful habit of falling apart.

*****

Rosy-lipped Éerised paced around her holy temple, the sounds of her footsteps ringing loudly off the marble tiles on the floor and echoing across the acoustically designed edifice. The Goddess of Desire was worried, and rightly so, for the fate of the Gods and humanity was resting in the hands of a lone woman, one who lived in a kingdom far away from the heart of the world and its problems. Peering through a rift in the sky which had allowed her to observe the one called Prica Ashan, who would, in time, be known as Humanity’s Champion. That was if Éerised’s plan turned out well. For the moment, all the goddess could do was to wait, incessantly, hoping that this Prica would heed the warning the goddess had given her.

Presently, Corran, God of Honor and Valor, Instiller of Courage, entered the temple. Rosy-lipped Éerised sensed his presence, and immediately turned around to greet him, and then just as quickly turned back to the rift and Prica, preoccupied as she was.

“What is wrong, my friend?” inquired strong-armed Corran, “Does my presence cease to bring you pleasure?”

“No, it is not that, my dear Corran, for it is always that I take comfort when you are near me. I am at the moment observing this mortal, who I have found to be the one who will save the world and all of us from destruction by the hands of ebony-faced Jaheira, the great malignancy in the land of Asia Minor. I am baffled by your calmness in such a predicament,” replied rosy-lipped Éerised.

“I am calm because I know that in the end, everything will be all right, and you and I will survive through this,” spoke Corran, uttering the words in his wooing voice.

“I do not think you completely understand how dire the situation is. How can you be so sure that-”

“We will live through this ordeal? Because I just do,” interrupted the god. If you do not truly believe, me then let us submit to a blood pact. We will be forever bound together, if any mishaps come to either of us. Corran then stooped down and kissed Éerised on her neck, and this silenced the goddess.

*****

Prica Ashan contemplated on the vision she had received earlier that day. A voice, that of a goddess or some sort of divine being, had spoken in her sleep. It had beckoned her to “flee from the town, for a dark evil approaches.”

Normally, such a happening would not have shaken her so, but the voice which had spoken out to her had seemed so real, and its message had given her a feeling of dread. Earlier that day, she had gone to see Sigaty, the wisest of the wise Zul ‘Aman monks, to ask if she could fathom an interpretation. Wise Sigaty had always been able to find a meaning and prophesize what would happen, or if the dream was just that, an ordinary dream.

However, this time, wise Sigaty had no answer for Prica, “My child, it is often that you come to me with these visions of yours, and more frequently as of recent, and each time, I have been able to discover a meaning in your visions. I am afraid, however, that some mysterious, undetectable energy has encumbered my abilities, and I could come up with nothing. I will continue meditating on this vision, but until then, be observant of your surroundings, and be careful of any unknown strangers. I sense evil forces at play here.”

Prica had left the temple with fewer answers and even more questions, but she decided that since Sigaty could detect nothing, it was just a simple dream. Still, Prica heeded Sigaty’s warning, and she had been careful wherever she went, and was wary of any new or uncommon faces she met. No danger had come to her thus far, but something still did not seem right.

An hour before nightfall, the town ringers struck the bell tower, to announce the setting of the sun and to tell everyone to begin returning to their homes, lest they be caught out at night in the dark. Almost as if in wait for the signal, a horde of winged demon creatures suddenly swarmed across the sky from the west, moving in like a massive wave of raging locusts, decimating everything in their path with fire that spewed from their mouths and nostrils. These monsters were hideous beings, with large, flat faces, tusked with black ivory, grimy with a reddish tint. Their large ears, sharp and pointed, flapped rapidly, as if some instrument of flight, but were dwarfed by the enormous wings, which were more than three times the size of the creature itself. The wings, framed with a reddish exoskeleton of some sort, and draped with a black, leathery skin, moved more slowly, taking full advantage of the lift each flap generated. The creatures’ appendages were all short in contrast to the rest of the body, but the end of each was equipped with three razor-sharp talons, which gleamed in the in the faint sunlight.

The town guard and palace garrison, on sight of the fearsome beasts and the devastation they could cause, secured the city gates, and formed a line of archers along the walls, notching their arrows and lighting them in fiery cauldrons of oil, though what use fire would do against Hell’s denizens was yet to be seen.

*****

Mar ‘Khlak, Captain of the town guard and palace garrison, stood on the highest tower of Executor Tassiodar’s palace. From here, he surveyed his troops and the scene of the battle to come. From all sides, the foul creatures approached rapidly, the ground beneath them scorched to barren cinderland by the fire which they spewed. He had scant few men, for many had been given leave to return home for the upcoming holiday season. The group he had was insufficient even to defend the town against a fair-sized army, much less this horde of demons, which had now encircled the town. The swarm seemed to stretch endlessly, forming a solid wall which blacked out the sun and extended far past the horizon. The distinguished Captain, who had one many a commendation for his quick thinking in times of battle, now stood, confused and only wishing that the end would be quick.

“Sir, are you alright?” asked a young soldier, one of lowly rank and probably a local, as the captain could tell by the drab uniform and the crude, homemade weapon. Coming back to his senses, the Captain immediately began issuing orders to his men. He then turned to the young man who had first spoke to him.

“We surely do not have enough men to defend against this onslaught. Go now, to the capital, Wanggomm-song. There, you must tell the King of all that has happened here, and appeal to him for aid and reinforcements.” The young soldier began to set off to the capital, but Mar ‘Khlak pulled him back by his shoulder.

“Do not take the common route to the city, for surely your path will cross these demon creatures. Instead, you must set out for the coast, and once you reach the jagged rocks of Plascion, turn inland, and travel through the dark lands of Grim Batol, the lands of the Dragonmaw Clan, whose people are half-dragon and half-man. There you must sacrifice a newborn calf to Malygos, the demigod of the Dragonmaw Clan, and then present the chieftain of the Dragonmaws with this gift. The Dragonmaws will then escort you to the capital,” instructed Mar ‘Khlak, giving the soldier a jade bow. The young man then descended down the tower stairs, hurriedly trying to complete his quest before it was too late.

Mar ‘Khlak now turned to the situation at hand, and the demons now flew in, swarming above the city and eclipsing the sun. All was dark as night, with light coming only from the blazing fires of the arrows. Then, just as the swarm had completely blocked off the sun, they suddenly stopped. All was eerily still, both in the sky and on the Earth. Everyone held their breath, outright dread barring muscles from movement. For what seemed like an eternity, no side made a move.

The demons, up above in the sky, drew in the smell, the taste of fear. Finally, the tension had become too unbearable for one soldier, and with a scream of utter terror, he lost his concentration, and the arrow notched in his bow shot loose, striking and piercing through one of the creatures. Blood burst from the wound, on both sides of the body. The demon only laughed, a haunting, maniacal laugh, then reached behind him and pulled the arrow out through the exit wound. The demon let out a deafening, ear-piercing screech. And then, the Wings of Death descended.

*****

Prica was sitting under the forest in the garden when the town alarm rang. Of course, it meant for everyone to gather indoors, to prepare against a flood or attacking army, but Prica, always the adventurous one, dared to take a look at what was going on. Climbing one of the trees, Prica brought her head up over the canopy, which normally would have provided a breathtaking view of the city and landscape. Today, however, it showed a scene of utter chaos and death.

A swarm of winged creatures was upon the town. The creatures decimated entire battalions of soldiers with flames which shot forth from their mouths. Other beasts were slashing through the ranks of the town guards with their large claws. Buildings were set aflame, and no one, not even women and children, were given mercy in the slaughter by these creatures.

Prica jumped back, astonished at the sight. She almost fell off of the branch, but quick reflexes saved her. Still in shock and disbelief, she knew what she had to do. Jumping off of the tree, she sprinted back to the palace in search of her father.

*****

Mar ‘Khlak retreated with his men, back along the city walls, to one of the tower strongholds where he and his troop stood a better chance of protecting themselves. The entire town guard had not nearly been enough to stop the demons, but by now Mar ‘Khlak was convinced that even the army of the entire kingdom would not be able to stop such a force. A group of about twenty was all that was left.

The demons moved slowly and cautiously, not eager to return home. Suddenly, one demon sprung forth and lashed out at a soldier which had partly strayed from the group. Caught off guard, the soldier was too startled to even let out a scream. Pinning the soldier down to the ground, the demon began slashing at the body, first striking out at the neck, and with precision, sliced the nerves along the spinal cord. The demon then proceeded to gouge the body, ripping apart intestines and pulling out the soldier’s heart.

Mar ‘Khlak leapt forth, and with a mighty strike of his halberd, cleaved the demon in two. But now the rest of the demons stepped forward, swinging their sharp talons and blowing fire, to push the humans back, and leaving the soldier there to lie and helplessly witness his own life trickle away.

The troop finally made it to the tower, and proceeded to walk slowly up the spiral steps. Nearing the top, they saw that some of the demons had flown up, and lied in wait for them. Mar ‘Khlak decided to keep the troop in the narrow staircase, for the demons with their cumbersome wings were too large to fit inside the tower.

However, Mar ‘Khlak, in all the confusion, had forgotten the abilities of the creatures, and soon a searing jet of flame shot forth, following the corkscrew path of the staircase. The group ran up towards the roof of the tower, but the two men at the end of the troop failed to escape, and they were reduced to cinders in mere seconds.

Now in the open area on top of the roof, the demons sprung forth with all their fury. With a single swift blow with his halberd, Mar ‘Khlak killed five of the creatures who were lined in a row. Inspired by this feat, the troops formed into a defensive unit and fought with a renewed vigor. Iron clashed with bone as the soldiers clashed against the talons of the demons. Under the leadership of Mar ‘Khlak, the troops managed even to hold back the demons. Soon however, as the creatures continued to pour forth, the troop was overwhelmed. One by one, they were struck down, until only Mar ‘Khlak was left standing. The Captain swung once more with his halberd, knowing well that it may be his last move. Aiming at the head of the largest demon, Mar ‘Khlak summoned all his strength and brought the weapon crashing down onto its head.

The demon looked up, then opened its mouth, as if to scream a last death cry. Instead, the demon caught the blade of the halberd in its jaws, stopping the attack cold. Then, looking down at Mar ‘Khlak, the demon showed his teeth, and then crushed down upon the weapon, shattering the blade into pieces. Mar ‘Khlak’s will was shattered with it, and the captain fell onto his knees.

The world suddenly grew red in Mar ‘Khlak’s vision, then to utter blackness. And in that blackness, Mar ‘Khlak heard screams.

*****

Prica ran toward the throne room, where her mother and father usually spent their time. Running as fast as she was, she did not have time to stop when someone darted out one of the side corridors. She collided with the person, and the two tumbled over and fell onto the floor.

“Father!” exclaimed Prica, “How happy I am to see you. There is a great swarm of evil-looking creatures-”

“Yes, yes, I know all about that. For now, we must find a place to hide. Follow me,” instructed Lord Ashan.

“But what of mother, and my brothers, and my little sister? Where are they?” asked Prica, who had always put her concern of others above herself.

“They are somewhere in the palace, I’m sure. They will find a safe place, do not worry. But right now, we must find a safe place ourselves.”

Suddenly, the door on the far end of the corridor burst open, and the creatures which Prica had seen before now rushed through, their bloodlust clear in their eyes. Prica stood, paralyzed by fear. Her father took her arm and pulled her into the nearest room, and then closed and barricaded the door.

“W-Wh-What were those creatures?” stuttered a still-shaken Prica.

“I-I don’t know,” stuttered an equally nervous Lord Tassiodar, “They just appeared out of the sky a few minutes ago.”

Loud thumps sounded as the demons approached and the door began to pound, the thunderous knocks causing the clumsy barricade to begin to fall apart.

“Prica, dear, if we don’t survive, I just want to let you know that—“

“Please father, don’t say that. We can still survive this ordeal,” cried Prica. She reached out to embrace her father in a hug, tears streaming down both their cheeks. But at that moment, the barricade burst apart, and the demons rushed forth from the now-open door.

Lord Tassiodar turned around, and was faced with a demon creature that towered above him. Before he could run, the demon placed its palm on the forehead of the Executor, then clasped its talons tightly on his head, lifting up the body to its height. Lord Ashan’s hands strained and his veins bulged; gasps of pain escaped from his mouth. The demon only continued to stare at Lord Ashan, smirking with a menacing look in its eyes. Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and the body fell to the floor, the skull crushed and the head collapsed inward.

Eyes wide in horror, Prica stumbled backwards, tripping over the various chests and boxes littered on the ground. The creatures now turned their attention to Prica, and steadily marched forward. Retreating to the end of the room, Prica raised both hands above her head, in preparation for the blow. Then, strangely, Prica’s left hand shifted away from its position, with a mind of its own. It reached behind a wooden crate, and rested on some sort of metal. Peering back, Prica found the demon, who had both hands balled into a fist, standing over her, ready to strike. Deciding that she would rather not die cowering in a corner, Prica grasped the metal object and struck forth. In a prismatic flash, the creature erupted in a flash of fire, and a small pile of ashes took its place. In her hand, Prica held the hilt of a katana! Old instincts possessed her once more, and driven to a furor by her father’s death, she immediately lashed out, striking and destroying the next creature with a swift and mighty strike.

The demons, witnessing the awesome power of this weapon and its wielder, were now in full retreat, rushing out of the palace even faster than they came in. Prica chased them, easily catching up to the demons because of their cumbersome wings. Each one she destroyed with zeal, and each only added to her rage. Once she had stepped outside, she discovered several of the creatures that had not yet gone airborne. These too she slew, and some even screamed and begged for mercy in their accursed language , almost sounding human-like. But they were not human, she knew. They did not know compassion. They were murderers, cold-hearted beings that deserved to die. She killed every one of the creatures which she could. After every demon was either dead or in the sky, Prica Ashan dropped her sword and collapsed.

Prica awoke. The sky was clear and the Sun was shining in all its glory. Had it all been just some horrible nightmare? Perhaps it was just—Prica looked around, and the devastation, the death, it was all very real. Bodies lay littered all around, and charred ruins were all that was left of the once-magnificent city and palace. All of a sudden, a voice, the last thing Prica expected, sounded from behind her. Gripping her katana, she quickly spun around.

“Prica! Prica, dear, is it really you?” asked an astounded Sigaty. “I had thought that there would be no survivors at all. Thank the Gods that you are still alive.” Sigaty hugged Prica tightly, an embrace which Prica did not return.

“Poor child. Come, let us find a less depressing place, so that we may collect our thoughts and grieve for the dead,” said Sigaty, ushering Prica away from the grisly scene. Then, Sigaty noticed the katana. “Prica, where did you find that sword?”

“I found it in a room in the palace,” responded Prica.

“Do you have any idea what you are holding in your hands?” exclaimed Sigaty.

“No,” answered Prica coldly.

“That sword you are now holding is the Celestial Fury. It was crafted long ago, in the generation of your great-great-great-grandfather. He had gathered all of the best craftsmen in the kingdom and gave them the strongest, most powerful materials, and instructed them to create a weapon that was so powerful it could destroy even a God. This they did, but Hesphasto, God of Metal Crafts and Weaponry, imbued it with a special power which prevented it from being used, for fear that men would one day use it to overpower the Gods and seize control of the world. This Hesphasto did, and afterwards issued a prophecy, that the sword could only be wielded once, at a time of great peril, when the fate of mortals and gods alike hung in the balance. ‘The One,’ he said, ‘that is able to brandish this sword is Humanity’s Champion, and only that One will be able to save the world from total annihilation.’ That was Hesphasto’s prophecy, and a prophecy from a God is never false. That sword, the Celestial Fury, was handed down to your great-great-grandfather, and from him to your great-grandfather, and so on, but no one had been able to touch the sword. No one, that is, until you. You are the One, my child, Humanity’s Champion, the only hope if we and the rest of the world are to be able to survive against some sort of evil, the likes of which I cannot imagine.”

“I’m sorry, Sigaty, but you are mistaken. That is nothing but an old tale which the elders tell. This is just an ordinary sword, decorated with precious metals and gems. It is no mythical weapon. And I am not “The One.” Now if you will excuse me, I must now find the bodies of my family and give them a proper funeral.” With that, Prica walked off, denying what Sigaty had told her.

“Prica, dear, I know that you are distraught, but this is not a simple manner. If you are really Humanity’s Champion, then you must set off at once to face this evil, or all will be lost,” pleaded Sigaty. Still, Prica would not listen, and continued to walk forward.

Suddenly, in a flash of smoke, a woman, her appearance beautiful but her presence seemingly ethereal, appeared in front of Prica.

Jumping back, Prica stood, with her katana gripped tightly, “Who are you? How did you suddenly appear?”

Sigaty had jumped back also, but at Prica’s sudden action. “Prica dear, who are you speaking with?” It appeared as if Prica had gone mad, for she was now talking to someone who was not there.

Then suddenly, Prica recognized the woman, “You are the one from my vision. You, you! You are the cause of all of this. You are just one of those foul creatures in disguise!” Prica grasped the katana in both hands, and charged at the woman, slashing. When she had reached the woman, Prica did not slow down, but only ran faster.

Prica ran right through the woman, and fell down onto the floor, shocked. Finally, the woman spoke, in a soft but commandful tone, “Prica Ashan, daughter of Tassiodar, Champion of Humanity, I am Éerised, Goddess of Desire, Restorer of Faith. What your friend has said is correct, for you are the One who will save humanity. I cannot tell you more at the moment, but you must leave this place at once, for your life is in jeopardy. Venture to the lands of Grim Batol. There, you will find more answers.”

“But this, this can’t be true. I am no great warrior, no ‘Champion of Humanity.’ I am just a simple girl. I- I can’t do this,” Prica pleaded to the goddess.

“Do this you must, lest mankind fall to the grip of darkness. There is another...” said Éerised, her voice and form ebbing away. Before Prica could say another word, the goddess had disappeared, leaving Prica Ashan dumbstruck, and Sigaty bewildered.

*****

A lone man walked across the sandy desert. The Wanderer, they called him. Dressed in a gray, hooded cloak, which covered his entire body and head, this man roamed the world, traveling far and wide, but always returning to Lut Gholien. Not much was known about him, nothing at all, actually. He always wore his cloak, and never stayed at any one of the inns. He rarely ever spoke; in fact, no one alive remembers the last time he did. He was old, they knew, for everyone, even the oldest elder had remembered sometime in their childhood when they had seen the Wanderer, dressed in the same gray cloak he wore today.

The wanderer walked to the city entrance, and the gatekeeper, recognizing him, drew up the iron gates and allowed the wanderer to enter. As always, the man walked directly to his destination, not acknowledging anything nor making any stops. Once he had arrived, he walked up the black marble steps.

“Funny,” he thought to himself, “that only a few years ago these steps had been pure white, but no one should notice the change.”

Arriving at the top of the steps, the wanderer rasped sharply three times on the grand doors, tall as most buildings, and inlaid from top to bottom with gold. A dainty maid opened the doors.

“Oh, welcome again, sir,” said the maid in a polite voice, “Priest Khan is asleep right now. Would you like me to prepare a room for you?”

The wanderer shook his head, “I want to see Juris. Now.” The maid was astounded that the wanderer had spoken, for she had never heard his voice before.

“Yes, sir, right away,” said the maid, as she led the man to Juris’ private chambers. When they had reached the room, the maid knocked on the door.

“Juris Khan, I am sorry to disturb you, but-” the maid started to say. She gasped, for in the room was not Juris Khan, the exalted priest of Zakarum, but a woman, clad completely in black. On the far side of the room, Juris Khan, or at least his body, stood erect and lifeless.

A bow appeared from nowhere in the woman’s hands, and with expert speed and precision, the woman immediately let loose an arrow, piercing through the maid’s head, part of the arrowhead and part of the shaft protruding out the back.

With another arrow already notched and very trigger-happy, the woman cautiously approached the door. Shoving aside the maid’s body with her foot, she scanned the hall. Then she turned around.

“Good evening, madame,” said the man in the gray cloak. Startled, the woman spontaneously fired off another arrow, only this time the target was scant few inches away. With unreal dexterity, not only dodged the arrow, but grabbed it from the air before it could travel farther than arm’s reach.

“What in tarnation do you think you are doing here!” shouted the woman loudly.

“Why, Jaheira, are demons no longer welcome to this beacon of darkness?” joked the man.

“Do you have any idea what this would have cost me if she had managed to escape?” asked Jaheira, growing only more outraged by the jest. The Goddess of Terror pulled the man inside the room, which had been sealed so that no sound could be heard outside, no mater how loud.

“Not nearly as much as the news I bring,” said the man, now turning solemn. “A part of the Burning Legion has made its way to the mortal plane.”

“I know that, I summoned them myself!” snapped Jaheira.

“Well, I have received word that they were involved in a massacre.”

“And of what importance is this to me?”

“It was the Legion which had been massacred, Dark One.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Jaheira in disbelief. “The Burning Legion is invincible.”

“Well, Jaheira, they were, at first. It was going well, but then my sources tell me that a lone warrior, wielding some sort of powerful sword, began slaughtering their ranks,” explained the man.

Jaheira took a moment to fully absorb what she had just heard. If what he was saying was true, the sword could only be the Celestial Fury, and the warrior was the Champion. The prophecy was beginning to unravel.

“Bring this warrior to me at once... alive.”

“Right away, madame,” said the man. He bowed respectively and backed away.

Ebony-faced Jaheira now turned herself into a specter, and once again inhabited the body of the venerable Juris Khan. She called for the mercenary captain which she had hired to guard the palace when she had taken over the city.

“Captain, I found this maid slain outside,” said Jaheira, pointing to the maid which she had killed, “I think there may be an assassin lurking. Tighten security, and let no one enter without my personal permission.”

*****

“Faster, faster,” thought sure-footed Nation to himself as he dashed along the seaside road. Maybe Mar ‘Khlak and his troops had been able to stave off the creatures. At the very least, the king would be able to send people to help tend to the wounded. His quest would not be completely in vain.

Presently, sure-footed Nation approached the town of Plascion. He suddenly remembered that he was to sacrifice a newborn calf to the Dragonmaw god. He stopped at the home of a farmer, and asked if he by chance had a newborn calf. Coincidentally, he did, and Nation bought the calf with the little he had saved from his small soldier’s salary.

Nation then continued to the town, famous for its jagged sea rocks, and then turned inland. When he entered the Dragonmaw territory, distinguished by a slight change of the hue of the scenery to a faint blue, Nation sacrificed the calf to Malygos, God of the Dragonmaws. Unsheathing his dagger, he slit the throat of the calf, allowing the warm blood to flow freely onto the earth. He then cut the calf, burning the fat and bones, and enjoyed a quick feast. He then ventured deep into the densely wooded forests of Grim Batol.

*****

When the goddess had left, Prica stood, dumbfounded. It was all too much for her to contemplate. She wanted dearly only to fall asleep and put her and the rest of the world’s troubles aside, to leave them for someone else to solve.

“Prica, dear, who were you just speaking with?” asked Sigaty.

“You did not see or hear her, the woman right in front of me who claimed that she was a goddess?” said a shocked Prica.

“No, I did not. Come, let us find some shelter and food, you are obviously still weary; it was most likely just a hallucination,” said Sigaty.

Prica, deciding that Sigaty was probably right, went with the wise monk. Together, they found an unscorched tree, and laid down under its shade, for the moment putting their troubles and pain aside. When they awoke from their short nap, Sigaty went off to find some food to satiate their empty stomachs, and Prica went to search for the remains of her family. She took each to what remained of the ancient cemetery, and there she conducted a formal funeral as best as she could perform, and then cremated the bodies. Shedding a river of tears, Prica suddenly heard a shrill scream coming from the other end of the cemetery. Could it possibly be that there was another survivor?

Rushing out, Prica turned at the end of the city block, only to discover that debris from the night before had sealed off the road. Turning around, Prica traveled down to the next street, only to find that rubble had closed off this street too. Through a crack in the wall of wreckage, she could now see the person who had made the sound.

“Sigaty!” exclaimed Prica.

“Prica! You must run! The creatures have retu-” Sigaty said. At that moment, one of the demons that had massacred the town yesterday charged at Sigaty, knocking her onto the ground.

“NO!” Prica cried out. With a sudden superhuman leap that astonished even herself, Prica had bounded over the barrier, which was at least 15 feet tall, and landed swiftly on the other side, knocking over one of the demons. She quickly stabbed toward the ground with her katana, once again destroying the demon in a flash of color and flames. A strange and sudden sense now surrounded Prica, and the world around her slowed, though her movements did not. Quickly, she slashed at the two demons immediately in front of her, then stabbed her katana backward, striking a demon which she had somehow sensed was there. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sigaty begin to rise. Prica turned to tell her to stay down, but it was too late. One of the demons immediately pounced on Sigaty, and then, with the old monk pinned to the floor, the demon rose its arm, spreading its gleaming talons out wide.

A scalding pain erupted form Prica’s back, as one of the demons slashed at her. She fell to the ground, the taste of blood in her mouth. Time now ceased its slow pace, and flashed back to its normal speed. The demon who had struck her now towered over Prica’s body. Raising both arms high in the air, the demon balled both hands into a fist. Then the demon slammed down with his arms, set to pulverize Prica’s body, now wrapped in garments which were soaked crimson. Somehow, with blood pouring freely from her wound, Prica managed to stand up, and then stab the demon in time to kill it before it had the chance to do the same to her. The other demons, thinking that she was already dead, were now caught off guard, and Prica, almost completely depleted of energy and life as she was, made short work of the remaining monsters. Prica now collapsed onto the floor, the adrenaline which had given her strength now gone. Desperately, she crawled her way to Sigaty, whose body laid in tatters where the demon had attacked her. Amazingly, Sigaty was still alive, but just barely.

“Prica, dear...” strained Sigaty. Prica looked over Sigaty’s body, and the old monk could tell by her expression that Prica was horrified by what she saw. “Do not worry for me, my child, for I have lived a long and full life, and soon I will be in a better place...”

“No, don’t say that, Sigaty. You may still live yet. Surel-” desperately pleaded Prica.

“No, no child. My time has come. But you must see now that you are the One, the Champion of Humanity. Embark now on your quest, whatever it may be, and do so in the name of all who have died h-he-her....” said Sigaty, unable to even utter her final word. Prica laid a hand over Sigaty’s eyes and closed them. With much effort, she stood up. She knew what she had to do. She set off on her quest to avenge the destruction of her homeland.

*****

Éerised watched on tensely. It had come close; she had almost lost her only hope. But the champion had endured and survived, and now she was even stronger, both physically and in spiritually. The goddess summoned a slight gust of wind which carried over several Tsuga seeds, the most powerful healing herb in the world, from a nearby tree and landed them at the feet of Prica. The mortal picked up the seeds, then recognizing them, ate one. Almost instantly, the huge gashes on her back sealed, so perfectly that not even one of the Gods could ever tell that there had ever been even the slightest injury before. Revitalized, Humanity’s Champion set off toward Grim Batol.

*****

Ebony-faced Jaheira grew more impatient by the minute. She sat on her grand throne, in the form of the great Juris Khan, waiting for the woman who had supposedly routed the Burning Legion. Finally, reaching the limits of her patience, she instantly summoned the wanderer to her courts.

“Madame-” the wanderer started to say.

“SILENCE!” bellowed the Goddess of Terror. “Where is the girl?”

“Well, I was, uh, there were ‘complications’ in the process of her retreiva-”

“You haven’t found her,” said ebony-faced Jaheira, posing the sentence as a statement. “Enough of this. I have found someone else who can complete the task. As for you,” smirked Jaheira, “I advise you to return to your homeland!”

The Odom Crescent suddenly appearing in her hands, she licked her fingers, then pressed them onto the tip of the arrow, igniting it. She fired an arrow that would have pierced straight through the heart of even the most dexterous mortal, but the man moved so quickly and nimbly that he was able to dodge every arrow fired, and escape past the palace guards unscathed.

In the back, a figure walked out behind a shadowy corner.

“He has escaped,” the person said.

“Do not worry. He is of no threat. Just get me that girl. Now.”

“Right away,” the person said, and in an instant he had vanished without a trace.

*****

A man suddenly appeared in a densely wooded forest. It was dark and shadowy, in the blackest time of the night. He walked toward a small clearing in the forest. Several houses inhabited this clearing; the charring embers of a fire gave off a faint glow. The man walked toward this firesite, then past it, to a well twenty yards away. Withdrawing a pouch from his cloak, the man sprinkled some of its powdery contents into the well. Satisfied of his work, the man gave an approving grunt to himself, then walked off toward the woods, where he disappeared.

*****

Nation trudged slowly along a forest pathway that did not exist. For miles and miles he had been traveling, with no idea if he was making progress or whether he had been going in circles, for the scenery all looked like the same, nondescript woodland. He had been journeying for days on end, without any sleep. Nation desperately wanted to lie down, but he knew he could not do this if he was to have any chance to save his town.

At long last, Nation reached a clearing in the forest. Refreshed at the sight, strength returned to his weary legs, and Nation sprinted toward the center, where he discovered several houses and the people who inhabited them. The people had the legs and torso of mortal men, but their heads and arms resembled that of the mythical dragons. Yes, this had to be the Dragonmaw Clan the captain had spoken of.

Approaching, cautiously, for Nation knew better than to run forward openly, he could now see in detail the features of the Dragonmaws. The human portions of the bodies seemed ordinary enough, if not a little more stout and brawny than the average man. The dragon segments contained large scales, which varied in color from dragonmaw to dragonmaw. The arms were particularly short, but the creatures certainly made up for it with three huge, long claws stemming from each hand. The faces gave the impression of a wise and sage peoples, if not for those foreboding red eyes. Something seemed peculiar about their eyes, for they looked unnatural and gave the demons a devilish look.

“Greetings, members of the Dragonmaw Clan,” announced Nation, “I am Nation the sure-footed, Messenger of the honorable Executor Tassiodar, who hails from the lands of Mt. Hyjal. I present you with this gift from Captain Mar ‘Khlak as a token of respect and friendship.”

Nation then unwrapped the jade bow which Mar ‘Khlak had given him, and gave it to the eldest-looking member of the group. The dragonmaw handed the bow to another member of the clan, and whispered something in his ear.

“Speak, Nation, Messenger of Tassiodar. What brings you to such a desolate and far-off land as Grim Batol?” inquired the dragonmaw.

“I have come to request escort to the capital of Wanggomm-song, where I hope to ask the king to send troops to my homeland, where a great demonic scourge has invaded.”

The Dragonmaw paused for a moment, deep in thought. Then, he looked up at Nation, “Come stranger, you look hungry and in need of rest. Eat, and then recuperate your energy, as I am sure your journey has drained you much. Then, we will consider your request.”

Nation was about to protest, mentioning that he needed help at once, then realized that he was but a guest in this foreign land, and did not want to offend his host, lest he receive no aid at all. He conceded and was led to a hut at the far end of the woods, which was out of the range of sight from the other buildings and village square. Unlike the other buildings, this one was made of brick and mortar instead of wood. As Nation walked, he spoke to the dragonmaw which was accompanying him.

“Is it always this dark in the forest?” asked Nation, noticing that ever since he had arrived that the same blackness persisted through the entire time he had been in the forests of Grim Batol.

“Yes,” replied the dragonmaw curtly.

“You mean, you never see the sun?” said Nation, surprised.

“Extremely rarely. One day during the tenth summer,” answered the dragonmaw, with as much abruptness as before.

Realizing that his attempt to start a conversation was not going well, Nation decided to try and get to know the dragonmaw better.

“My name’s Nation, what’s yours?”

“We dragonmaws do not have names; we live under the pretense that all of us are uniform and equal, and thus no one has a name to show its uniqueness.”

Nation began to open his mouth, then hesitated deciding to stay quiet.

Once they reached the building, the dragonmaw, breathing a small jet of fire through his nostrils at the metal door, melted away a small metal lock which joined the door and frame. The dragonmaw opened the door, then pointed one of his talons toward it.

“Food goes in here,” ordered the dragonmaw.

Nation was a little taken aback by the awkward utterance, but then realized that this probably meant that his food was inside the building, the words scrambled because of years or even lifetimes of the concise and blunt dialect that the dragonmaws spoke in. Nation walked into the building, to find a store room of food, drinks, and other essential supplies. All of a sudden, the door behind him closed abruptly. Through a crack in the wall, Nation could see that the dragonmaw was now welding the door to the frame, effectively sealing it. Thinking that the dragonmaw might have accidentally forgotten that he was still inside, Nation called out to the dragonmaw.

“Hello! Hello! I am still inside the storage room! You locked me in, and I can’t get out! Help!”

The dragonmaw did not seem to hear Nation, and continued to walk away.

Meanwhile, back at the town center, the dragonmaws were drawing water from the well, preparing for a feast.

*****

Prica strode along the road, clad in her father’s imperial black and gold ornate plated armor. Though it was extremely durable and strong, the armor, made of a special alloy of steel, lead, and other rare and precious metals, was surprisingly light, and the hinged plates moved easily so that Prica was able to move as nimbly as she could without armor.

She carried the katana in a richly decorated sheath slung over her back. She now drew the weapon, closely examining it for the first time.

The Celestial Fury, Sigaty had said it was. Prica now remembered seeing the sword. Father had just returned from his brother’s funeral. In his hands, Prica had seen the sword. She had asked her father what it was, and her father, still grieving for his brother, said it was just an old family heirloom, and set it aside on a table. Every time Lord Ashan would pass the sword, he would burst into tears, for it reminded him so much of the brother he had lost. Finally, Prica’s mother, unable to bear seeing her husband in so much despair and misery, ordered one of the servants to take the sword and hide it somewhere. After this was done, the executor ceased his weeping, and the sword was soon forgotten.

The sword gleamed in the sunlight. It shimmered in almost every hue imaginable, as if the forger had mixed in a small amount of every material that existed on Earth. Examining the sword closely, Prica found multiple layers of color, each one containing a specific tone; Prica could see black pewter metal, a mixture of green and clear jade, and ruby that flickered with the radiance of fire. The layers, laying upon each other, formed a collage that could almost be admired for its beauty, if not that the sword was a lethal instrument of war. The katana stretched the length of four feet, and was light enough to manage with a single hand, though not unwieldy with two. The blade was a perfect combination of all styles of combat. One edge was a straight, razor sharp edge for slashing. The opposite side was filled with jagged ridges, perfect for blocking and entangling an opponent’s sword, and designed to cause extra injury with every strike, as the irregular edge ripped apart an enemy’s innards with the retraction of the weapon. At the tip of the sword lied a pure diamond, sharpened into a needle-thin point.

Prica sensed the bushes rustle to her right. Turning, she scanned the area, finding nothing. All of a sudden, every bird in the forest flapped into the air at once, flying away as fast as they could. Then, a hideous beast, dark as the night, but with eyes and a mouth that glowed bright red, stampeded out of the bushes, charging straight at Prica.

Where a few days ago she would have ran for her life, Prica now stood her ground, holding the Celestial Fury steady in her hands. A split second before the creature had reached her, Prica leapt into the air, stabbing downwards at the monster. She had expected the sword to stab right through, but instead an invisible force or aura of some sort deflected the attack, and caused Prica to fly off sideways, falling on the ground. The creature now halted itself, then reversed. Gouging up the earth with its head and scraping the floor with its hind leg, the creature prepared itself for another charge. This time, Prica slid under the beast, and stabbed at its exposed underbelly. The same force deflected the attack, and sent the sword careening out of Prica’s firm grip. Prica immediately picked herself up and ran to her sword. With the brute charging at her once more and all of her previous attacks faltering, Prica decided that now was the time to run. As fast as her legs could carry her, Prica ran in the opposite direction, never looking back.

*****

Rosy-lipped Éerised watched on anxiously. The beast had caught her off guard, and now she looked on as Prica frantically ran from the creature. Resourceful as she was, Prica hopped onto rocks and forming a winding path between the dense forest. The animal, apparently not very bright, followed Prica’s every move, smashing headlong into boulders and trees. These obstacles barely slowed the beast, as it carved its own path through the forest, demolishing rock formations and barreling over trees.

Then, Prica double backed along her route, traveling backwards, in hopes of eluding the beast. The moment she began to do this, however, the creature did the same, traveling backwards and corralling Prica back to the same direction. With no chance to go back, Prica turned again and resumed her original path.

Rosy-lipped Éerised now began to call upon the spirits of the forest for aid, but suddenly...

*****

The creature disappeared. Prica, noticing the sudden absence of all the clamor the beast had created, turned around. Behind her, a clear path of fallen trees and shattered rock fragments marked where the beast had rambled, only now the beast was nowhere to be found, abruptly and suddenly vanishing into the air. The only sound Prica now heard was ragged breathing and the heavy beat of her heart.

Seating herself on a rock, Prica peered at her surroundings, which had changed drastically from where she had been just moments before. On one side was the forest which Prica had just appeared from, on the other lay an open field. This new area was extremely dark, black as night, but how could that have been? Only minutes ago the Sun had been out in all its glory. The air held a foreboding chill, and all the surrounding land, including the forest and even the ground itself looked sickly and defiled. In the distance, she could faintly see lights.

“Could this be the site of Grim Batol?” Prica asked herself. The name certainly implied a dark and desolate place.

After regaining her strength, Prica rose and headed toward those lights.

*****

Nation sat in a corner, knees held tightly to his chest. He had been locked in the store room for a time, how long he did not know as he was unable to tell the hour of day, for the sun never rose and in the area remained the same darkness he had seen when he had first arrived. The room was damp and cold, the torch Nation had carried had long extinguished, and Nation had been plunged into utter darkness.

All of a sudden, something flickered outside. Cautiously, Nation silently approached the crevice in the wall, and peered outside. In the dark, Nation could not see who it was, but could vaguely perceive a silhouette of a figure. It was not that of a dragonmaw, but in fact looked like that of a human’s. Nation deliberated whether or not he should call out, and while he was doing this, the figure began to walk away. Not wanting to let possibly his only chance of escape to slip from his grasp, Nation called out to the mysterious person.

*****

“Hello there!” shouted a voice from the building that Prica had just passed. Prica immediately turned around. Her first instinct was to run, for she had had too many dangerous encounters the past few days, and she certainly did not want another. She began to run, but the next words she heard halted her steps cold.

“Please, do not run! I am but a harmless man. Have mercy and free this poor fellow from his imprisonment, for his only intent is to aid those of his homeland in the Mt. Hyjal foothills.”

Had there been another survivor from the attack? Did not the goddess say that “there is another?” The emotions stirred by the stranger’s words overrode common sense and precaution. Prica Ashan rushed forth to the building, unsheathing her katana.

“Stand back!” ordered Prica, as she hacked apart the metal door.

*****

Nation stared up at the person, a woman he now saw. She had the most astonishing eyes he had ever seen, eyes that seemed to go on forever, with no limit to their depth. Her lovely black hair swayed back and forth with her movements, fluid and full of vitality. Nation stared on in awe; this woman so resembled that of another woman which he had once known in his hometown, a woman that was now most likely among the dead. Sorrow filled the young warrior’s heart, and, overcome with emotion, he hugged his savior. He fought back teardrops which were welling in his eyes, for he did not want to show his weakness in front of a woman, but the tears came nevertheless, and Nation made no attempts to wipe them away. The woman embraced Nation in the same way, and he heard her sobs and felt her tears stream down her face and fall upon his shoulder.

Reluctantly, Nation let go of the stranger.

“Please, m‘lady, tell me the name of my savior, so that I may properly give my gratitude.”

After regaining her composure, the woman introduced herself.

“My name is Prica Ashan. I am the daughter of the exalted Executor Tassiodar, Lord of Mt. Hyjal and the surrounding lands.”

“You hail from that area also? Tell me what news you have of my homeland, so that I may learn the fate of the lord and captain that I serve,” requested Nation.

Prica hesitated, “The news I bear is of the greatest misery and suffering. Take my word, you do not want to hear what has happened to our fair town.”

“Please,” begged Nation, “I must know, no matter how disheartening your news may be, for the lingering uncertainty in my soul pains me even more.”

“I will tell you, though it saddens me greatly to recount the tale,” agreed Prica.

“Then do so quickly, so that our anguish and grief may be over with, for there is danger that lies in this forest.”

Prica then described all that had happened, the invasion of the demon creatures, the fall of the great executor, and how the demons had burned the entire city to ashes. She omitted the part about the goddess and the prophecy. All the time, Prica and Nation both wept, and after Prica had finished, they comforted one another in a hug. All of a sudden, they heard the sound of footsteps.

In the dark, Nation could not have possibly seen who the figure was, but aided by the luminance of Prica Ashan’s sword, he saw the bright red glow of the dragonmaw’s eyes piercing through the thick night. Prica and Nation attempted to flee from the building undetected, but the dragonmaw had been too close. Spotting them, he breathed a stream of fire at the two humans, missing by just inches.

With lightning speed, Prica charged toward the dragonmaw, dodging sprays of embers all the way. Once she reached the dragonmaw, she performed a quick upward slash. Unlike the demons, the dragonmaw reacted to the sword normally. The sword sliced halfway through the torso, and then Prica pulled the sword back out, further injuring the dragonmaw. Suddenly, the red glow in its eyes disappeared, leaving behind an innocent-looking creature. Feeling pity, Prica began to finish off the creature, when suddenly the red glow returned once more, and the creature grinned sadistically, suddenly vanishing.

“What happened?” asked Nation.

“I don’t know. But those red eyes, they remind me of something...” said Prica. Then, she suddenly came to a shocking realization, “They were the same red eyes which the demon creatures had!”

“Then there is a Hellish force at work here. Come, we must be careful,” said Nation.

They walked toward the town center, seeking to vanquish the dragonmaws, who had now clearly aligned themselves with the forces of Hell.

*****

He lied in wait, watching the dragonmaw clan slowly prepare their feast. For a moment, all was quiet, tranquil even. The dragonmaws joyfully went about their business, baking bread, tending the fires, and watching over the children, who were gaily playing about near the fire.

Then, two mortals strode toward the encampment, and on sight, all eyes lit up with a red brilliance, and every dragonmaw was filled with a sudden bloodlust. They charged at the two humans, who unsheathed swords, one a prismatic katana, the other, a simple claymore. Together, they sliced through the ranks of the dragonmaws, synchronized in a poetic dance that spelled doom for the clan. The slightest wound caused the dragonmaws to revert back to the normal state, but with a pinch of the powder from his pouch, he was able to provoke the dragonmaws into a rage once again. Others that resisted, he did away with with a wave of his hand, which caused the bodies to burst apart; the dragonmaw’s spectral spirit released and sent directly to the Gates of Hell.

The ranks of the dragonmaws now separated, and one by one, they fell to the blades of the two humans. After every dragonmaw had fallen, the heroes rested and strode off to the fire, thinking they had done right by ridding the world of the seemingly evil dragonmaw.

With the humans gone, the man walked out onto the grisly battlefield, where dragonmaw corpses and pieces were strewn about. He stood over one body, who had had an arm and both legs severed, blood pouring freely from the injuries, but somehow was still alive.

“Stranger,” moaned the dragonmaw, “Stranger, whoever you may be, please do me a favor, in the name of Mercy, and end my life quickly, for I know death approaches, and I would desire it to be as quick painless as possible.”

“For you, dragonmaw, whose people have failed me in your mission and battle, I will do no such thing. I will not give you the luxury of death,” said the man. He took out a flask, and poured three drops of bluish liquid onto the body. A spectral spirit arose from the corpse, the soul of the dragonmaw. This spirit he bound to the mortal plane, condemning it to a tortured existence on this place for eternity, unable to lay its restless soul to peace.

But although the dragonmaws had failed in his plan, the man had already concocted a new scheme to capture the girl, a foolproof method that could not fail.

*****

It had been a long, hard battle, and the two warriors now rested, feeling proud of the evil which they had vanquished. But something still troubled Prica.

“What are we to do now? Where are we to go?” said Prica aloud. She had been anxiously anticipating another meeting with the goddess, for although she was more confident now, she did not relish the thought of facing her quest alone and without instruction.

A sudden and irresistible thirst filled Nation, and he could not help himself from drawing a bucket from the well and drinking it.

“I just had a vision. Come, let us go,” said Nation suddenly and unexpectedly. He took Prica’s arm and pulled her up, leading her forward into the forests. Prica, confused and bewildered by this sudden action, nevertheless went along, for in the short time they had known each other, she had came to trust him. As Nation pulled Prica along, his eyes flashed red.

At the well which Prica and Nation had just departed from, there was a sudden flash of smoke. Rosy-lipped Éerised appeared, but she could not find either Prica or Nation. Éerised’s powers had been growing weaker and weaker, and now, from the effort needed for the goddess to exist on the moral plane, the Restorer of Faith faltered, then started to fall. Corran, God of Honor and Valor, appeared instantly and caught the goddess before she fell.

“Éerised, dear, you are drained of your energy. I will take you to my temple, and there you may recuperate your stre-”

“No, I must find her, or else it may be too late,” interrupted Éerised

“It would do no good if we found her now, for in your present condition you would not be able to do anything. Once you have recovered, we will search for her together,” said Corran.

Rosy-lipped Éerised began to argue, but then fainted in exhaustion. Corran teleported himself and Éerised to his temple. Laying her down on a bed, Corran sat by Éerised’s side as she fell to sleep.

*****

For an eternity it seemed that she had been walking through the woods. With the thrill of surprise now worn off, Prica impatiently asked Nation, “Where exactly are you taking me?”

All of a sudden, Nation paused, and then looked up into the sky. He pointed to a building which seemed to be floating in the heavens.

“There.”

A rope ladder ascended from the forest floor high up into the air, ending at the floating structure. In the back of her mind, something told her that something was not right here, but Nation had seemed so sure. Besides, didn’t the gods and goddesses live high in their temples in the heavens? The floating building she now saw could very well be that of Éerised, Goddess of Desire. With Prica leading the way, Nation followed, staying two rungs below Prica on the ladder.

Once they had reached the higher altitudes, powerful winds pounded Prica, swaying the rope ladder dangerously back and forth. Prica held tightly to the ladder, until the gusts had died down. She then turned to Nation, who had kept his face buried between his arms. Now, Nation looked up, and Prica was so aghast at the sight that she almost lost her grip.

“Nation! Your eyes!”

All of a sudden, the red light in Nation’s eyes ignited with a blinding flash of red light, and then in an instant Prica was staring again at his natural, innocent eyes.

“Where am I? How’d I get her-” Nation confusingly asked. In his panic, Nation had lost his grip, and plummeted downwards.

Prica reached out for his hands, but she could only brush his cold fingertips. Prica watched on in disbelief as Nation’s falling body descended through the clouds, falling and disappearing out of view.

Prica wanted to die, right then and there. She had witnessed enough brutal death firsthand to last a hundred lifetimes. Though she was near the end of her ladder journey, she began to let go of the rungs, for she no longer had the desire to live.

“Come child, do not lose hope yet. You cannot change the past, and there is still a chance that all will be set right in the future. But for the present, all those of the mortal plane are counting for you, their champion, to save them.”

Prica looked up. It was Éerised, Restorer of Faith. Encouraged to at least make it to the top, Prica climbed the final rungs, and then collapsed on the cold, marble floor, a river of tears fell forth, and they slid off the smooth marble and back down to Earth, becoming rains which cleansed the areas of Grim Batol, giving the lands new life.

She now turned to the goddess, and clasped her ankles, begging, “Oh please, goddess of the rosy lips, let me die now and send my soul to the Gates of Hell, for I do not wish to live any longer. I am not suited to bear the burdens of all of mankind, for my heart is too weak to bear even the deaths of the people I love, much less the deaths of an entire world.”

“Have faith, dear, have faith,” said Éerised. The goddess walked to a shelf of vials and bottles of every shape and color, and took a purple liquid from the shelf. “Here, drink this potion,” commanded the goddess.

Prica obediently drank the potion. Confidence now consumed her, and she ceased her weeping and stood up.

“The hour of fate approaches, and soon you will have to confront your greatest fear. I am afraid I will not be able to help you in this, you and only you must defeat this evil. Prica Ashan, are you ready to meet your destiny?”

The potion had made it impossible to answer no, or any other gesture or utterance that was devoid of confidence. Prica answered, “Yes,” and Éerised opened a portal. Prica Ashan stepped through the portal, which immediately closed afterwards. Then, suddenly, Éerised laughed, a malicious, demented laugh, in a masculine voice. She then shape-shifted, and the man who had been in the forests of Grim Batol now stood in the goddess’ place.

*****

Prica emerged on the other end of the portal. She was in some sort of palace or cathedral, as she could tell by the stained glass windows and richly decorated furniture, luxuries only the church and wealthy families could afford. She walked forward from the portal, which had disappeared behind her the moment .she had exited it. All of a sudden, a very old man with gray hair, godlike in appearance, emerged from the door behind her.

“Oh welcome, young one. Have you come to the palace to pray to the Gods? It is still early in the morning, but of course the Gods are always grateful of worshippers. My name is Juris Khan, priest of the Grand Zakarum Palace,” greeted the old man.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, most exalted priest, but I am not here to pray. There is a great evil lurking in your palace, and I have been sent to purge it from this world,” explained Prica.

“Well then, in that case, my name is not Juris Khan,” said the old man, leaning over and putting his face directly facing Prica’s. The rest of his body looked like that of a divine being, but his eyes were what set him apart. Prica looked into the man’s eyes, and instead of the brilliance of the cosmos that one would normally associate with the eyes of an orthodox priest or god, the man’s eyes contained all the brilliance of death, destruction, and terror.

The power of the potion broken, Prica stumbled backwards, terrified of her realization. She felt a slight twinge in her brain.

“Thoughts of your family, I sense. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to join them soon,” hissed the old man.

*****

Éerised woke. Realizing that she had been asleep far too long, she immediately summoned a view portal, hoping that Prica had not gotten in any predicament in her absence. Prica was in a building, a palace of some sort. And standing in front of her was... the Goddess of Terror herself!

“What in the world is going on!?!” Éerised asked no one in particular, “She is not yet ready to face the Great Evil!”

Hastily, Éerised summoned a portal to the scene and stepped through.

“Éerised!!! Why are you here? I thought that you could not intervene!” exclaimed Prica.

“I nev- watch out!” cried Éerised, as a flaming arrow barely missed by Prica. The arrow ricocheted off of the floor and hit the wall on the opposite side, collapsing the entire end and revealing a clear view of the city. Prica rolled over to one side of the room, and hid behind a pillar. Éerised did the same, for even gods feared Jaheira with her mythical bow.

For the moment safe behind the pillar, Éerised spoke to Prica.

“How did you find your way here? It is halfway across the world from Grim Batol. You could not possibly made it all the way here so quickly by yourself,” asked Éerised.

Prica opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut her off, “I brought her here, my dear.”

Turning around, Éerised saw Corran, God of Honor and Valor, standing in front of her. Suddenly, a dark figure appeared in back of him.

“Corran, watch out! Jaheira is right behind you!” warned Éerised.

Corran paid no attention to Éerised, and in fact looked extremely calm and relaxed. Then, Corran turned around and greeted the Goddess of Terror.

Turning back around, Corran spoke to Éerised, “My love, I am afraid that I have been keeping a secret from you all of this time. You see, once I had begun losing my powers, I sought out for a way to restore my strength. After concocting all sorts of portions and elixirs and failing, I had all but lost hope when suddenly the honorable Jaheira came and proved to be the answer to my dilemma. It is she who has given me my strength to allow me to use my powers when all the other Gods were weak and powerless. In return, I needed to only bring her this girl.”

“She is the Champion of Humanity! She is the sole hope for the survival of the entire world against this villain whom you have allied yourself with. How can you betray all of man and the Gods, and... me. Can’t you see that she has cast an enchantment on you, that she is playing you like a pawn?” pleaded Éerised.

“No, you are wrong, but I see now that you are not pleased at all to see me. In that case, I will be quite frank. Jaheira, Goddess of Terror, has a stranglehold on this plane so strong that no one can free the world from her wrath. Not even her,” said Corran, pointing at Prica, who cowered, terrified behind Éerised.

“Éerised, my darling, join me and align yourself with the dark forces. It is the only way that you and I will be able to remain together.”

“I will do no such thing,” replied Éerised.

“Then,” answered Corran, “I am afraid that I have no other choice.” Suddenly, lightning erupted forth from the god’s hands, striking Éerised and sending her flying off, hitting the stone wall with a sickening thud.

Corran now turned to Prica.

“As for you,”

“That is enough. I will take care of her—personally,” said Jaheira.

Corran walked off, and presently the Goddess of Terror kneeled down, lowering her face to Prica’s.

“Normally, I would butcher your kind quickly, especially one that reeks of such...” Jaheira paused, as she sniffed over Prica, “... purity. But now that I have seen you, the one who is supposedly the Champion of Humanity, I can only laugh at the Gods’ pathetic attempt of resistance, to send such a frail looking woman to stop me.”

The Goddess of Terror let loose a deranged laugh. “No, your death will not be quick, nor painless. I wish to have some fun with you before you meet your fate.”

Prica, immobilized with fear, could only crane her head to look at Éerised, who now lay, unconscious, amid a pile of rubble and rocks. Suddenly, Éerised’s eyes opened, and they locked with Prica’s lovely eyes, and strength coursed through from the goddess to the mortal, empowering Prica with faith. Prica now kicked at the dark god, catching Jaheira by surprise and sending her stumbling over. Prica now pulled the Celestial Fury out, which gleamed more brightly in the dark room than anything else.

Jaheira, realizing that this was not going to be as easy as she had anticipated, hastily notched an arrow and let loose. Anticipating the move, Prica cleaved the arrow in two with her sword, sending the two symmetric sides flying off in random directions. Prica now jumped high into the air, and brought the sword down, putting the energy of her entire body behind the attack. Jaheira, taken unawares by the move, barely was able to dodge out of the way. Prica was now upon Jaheira in all her furor, drawing upon the pains of the deaths of her father, Sigaty, Nation, and now Éerised to fuel her rage. Forced into close quarters combat, the Goddess of Terror abandoned her arrows, and instead used the Odom Crescent to parry and block Prica’s attacks, each one bursting in a prismatic shower of sparks as the two mystical weapons made contact. Suddenly, with practiced precision, Prica maneuvered past Jaheira’s bow, and slashed with all her might, driving the Celestial Fury deep into Jaheira’s side.

The shockwave that erupted from the wound sent both Jaheira and Prica flying backwards. The goddess rose first, now in her natural form, the body of Juris Khan incinerated.

“Enough of this petty contest. This will end now,” said Jaheira. She ran forward to Prica, and thrust her hands onto her head, the dark forces that emanated from the fingertips leeching into Prica’s mind.

*****

“Éerised, my love, I beg of you, please join me, for I do not think that I can bear live without you,” pleaded Corran.

“Never.”

“Why must you persist in this foolish notion? This world has no chance against the power of the Dark One. Even the gods have given up their faith, for they now sit idly, waiting for the end to come. They have lost all hope.”

“So long as I still live, their will always be hope,” said Éerised through gritted teeth. She spat at Corran’s face.

“My beloved, if you choose to insult me so, then I have only one option. I regret it with all my heart, but it must be done. Believe me when I tell you that this will hurt me much more than it will you.”

Drawing a dagger from his tunic, Corran, God of Honor and Valor, stabbed it straight through Éerised’s heart. He had no idea how true his words were.

*****

Prica was all of a sudden in a different place. Where there had once been an expanseful palace, there was now only a small, confined room. In front of her, she saw... could it be? It was her father! She jumped forward to hug him once more, but all of a sudden the door in front of her burst open, and the demon creatures burst forth. They clambered into the room.

A demon leapt onto Lord Tassiodar, and he instantly fell to the floor. He was dead. Prica could tell by the empty, accusing stare in his eyes. The creatures now ran over the body, clawing at each other to get to her. Prica stumbled backwards, falling over a box. Prica now lay, sprawled on the ground, with the demon towering above her. The creature reached down with its arm, clamping its hand over Prica’s head. She could do nothing for she was frozen with terror. The demon began to squeeze, tighter and tighter on her skull. The pain was unbearable, and Prica began to succumb to the relaxing allure of death.

“Wouldn’t it be better to stop resisting?” Prica thought to herself. After all, her fight was in vain, and this way her death would come easily. She ceased to combat the demon’s grip, and she could feel the grasp of life already withdrawing from her.

All of a sudden, a voice sounded. Prica opened her eyes, and found Nation, or at least his spirit, there.

“Prica, it’s all just a dream, can’t you see? The room, the demons, your father, it’s all just an illusion Jaheira is using to trick you. It’s not really there.

Prica tried to shut out the image. Nation’s ghost had come back to haunt her. He would not even let her have peace in death. Still, his voice pounded despite her efforts.

“Look past the demon, Prica, look at the wall! Look at the demon’s shadow!”

Prica set her eyes on the demon’s shadow, hoping that it would drive away the specter. Only it wasn’t the demon’s shadow on the wall behind it. Instead of a hulking, winged demon, she instead saw the shadow of a woman, a woman carrying a bow.

Suddenly, Prica remembered the palace, the battle, the evil goddess Jaheira. The scene before her fell apart, revealing again the palace. The demon still stood in front of her.

“You’re too late,” the goddess said. She smirked, and her form changed, shifting from that of the demon to the goddess’s true nature. “You’re going to die here, and I’m going to have your soul. Perhaps you’ve destroyed the body of Juris, but I’ll use you to bind me to this world!”

Rage and feared filled Prica at the same time, and she rushed forth, not knowing exactly what she was going to do next. Jaheira easily parried Prica’s attack, and pushed forward, knocking Prica onto the ground. The goddess then took the pointed tip of her bow, and stabbed down at the ground. Prica rolled over, and the bow jabbed at the tile floor, sending shards of marble loose in all directions.

“Worthless human, there is no use in fighting back. You will never defeat me!”

The goddess stabbed at the ground again. More shards burst from the marble floor, but Prica managed to dodge every stab. In her rage, the goddess had not taken the presence of mind to defend herself, and Prica kicked upwards, hitting Jaheira squarely in the jaw, and knocking the goddess over. Prica quickly rose, then set the Celestial Fury at the goddess’s throat.

“Wait!” commanded the goddess, “If you kill me, there will be a price that you must pay. You’re not as pure as the Gods imagined. You carry fears inside that will forever taint you. You will carry something of me that will haunt you. There is a price you will have to pay.”

Prica paused. She looked up, at the grand palace, at the richly decorated room, at Éerised’s body, laying in the corner. She then set her eyes on the wall section which had been destroyed. The whole town had gathered, to witness this battle between the forces of Light and the Dark. She looked at the elders, who had bore a lifetime of pain and grief; at the young teenagers, still with their entire futures ahead of them, and lastly at the children, who looked on innocently at something they could not possibly comprehend.

“I’ll . . . pay . . . it . . .” Prica whispered with conviction. She stabbed down, and a wave of intense light flooded the room, banishing the Goddess of Terror from the world of mortals.

*****

With the evil now vanquished, Prica rushed over to her guardian goddess, rosy-lipped Éerised. As she approached, she found that a dagger had pierced the goddess’s heart, but that she was still alive.

“Oh, Éerised, Goddess of Desire, what a horrible end Fate has bestowed upon you. But quickly, tell me where the man has gone, so that I may make sure that we are all safe first.”

“Do not fret about that, Prica, for he is now dead, as soon I will be. That man was Corran, God of Honor and Valor. We had been good friends, and for a time, I was in love with him, as I thought he was in love with me. Foolishly blinded by Cupid’s arrows, we agreed to a blood pact, infusing a drop of one another’s blood into our own. This made sure that if any harm had ever come to one of us, the other would die, so that one of us would never be left behind in this world. However, as darkness tainted him, he had forgotten this bond we had made , and he foolishly attacked me, destroying himself in the process. I will join him soon enough, for my life forces are draining away rapidly. But before I do, I wish to present you with a gift, Prica, for all that you have done for the mortals on Earth and the Gods in the sky.”

“Press the tip of your sword against my wound,” commanded Éerised. Prica did as she was told, touching the diamond tip of the Celestial Fury to the goddess’s wound, which spewed a steady stream of deep crimson. Éerised closed her eyes, and in a flash of light, the sword in Prica’s hand vanished, and before her now stood Nation, in the flesh once again. Éerised, smiling, faded away.

*****

A celebration was held in the name of the Champion of Humanity, Prica Ashan, and her companion, Nation. All the people of Lut Gholien came out to congratulate the heroes, and to show their gratitude for exposing the false priest.

The grand palace was burned down, and the ruins which were left were taken aboard ships that were sailed to the edge of the world. The wreckage was thrown over, returning the building blocks of the sinister edifice back to the realm of Hades. A new palace, even grander than the last, was erected in its place, and this was deemed a public monument of worship, where every could pray, and no secrets or evils were ever kept inside.

Slowly and gradually, the lives of the Lut Gholien citizens returned to normal, and slowly, the Gods regained their strength and powers. However, the world was far from exactly the same.

The Celestial Fury, the Odom Crescent, and the Nekros, Corran’s legendary dagger, had all been destroyed, and the evil of Jaheira was now vanquished. Those four were the most powerful objects in existence, the only powers mighty enough to kill a god. From that point on, all Gods were ensured immortality, for there was no force that existed which could kill a divinity.

The most profound effect, however, was that of the world’s currency. Lut Gholien had been the largest producer of gold and silver, and every gold coin was created there, for the city contained the world’s first and only mint. Because Jaheira had controlled the town, she had cursed all of the money in the city and the mint building, so that the moment she had been banished, every gold and silver coin turned into worthless paper, and the mint could only produce more of the same paper. However, the people of Lut Gholien, having witnessed the evil of the goddess, knew that this was still their precious gold and silver, only in another form, so they accepted it. In time, the people would grow accustomed to the lightweight and easily handled paper, and scoffed at foreigners who came with their heavy and cumbersome coins. Soon, the paper money had spread through to the entire world, and the gold coin was just an ancient antique.

The new king of Lut Gholien had asked Prica and Nation to remain in the city, so that they could honor them forever and help in the restructuring of the city. However, their hearts and desires were elsewhere, and they kindly requested that the king allow them to return to their homeland so that they could begin rebuilding it anew. This the king granted, and, with proper supplies and gifts, the two set out on their long journey home...

*****

Jaheira lay, chained with divine latches to a stone tablet. She was a lowly being now, a mere shadow of the former Queen of Darkness. Beside the torches which flanked her on either side, nothing else was visible, her surroundings a pitch-black void. This was her arcane sanctuary, and here, in time, she would regain her strength, and once again take control of the world. Until that time came, she would have to wait.

A figure appeared on the pathway which stretched from the black void to the stone tablet. The figure was draped in a hooded cloak, and something gleamed in its hand.

“Greetings, my queen,” said the cloaked person.

“You! What are you doing here?” asked Jaheira, suddenly recognizing whom it was. The man pulled out a blue, doubled-edged sword.

“What are you doing with that?” asked Jaheira, unable to do anything else.

The man stabbed the sword clean through the goddess’s body, then, pulling the goddess closer with the sword, “I’m succeeding you, mother.” He pulled away his sword, letting the body slump onto the floor, a steady stream of deep crimson flowing from the wound, soaking the man’s boots.

The Wanderer walked away, flames of an inferno incinerating everything in his wake.