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I kick my heels at the dust of the street, scuffing the crude circular
boundary that has been made beneath my feet by the commoners who watch me from
afar. Thirty paces away stands Arom-Shaleb, sorceress of flame, challenger to
that which I have claimed as my own. Between us lies nothing but our mutual
hatred for the other. I feel my muscles tense, my arms flex and relax as I wait
for the signal to begin. I see that she does the same, cocky in her powers of
flame and destruction, waiting to unleash her fury upon me.
My wrath rises upon my eyes and I distance myself from the battle,
looking towards that which I had prepared. The red mage, though I may hate her
with undying rage, is beyond my concerns as I reach for the darkness that is my
soul and draw strength from my life-force, from the soul I had sacrificed for
power an age ago. Death rings in my ears, pulses in my veins, and I am ready.
The normals around me, cattle to be herded to a useful death, do not know me, do
not understand what it is I have become. I was once a bringer of death. That
is changed now. I am Death, cold and heartless.
I focus once more upon the duel at hand. The time is drawing nearer, as
the self-appointed circles-master holds his makeshift flag to wave at the start
of the duel. I have prepared myself for this intricate dance of life and death,
this web of trickery and deceit. In the corner of my eye, I see the fearful
look of anticipation in the eyes of the circle-master. It has begun. The flag
ripples slightly as his hand wavers, then begins its fall.
Darkness converges upon my vision, and I see one spot of blinding light
in the gloom. I focus upon that light, smothering it with the force of my will,
draining it of its life-force. The light spins, trying to break my hold,
attempting to call upon purity of soul to stay my fury. For an instant,
Arom-Shaleb has eluded my dark hold, and fire leaped from her nimble fingers to
catch themselves upon my withered body. Lightning rang from the clouds, but I
was unharmed.
Again I reach for her soul, bonding it to my will and its life-force to
my own. My years of sacrifice are again called forth, and I call upon my
benefactor to repay his debt by giving me strength. I coax the last bits of
life from Arom-Shaleb as thunder rings in my ears, and the silence that follows
is deafening. The night, tangible even now in the daylight, wraps itself around
my body as the deed is done.
I come to myself, and I am on my knees in a pool of my own blood.
Thirty paces away lies the desiccated ashes of Arom-Shaleb, and her strength
shall serve me well. I spit and taste the bitter tang of my own black blood, as
it mingles with the dust before me.
I rise shakily, unsteadily due to my wounds. All of my shields had been
broken, my body battered. Yet I hold on, and taste the bitter taste of victory
again. With a spell of darkness I use the vitality around me to heal my body,
ravaged as it is.
A strong one, this Arom-Shaleb. She shall serve me well in the future,
as she nearly overcame my strength to best me in singular combat. But I yet
live, and she will join the ashes of her brethren on the four Winds, to travel
Dominia as Fate may take her. Strong as she was to overcome my strength, she
could not best my spite. Spite for all that lives, spite for all that draws
breath. Spite that kills all, consuming life into the darkness that is myself.
Death feeds on life, and I have been sated today.
I stumble over to the ashes, across the dirt street to the circle I have
blackened from afar with my presence. I spit on the ashes that were Arom-Shaleb
and say the words that shall make her mine forever, the commands of ritual that
bind her to me for as long as I yet live.
"Arom-Shaleb, this day do I claim your soul for the Darkness. All that
was yours shall be mine, to use as I see fit. This day I claim the realm of
Shaleb and the state of Tekeb-Harai as my own."
The normals, bleating sheep without their champion, submit. Tekeb-Harai
now falls under the realm of G’nra’I, and it shall spell the death of all.
I shall delight when I may feast upon their souls.
I leave in darkened storm for the Keep of Arom-Shaleb to claim my
bauble, on a swift mount taken from an onlooker to my triumph. As the thunder
overhead roars with rage at my victory, I glut myself on her soul, using her
vibrant life-energies to heal my shattered frame and taking from her knowledge
that will ease that which I must do.
Hours pass in silent contemplation as the death winds rage behind me,
speeding the passage of Death to the heartlands of Tekeb-Harai. I recognize
landmarks that she has seen, terraforms that once held her life in such
captivation at the cusp of curiosity and contentment. At last I see the
mountain and know that death shall be unleashed upon all beneath its shadow.
I begin my climb, rehearsing the litany that will ensure me my rightful
place by conquest and strength. To gain the Keep as my servants, some must die
firsthand as a show of my power over the wizards. I have heard that Arom-Shaleb
was not the strongest wizard to come from that Keep, though she is descended of
the line of royalty, held pure throughout the ages, that draws its roots back
through the ancient age of the artificers to the Brothers.
I ride hard to Visith Amoth, keep of my deceased enemy, to claim her
land as my own. The winds of Urborg are at my back, and my steed rides with the
swiftness of death as I descend upon Amoth from Henneth Amuuth, the Mountain of
Freedom, last holding-point of the army of Freedom’s Dawn in the wizard’s wars
of ages past. Wedded to me in Death, Arom-Shaleb speaks to me her secrets, the
claims I must make to control her territory.
A runed sword claps at my hips, the cold steel ready to be drawn with
deadly intent. With a mere thought, my steed slows as we approach the gate. I
draw the sword, and with my mana I give it the deathly glow for which it was
feared in the wars long ago. The guards at the gate let me pass, fear in their
face as they realize who has won the day. Visith Amoth looms high and ominous
in my vision, growing ever larger as I pass within.
I know no fear. Fear is the little-death that cannot touch me, given
over as I am to my dark Lord and Keeper. Inside I pass, and the court trembles
before my wrath. I dismount before the royal courtesans and claim my right as
their head, with the winds of Urborg spreading blackness at my back.
"I claim by right of conquest this Keep of Visith Amoth and the lands of
Tekeb-Harai, to be bonded to my lands and held by my will. All who would
disobey your own laws, denounce my right of conquest, are free to face me in
unarmed combat."
A grumble rose among the court, the fair of heart and weak of will
uttering their grievances with hushed breaths, hoping for a champion. For the
most part their will is dead, willing to follow whichever leader claims power
over them. Yet I await a champion among them, some mage who would overthrow
their rules to dance with Death this night.
I scan the room from stone wall to stone wall, searching for those with
mana, a connection to the arts of wizardry and the lands from which we all draw
strength. A few boys of age lie in the back of the crowd, channeling their mana
as they prepare to confront me. They cannot be higher than second-level mages
if they think I cannot see their subterfuge.
"I shall challenge you, Sith, for the freedom of this land I love. By
right of wizardry I shall face you, as proclaimed in the Arts of War," the boy
calls out.
Fool. Better to strike in darkness and assure your hand than to fumble
in the light against a stronger foe. "I accept your challenge as proclaimed in
the Arts of War, and shall face you now in the Circles. Any other who shall
face my anger this night?"
No other calls out. The boy’s friends look on him and me with fright,
as they are as certain of the outcome as I am. Death shall visit him tonight.
"To the circles, then," I say. The boy, a strapping youth, quakes with
cold as he prepares for combat. I lead the way through Visith Amoth, weaving
through the tangled passages as though I had lived there all my life.
As I travel to the Circles, I read the thoughts of those around me and
of Arom-Shaleb. Teferi is the boy’s name, and he has studied the arcana at this
Keep for four years. Foreign-born, he came to this Keep for study pursued by
unknown enemies. Probing the thoughts of others, I see that he is a mage of
White and the Pure with little talent or originality; I cannot probe his mind
for it is masked with his own fear. I shall enjoy snapping the life from him
and drinking deeply of his life’s essence, a mere workout for one of my dark
skills.
We descend, plunging down towards the heart of the earth through a hall
of smooth walls. A pinpoint of light lies ahead in the darkness, the Keep’s
Chamber of the Circles. Arom-Shaleb shows me now the beauty of the Chamber, and
my blood seethes with the need to defile it. I will kill the boy here to
blacken the memory of it.
We enter the chamber, and the hollow echoing of our boots upon the
flagstone ends abruptly. The brightness of the Chamber blinds me temporarily,
and my hatred erupts as I see the glory of the Chamber of the Circles with my
own eyes.
I touch the abyss of my soul, and the dark mana welling there comforts
me with its seductive presence. Soon.... soon I will to strike out and claim
the life of this Teferi, but I must hold my sword and take him by his own rules,
the guide of the Arts of War, or my power over this place will be lost and my
conquest fruitless.
He walks towards the left circle, I to the right. Those observers who
followed us, the entire court of Visith Amoth, take to the stands that surround
the dueling plane on all sides. I enter the Circle, a ring of gold inlaid in
whitest marble. My power jumps in my blood, roaring for a furious release.
Again I meditate upon the blackness, honing myself to a razor-edge of death.
Soon I shall spring, to claim him as I have claimed so many others.
The bell tolls, and with a rush of estacy in the taking of life I
release my dark essence into his soul, to drain him of all life.
A circle rises up around him, shimmering force that blocks my damage.
The light forms an armor around his form, a ward of lights to reject my spells.
So he will try to stop me with petty tricks, parlor magic to prevent the
damage I wield like a firebrand. In my thoughts I turn to a braid of lightning
twisting through the sky above Tekeb-Harai, and bend its force to my bidding.
With a thunderous clap the lightning strikes him in the chamber, blinding me and
all who observe. I harness the power of Henneth Amuuth, chaos and destruction,
and send a ball of fire through Teferi’s shields.
Teferi holds the fire back with the force of his will alone, crackling
in the air above us. I try to gain control of it to strike again, but my
attempt is blocked by the strength of an elemental force. Giving up on the
flame, I turn my mind to a second front. As I keep up the struggle to control
the deadly force, I touch the mind of Teferi. Now that he is deep into
concentration, I send a stab of pain, a twist of the mind’s nerves, to break his
hold. I add force to the link I forged between us, pushing agony upon him.
In his weakness I master the flame once more, and send the destruction
upon his mortal frame.
To my great surprise, the flame is again wrestled from my grip and given
a new path, sent to destroy me.
This is no mere second-level mage.
A master of Blue Arts this is, a trickster and dominator.
I walk through Time to regain my advantage.