In the heart of Sawla city, Mulay Næyr III, Sultan of Drakar and the Eastern Isles rested, his keen eyes closed as he surrendered to the swirling tunes of the chanted poem he adored.
In Our protection, humble be,
faithful and mighty is Our decree.
Every matter, great and small,
in Our command, shall fall.
The symphony of the private concert resounded around the corners of the grand chamber, and reddish moonlight filtering in from the arched windows.
His mind hummed along with the Godly melodies. His favorite few strains of the poem were close as the fantastic Um Alghæth, nicknamed the Star of the middle-lands, hit a few wonderful vocal notes that blended masterfully with the oud that accompanied her.
The world’s your cradle, by Our Grace,
through life's trials, we guide your pace.
From mothers' wombs to elders' rest,
Return to Us, your ever quest.
Um Alghæth’s almond eyes invited the gaze of the sultan, and the contours of her figure, wrapped in a vibrant robe, evoked the undulating curves of the northern dunes and enticed him so. But the sultan wouldn’t indulge her yet, for soon his visitors would arrive.
Mulay Naer awaited, the arrival of Sinmar Aviram, his half-brother and Nævysa Aviram the longtime paramour of his late father.
Mother and son were fullborn elves.
Theirs was a lineage steeped in a realm of alchemy beyond the grasp of men.
Both Sinmar and Mulay Naer were sons of the late sultan Diae III, but despite Sinmar's paternal ties to noble drakari bloodline, he possessed the characteristic of elvian heritage. The factor that marked him as fullborn was his rare and complete alchemical clairvoyance, a trait not tied to the purity of elvian blood.
“The world is complex, a prism refracting myriad realities, and the elvian clairvoyance is a looking glass into these dimensions unseen to your eye,” his half-brother had explained to the then crown prince Næyr, when they were younger.
Sinmar, like his mother, possessed this uncanny ability to perceive layers of existence hidden to men, an esoteric skill that fueled their proficiency in alchemy, the elusive discipline that was the backbone of the United Elvian Republic. This enigmatic art, shrouded in mystery to men, had shaped the Elvian society into a powerhouse of knowledge and technical mastery.
The grandeur of the chamber's doors gave a low groan as they opened, grasping the sultan’s attention and unveiling Sinmar Aviram, trailed by his mother Nævysa. They had arrived by appointment, summoned to discuss the Sultan's novel enterprise.
The peculiar elvian bastard prince garbed in the traditional white wool Jellaba, yellow shoes, and red hat, cut an odd figure as his silver hair, pointy ears, and eerie silver eyes stood in stark contrast to his traditional attire. His skin was as pale as northern elves but had a darker complexion to it, an eerie skin tone and unique to house Avriam.
Sinmar’s presence was like an unseen glow of a moon, magnetic and imperceptible to the naked eye, yet its silent pull was felt in the depths of one's soul. The Sultan, though trained to resist the spiritic pull of the fullborns, couldn't help but feel an unsettling admiration for Sinmar. The love he held for his older brother, mixed with his trained resistance to the fulloborn elves, created a storm within him.
“Blessed be your reign sidi,” Sinmar bowed as he greeted the sovereign in the traditional allegiance words, his lips brushing the gems on his younger brother's hand.
His subservience to the Drakari practices, despite his elvian heritage, never failed to bring a cringe to his mother's face.
Nævysa, longtime paramour of his father, greeted the Sultan with a respectful nod, the glow of her aura remaining unperturbed.
“Lumien Nævysa, Lumien Sinmar,” the Sultan returned the greeting, speaking the formal title of the fullborn elves in the United Elvian Republic. He then took Sinmar into a warm embrace.
The chamber filled with the last, hauntingly beautiful verses of the religious poem sung by Um Alghæth, the echoes of the words hanging in the air, a melodious prayer.
Sinmar approached the Sultan, his silver eyes gleaming. “Mulay, it warms my heart to see you at ease on your throne. Congratulations on your first year of reign.”
“Thank you, dear brother. It is a joy to see you again. The palace is brighter with your presence.”
“You honor me Mulay. How fares Lalla, the Sultana?”
“O, the poor woman… Lalla Soraya eagerly awaits her labors. The child, already exhibiting a strong will, is quite a load to bear…”
“A blessing surely. May the Lord make your child a boy, strong and healthy to carry your legacy."
“Ameen, Brother. Thank you. Your compliance to drakari tradition, even after our father's passing, warms my heart."
Sinmar's gaze softened at the mention of their father. “The late sultan, stern in appearance and sharp in words…,” he began, prompting a shiver from his mother Nævysa, “… was indeed a formidable figure. But it wasn't his rigidity that bonded me to our Drakar. It was his softer side, his comforting embraces, his wisdom, and his playful spirit.”
Laughter burst from the Sultan, “Wah, he had a particular fondness for teasing you. All those pointy-ear-related nicknames...”
“The best of them all had to be 'Whisper-fetcher'.”
“Oho, ‘Winged-head’ was far better!”
Nævysa's frown softened into a knowing chuckle, a quiet reprimand for their boyish banter. The Sultan and Sinmar sobered quickly, the laughter dying from their lips as if they were children once again, chided by a mother. Despite his discomfort towards the deference, he owed to the elves, given that his land was a dominion of their republic, Mulay Næyr was careful not to risk offending them—especially not an ally as significant as Nævysa.
“My apologies, Lumien,” he quickly offered. “We got carried away in our mirth, seeing each other after a long time. Let us get down to our business; you should not be kept waiting. We can reminisce about our father later.” His voice commanded authority, subtly reminding Nævysa that, despite the respect he showed, he remained the one in control.
A sly smile touched Nævysa's lips at his assertion.
“As you will, Mulay,” Sinmar agreed with a playful wink.
“Lumien, the entertainment industry is a potent political weapon. The Pandemonium presents an unchartered frontier. It's essential that Drakar does not lag behind. I would ask you to please report your progress.”
Mother and son had been key to the creation of Blazer Sports Unlimited, the latest addition to the Sultan's ever-expanding corporate empire. The genius of his late father had brought about several wisdoms, most importantly that battles no longer remained confined to terrains, mountains, or seas. Under the United Elvian Republic's rule, the battlefield had evolved, moving to marketplaces, boardrooms, and now the entertainment industry—particularly the bloody, high-stakes fighting sports in the Pandemonium arenas.
“Zomrod…, as you know, I would love for the company to sign him.”
“Brother, I understand your fascination with Zomrod, yet I advise against pursuing this path,” Sinmar solemnly said.
Without another word, he reached into his brown leather bag and produced a dossier, handing it to the Sultan. As the Sultan perused the documents, his eyes fell upon a series of newspaper clippings that traced the tumultuous life of Zomrod. Images of him from a decade ago, standing trial for the illegal sale of alchemical narcotics and receiving his sentence, stared back at him. His punishment had been converted into a twenty-year stint in the republican fighting pits known as the Pandemonium.
“He was once a criminal, Mulay,” Sinmar insisted, “I fear your reputation be tarnished by association. I strongly discourage it.”
The Sultan sighed. “I know this, he was indeed a criminal, but now he's a popular fighter, proudly bearing our flag. The point of those damned fighting pits is redemption, is it not?”
Sinmar's smile faltered, clearly hesitant to disagree with his brother's assessment.
“I'm not sure, Mulay...”
“Your Majesty,” Nævysa, interrupted, her tone resolute. “Zomrod is currently off the roster...”
“I'm aware,” the Sultan replied curtly, “He suffered grave injuries at the hands of that Xalarian, I know. However, Sin- Lumien Sinmar explained that Wonder Studios is initiating an alchemical rehabilitation program. Lumien, you were supposed to assess the scenario where we sign him and you oversee the rehabilitation, given your extensive military experience.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. We have assessed that scenario. The capital expenditure would be exorbitant... It's a highly uncertain investment, and the level of return we compute does not warrant such a risk. The details of the figures are laid in the dossier my son has handed you.”
Sinmar quickly added, “As I explained that day Mulay, the most fruitful approach would be to field three or four fighters this season to mitigate risks and diversify our assets... Putting everything on Zomrod, especially in his current condition, would be an ill-advised strategy.”
The Sultan released a resigned sigh, his eyes reflecting his inner turmoil. The vivid dreams he had of the man, Zomrod, persisted. If these premonitions were true, Zomrod was the key to their independence from elvian rule. His gaze wandered to the auburn moonlight filtering through the arched window, where he could hear the giggles of his harem in the distance.
He remembered his father's words, whispered in this very room years ago, "The threads of fate are gentle, their craft ever subtle. However far you gaze into the path they weave, tread with care in the present, lest they unravel or knot.”
Another sigh escaped him as he offered them a reassuring smile.
“Fair enough, I will study the dossier, but let us explore alternatives in the meantime,” he conceded.
Sinmar gifted his brother with a reassuring smile. “Our alternatives are quite intriguing,” he confided, “I'm eager for you to see...”
“That's promising. Tell me, do these alternatives include the fabled, yet elusive, alchemy – the one you call the ‘Aviram Process’?” he queried with a nonchalant curiosity.
Nævysa's eyes widened in surprise as she looked around cautiously, obviously not keen on discussing such sensitive information.
Sensing her apprehension, the Sultan quickly signaled to his musicians to resume their music. The melodious strumming of the oud filled the room, followed by the soft rhythm of drums, and then the enchanting voice of Um Alghæth began her song.
“Fear not, Lumien,” the Sultan reassured, “There is no greater sanctuary than under the cloak of music. None shall overhear us, except the Almighty.”
Nævysa responded with a polite smile.
“My son will elaborate on the various candidates we've shortlisted,” she assured, “Some indeed possess the potential to undergo the ‘Aviram Process’- The same alchemy I dedicated my life to. However, I want you to grasp the implications that extend beyond the mediatic theatrics.”
The Sultan's heartbeat quickened in anticipation as he eagerly awaited Nævysa's explanation. A contemplative silence descended upon the room, broken only by the soothing serenade of Um Alghæth.
“In the military industry,” Nævysa began, her tone steady and clear, “we have seen myriad enhancements serve as significant power moves. As you know, the central dominance of the Republic boasts two hundred thousand soldiers, half of whom are equipped with basic enhancements such as strength and speed boosts. Nearly thirty thousand have bones transmuted into metal, with special units boasting a staggering seventy or eighty percent Arcanium7 in their bone structure. Even in the south, the Xalarians have been lavished with alchemical weaponry to strengthen their armies against the looming threat of the ogres beyond the Monstrous Sea. I know about your vision of an alchemical army of fire... it is formidable however difficult to achieve in the current political climate.”
The Sultan responded quietly, “that was my father's dream.”
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“I'm well aware of that, Your Majesty,” Nævysa replied, her voice softening slightly. “But there is power beyond that.”
“Power beyond an army of enhanced soldiers? Of men with the abilities of dragons?” The Sultan's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Wah,” Sinmar answered solemnly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We, elves, are engaged in a race to achieve a unique grade of alchemy.”
The Sultan's face twisted in a grimace. Every time he sought technical information about alchemy, he encountered elusive answers from the Elves. They would claim certain things were beyond the comprehension of non-clairvoyant beings, akin to explaining the concept of color to a blind person. But the Sultan refused to be placated by vague talk of tremendous powers without understanding their exact nature.
With a firm frown, he turned to his brother. “You will explain this, Sinmar. As best you can,” he ordered, his tone unyielding.
Sinmar glanced at his mother, who frowned back at him. He nodded to his brother. “Wah, Mulay,” he replied hurriedly, keen to defuse any tension. “It's a quest to connect man to the moon.”
The Sultan's eyes widened, and his heart started to race. Would his brother suggest heresy?
“The tales of the old fire empire tell of a dragon rider that called upon the moonlight to descend upon the land,” began Naevysa.
“Careful,” advised the sultan, “I will not tolerate profanation of our scripture.”
Sinmar smiled nervously at him again hoping to reassure him, but the Sultan evaded his gaze to listen further to Naevysa.
“Elvian studies, find traces of a powerful might that descended upon the old Fire Empire…shattering the northeast lands of the continent.”
The sultan nodded.
“The scriptures tell the tale of divine wrath descending upon the old empire as He-who-first-rode-the-dragons called down the moonlight.”
“What If we can access a power to that likeness?” argued Naevysa her eyes fixed on the sultan, as a fox on its prey.
The sultan’s heart started racing. They are indeed difilling the first rider’s memory…
At last, the Sultan spoke, his voice echoing with trepidation. “You mean to recreate the First Rider's miracle with your alchemy?” He queried.
“It's not just us,” responded Nævysa with unwavering resolve, “it's every elf with a hint of clairvoyance. If such a power exists that could pull the moonlight to the earth, annihilating half a continent … The Republic would surely endeavor to harness it!”
The Sultan exhaled a deep breath. Despite the heretical nature of her words, he had to engage with her, to extract as much information as he could.
“But that was the divine act of God. How could you... how could you even conceive...”
“That's the essence of alchemy, Mulay,” Sinmar interjected, his voice a calm lull in the storm. “We emulate God's creation. There are those who deemed our art as unlawful imitation of the Almighty's work, yet the Shrine of Drakar long ago decreed it permissible, citing the Rider's laws which champion endeavors for the common good.”
“But how can unleashing weapons of mass destruction be for the common good?”
“Can't you understand?” Nævysa retorted, frustration in her voice evident. “You must capture that power for Drakar, or you risk extinction. Win the race then use it for common good! Wield it as a deterrent to prevent other Elvian factions from securing it. It's not a choice, but a necessity... Your Majesty.”
The Sultan's heartbeat quickened. What was this heresy? The idea of recreating the First Rider's miracle was so blasphemous that it made his stomach roil.
“Explain further this alchemy,” he requested, making an effort to retain his composure.
Sinmar's response came softly, “The soul shares a unique connection with the moon and other celestial bodies. To simplify in a metaphor, if we delve deep into the hearts of man, we discover the sky. As above, so it is within. Our hope is to transmute one of our soldiers into a door for the moon's power... Bring moonlight crashing down onto entire cities. Show our might before the Elvian capital and secure our independence.”
The Sultan's heart thundered within his chest.
“Mulay,” Sinmar implored, “Blazer Sports Unlimited could serve as an effective facade for our experiments. To ease your concerns, I can even ensure a study be conducted to verify compliance with the Laws of the Riders."
The tension in the room was severed by Nævysa's laughter, earning her a sharp glare from the Sultan.
He would not have her make light of his faith.
“Lumien, your contributions have been substantial. The discussion fruitful,” A pause hung heavy in the room. “Yet, I sense you must be weary. We'll reconvene tomorrow.”
The weight of his words settled around them, the pause transforming into a palpable tension that gripped the room. Nævysa met his frosty gaze with a smile, just as cold. Her marble exterior belied a shrewd mind honed by a lifetime spent in the political twilight that lay between the Sultanate of Drakar and the United Elvian Republic.
“Naturally, Your Majesty.” Her words were carefully crafted ice shards. “It seems a brotherly reunion is in order. Do have a pleasant evening.”
There was a fleeting moment where their eyes locked, the unspoken words buzzing in the space between them. Then, gracefully, she rose from her seat and exited the room, leaving the brothers in a tense silence.
***
As Nævysa departed, a solemn silence hung in the room, pierced only by Um Alghæth's swinging voice. The Sultan found himself drawn to her song, consciously avoiding Sinmar's gaze.
“How is she treating you?” Inquired the young sovereign finally, hinting at Nævysa Aviram’s horrendous temperament and lack of motherly warmth.
“As dreadful as ever,” Sinmar confessed with a rueful grin. “With each passing year, she grows more bitter… In her own twisted way, I know she loves me, but it's a tough love to bear.”
“I can't bring myself to trust her. Our father felt the same.”
“Neither can I. But I understand her. Her hatred for the republic runs deep, and an enemy of our enemy can become a powerful ally.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Oho, but she's an extraordinarily gifted alchemist. It's a gamble worth taking.”
“We drakari have lost more gambles than we can count. In our defeat, all that is left to us is our faith… You would have me defile it ?”
“She will persist in exploring that alchemy, brother, even against your will. I was the one who suggested discussing this issue with you, out of loyalty… But she wanted to carry out our research behind your back.”
“And how about you? If I forbid you, would you pursue that alchemy?" the Sultan retorted.
Sinmar heaved a sigh. “Oho, I pledged my word to our father, my loyalty to you is unwavering. However, you would be making a serious error, brother.”
The Sultan's thoughts ran wild. Sinmar's logic seemed sound. If all elves were striving to build such a weapon, and if the elviandom succeeded first, they could gain unprecedented power and fully annex Drakar and the Eastern Isles… Even worse, if the Xalarians obtained this power, they could completely obliterate Drakar.
Sinmar looked at his brother, apologetic, implying the absence of a choice. It was a matter of survival.
“Mulay, you know I am well-versed in religious matters. I am sincere about complying with the Laws of the First Rider. I do not wish to offend your spiritual sensibility.”
“I know,” the Sultan acknowledge.
“I fear we have no choice,” the elf persisted.
The Sultan's eyes drifted from his brother to the mesmerizing songstress. Um Alghæth's voice, sensuous and haunting, spun a melody of moonlight and desert wind. Each note a tantalizing promise in the eyes of the sultan. Yet she no longer invited his gaze, her eyes were elsewhere, curiously locked onto his brother, stirring a twinge of irritation within the Sultan.
Despite his title, his grandeur, it seemed that woman was far more intrigued by his elvian brother.
“She's beautiful,” Sinmar suddenly remarked, nodding towards Um Alghæth in an attempt to shatter the quiet. “I hope you haven't decided on the maiden you'll gift me tonight; I would love to lay with this songstress.”
The Sultan glanced at Sinmar, a smile creeping onto his face. Before his death, the late sultan, Diae III had their sons vow to remain loyal to each other. And so, his older brother, had always stood by him, guiding, and advising him, always considering his best interests.
“In this sick modern world, she would likely prefer the fullborn elf to his Sultan brother,” he finally stated.
Sinmar chuckled. “Perhaps you are right mulay. My apologies.”
“O well … If God wills it, my heir is on his way. You offer better prospects as I imagine she wishes she could bear a new fullborn to the Republic,” joked the sultan.
“Her voice is captivating. Perhaps I will grant her that wish,” he winked.
The sultan smiled amused. “Then you should seek your pleasure. Your forthcoming endeavors will no doubt be challenging.”
Sinmar's eyes sparkled. “Does that mean I have your approval to pursue the moonlight alchemy?”
“If I grant you permission to proceed with this, who would be in control of the weapon?”
“You would dear brother,” promised Sinmar, “I would make sure of that. You know I have no love for the godless republic, all I do is for God, our Motherland and my Sultan.”
Sinmar approached his younger brother, knelt at his feet, and gently kissed his hand. The Sultan's eyes welled up at his brother's words. He placed an affectionate kiss on Sinmar's forehead.
The sultan knew the only power he truly held was over his brother’s heart. The bastard elvian prince was his most significant ally in this duplicitous, cynical world, filled with hollow promises and corrupt values.
He would choose to trust him, and hoped the Almighty would bless their endeavors.
“I understand the predicament we are in,” the Sultan responded. “As long as you keep your promise to our father, then you have my blessing.”
He returned his brother's smile.
“You honor me Mulay,” said Sinmar as he bowed to his brother, his eyes gleaming with pride.
Rising, Sinmar relocated to a seat beside him, reaching for the nearby sheesha. He took a puff and passed the instrument to the Sultan.
Drawing in a deep breath from the water pipe, the Sultan advised, “Please consider siring an heir. Your council as a fullborn has brought me solace. I'd wish for the same for my successors.”
Sinmar agreed, “The crown does indeed weigh heavily. Yet, remember I am young. And we elves outlive your kind. My mother was fifty when she birthed me, and even that was deemed young for elves.”
The Sultan knew this well; his father, who lived for sixty years, was considered long-lived among men, whereas elves, especially fullborns, often saw up to a hundred and sixty years. If God willed it, Sinmar was likely to outlive him and even see his grandchild ascend the throne.
“Are you still plagued by visions?” Sinmar inquired, a clear relief in his tone after gaining the Sultan's blessing.
The weight of the crown felt all the more oppressive to the Sultan in that moment.
Exhausted, Mulay Næyr closed his eyes, and the visions he shared with Zomrod came flooding back. He saw the emerald fighter amongst a legion of dragons. Was he destined to be a dragon rider? The auburn moon, a golden-eyed Drakari youth breathing fire under a green star, and a mysterious, pale woman with floral tattoos on her bald head, threatening to bring everything down. All these images seemed somehow linked to the Pandemonium and the alchemy Sinmar had mentioned. Could he be the prophesied Sultan who would bring Drakar its independence?
“Wah, the visions persist,” he admitted dismissively, trying to suppress the growing discomfort in his heart. Seeking to quell the tempest in his thoughts, he reached for the dossier Sinmar had given him earlier. “Let's shift our focus to the warriors you've shortlisted for enrollment.”
Alfianiya’s Murders Reveal Underworld Constantly at War
“Get Ætizzem,” says the sultan’s guard whenever gangster’s weapons bark – Axeel Ætizzem gives his side of it
AlfIanya city, Dawning 894– They begin hunting for Axeel Ætizzem Aka ‘Zomrod’, afresh from every time alchemical breezes blow from the muzzles of gangster rifles and machine guns in the city of Alfianya.
Blame for more bloodshed and defiance has been placed on ‘Zomrod’ than on any resident of the United Elvian Republic and certainly in its fifth dominion, the sultanate of Drakar.
Dubbed ‘Zomrod’ meaning emerald in ancient Drakari, for his supposed emerald filled brass, Ætizzem, lounging in his Riyadh at Alfianya city, east of the sultanate, lifts a bejeweled finger and a voice of insistent denial. “I’m innocent,” said the 30-year-old, “I’m a gambler and businessman, but I’m not in the murder game and I know nothing about cinder dealings or the businesses of any other illegal alchemical substances.” […]
Tumultuous trial ends with ‘Cinder’ conviction
“The eastern regions of the sultanate of Drakar have been cleansed from the vermin festering in its cities,” says the Sultan’s prosecutor.
The Republican court had been developing evidence on tax evasion charges against Axeel Ætizzem– Aka ‘Zomrod’ – since the last Blue Moon.
On Grimm, 896, ‘Zomrod’ pled guilty to tax evasion and prohibition charges. “We struck a deal for a two-and-a-half-year sentence,” said Ætizzem, but the presiding judge informed him he, the judge, was not bound by any deal. ‘Zomrod’ then changed his plea to not guilty.
The investigation on the accounts of tax evasion is still ongoing yet the sultan’s procurer maintains his opinions of the frivolity of such an investigation. “How can tax evasion accounts for coins made illegally, stand in a trial?”
Here, even though the sultanate of Drakar is a dominion of the United Elvian Republic, its relatively independent judiciary body came in handy. The Sultan’s procurer kept pushing in the dominion’s court for murder charges and accounts of dealings of illegal alchemical substances.
On Frosting, 898, ‘Zomrod’ was found guilty in the Sultan’s court on the content of the charges and was sentenced to a lifetime in Sawla city Jail. His appeal on those charges was subsequently dismissed. […]
Drakar’s ‘Zomrod’ will become join the Pandemonium!
The drakari heroes will finally be given leading roles in the Pandemonium now that a major villain has entered the scene.
[…] At the dawn of the 10th Century, Drakar’s first ever villain will make his debut in the republican fighting pits. The sultan’s court of Drakar has approved Ætizzem’s contract with Wonder Studio. This alchemical enhancement program, dubbed ‘project Zomrod’ over Ætizzem’s criminal name, is set to last a little over a year after which the ex-mobster boss will become a Dæmon and compete in the Pandemonium.
"We are greatly enthused about 'Project Zomrod'," stated Riven Vircaryn, Chief Alchemist at Wonders Entertainment Studio. "The fans are in for a spectacular treat. Our immediate enhancement objectives encompass an estimated 50% increase in resilience and strength, as well as a 5% surge in speed. Additionally, we're in the process of designing some groundbreaking integrated weaponry that will unquestionably enthrall our supporters."
However, not everyone shares this sense of anticipation. A chorus of dissenting voices echoes across the republic, arguing that the first Drakari to step into the Pandemonium should not bear the stains of a criminal past. They argue, this choice furthers the stereotype that the Drakari are cunning opportunists, who maneuver their central geographical position to feast on unearned and often criminal margins after their Northern and Southern counterparts do their business.
If the objective of the Pandemonium is to foster unity by providing a platform for healthy rivalry, a space where sportsmanship and honor hold court, then a more appropriate candidate should be chosen. Rather than endorsing the entry of a known criminal like Zomrod, a true Drakari hero should be selected to represent the republic's second-largest dominion.