“Again!” A commanding voice echoed through vast plains of dry, cracked earth where not even a hint of grass grew. Muscles tense from anticipation sprung loose as a group of twenty boys and girls at the cusp of adulthood wearing loose shirts and leggings dyed white to reflect the raging red sun in the sky. Sandaled feet dug into the earth as they roared their defiance. Twenty bronze-tipped spears shot forward in a coordinated thrust, forming a wall of pointed death to an imaginary foe. Quickly, they retracted their spears as one, and thrust once more. Over and over they repeated their task without end.
A bald, muscular, dark-skinned man in a leather vest and leggings watched the group of youths with a single, eagle-like blue eye. A long scar curved down his face where his left eye once resided. Now, only a gaping hole remained. The man didn’t speak beyond the initial command, choosing to merely watch his charges go through their daily drills. When he had first begun training his squad, he had to intervene many times, correcting forms and offering insight on how to strike. Now, they were a well-oiled team that needed little more than a simple command to work in tandem.
Their skin shining with sweat from constant exertion and the oppressive heat of the burning sun. Training in the harshest conditions was mandatory to the people of Lasiya. A lifetime under the scorching sun would forge them into the fierce people that they were today. Life on Iroli was tough, and so the people were forced to make themselves stronger to not only survive, but excel.
“Good.” The man grunted loud enough for the group to hear. They retracted their spears and held them at their sides in unison. “Ready!” he called out once more. In an instant, the twenty youths readied their spears to begin another session of stabbing and retracting. Young faces marred by dust and sweat looked eager for the next command as their muscles coiled, ready to spring once more. “Rest!” the man yelled at the top of his lungs. A few spears shot forward, their wielders not processing the order fast enough to realize their mistake until it was too late. Those quick enough to register what their leader had said placed the butt of their spears upon the desolate land and rested the shaft upon their shoulders before taking a drink of cool water from the animal bladders at their sides.
Light chuckling rung out among those assembled as the offenders stepped forward to face their leader for their mistake. The ground crunched underneath their leader’s sandals as he approached the three who had thrust their spears. Wordlessly, he stood before them with his hands behind his back. He didn’t even need to look at the three offenders with his good eye to know who they were.
“Ashon, Kumil, Rynn.” The man called their names, causing the two boys and girl to straighten their posture. Spears held firmly at their sides but their heads bowed respectfully. Their black hair had been shaved, as was custom among the Lasiyan people. White clothes filthy from dust and dirt and sweat rippled from the slight breeze. Every member of the squad had been through this before, it was not the first mistake among the ranks. But they were the repeat offenders.
“You three are as your spears,” The man rubbed a calloused hand upon the tip of Ashon’s spear, drawing blood. “focused on one thing alone. But we are more than our spears.” He placed his bleeding hand upon the boy’s shoulder, “We are Potters.” His hand moved to Kumil’s, “We are Tanners.” And finally, it reached Rynn’s. “We are Chroniclers.”
“Focus is good, but we should never be as focused as a spear. To be so is to lose sight of all that surrounds us. Mankind are more than our weapons, for we have the ability to create,” he motioned towards his own leather armor, “as well as destroy.” He finished by gesturing towards the barren landscape upon which they all stood. The man stood before them and took a deep breath. “Are you weapons, or are you Lasiyans?”
“Lasiyans, Captain Gondul!” They cried out as one. Captain Gondul stared at each with his single eye and nodded. Ashon had a deep respect for the man who was his Captain. The man had left his lost eye uncovered as a testament to his strength to show that even while wounded, he was still dangerous. Brief hazing over, the three returned to their place in the line.
Every Lasiyan considered their spears, bows, blades, and shields to be their most prized possessions. They did not simply learn combat, they lived it, breathed it, and reveled in it. Every moment in these dangerous lands was a battle to be won. Roaming elementals that could ravage entire scores of land in an instant. Deadly creatures with hides tougher than stone could cleave a man in half without so much as slowing down. But worst of all would be the roving tribes of fellow humans, or worse, that roamed the land, looking for easy prey.
“We’ve done well for today’s drills.” Captain Gondul rumbled as he paced along the line of youths. “Assembly for sparring will begin in two hours time at the town gate after we return. Don’t be late.” He affixed his eye upon Kumil who grinned sheepishly. As he reached the center of the line, he faced the group of young warriors.
“When we are in battle?” He shouted, his voice cracking like thunder across the plains.
“We are relentless!” The group shouted in unison, stamping the butts of their spears into the earth.
“In times of peace?”
“We are tenacious!”
“And when we are called to meet the Gods?”
“We are unbroken!”
“Form up!” Captain Gondul commanded with a grin as the group whooped into the cloudless sky.
The group marched in a double line of ten each. Their pace measured so as to not arrive at their destination exhausted. Over and over, the lesson that an enemy could strike at any time had been heavily drilled into them. None in their formation would be surprised if another group of youths in training had laid an ambush for them on their journey home. Sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, though the ground itself was flat for miles, there was plenty of cover to hide behind. Frequent outcroppings of rocks jutting from the earth stood as a testament to times long past when men wielded magic and waged a war against the Gods.
A war that had torn the world asunder, or so the Chroniclers said.
Ashon scanned the western side from his position in the left line as they marched north. If there were others behind the rocks, it would be impossible to tell until the ambush was sprung. At one point, his body would have felt sore from the constant running, drilling, and exercise. But time had done away with that as sure as the muscles that formed beneath his skin, just as his father said. A few of the boys in his group had once given him no end of grief for coming from a family of potters, but even a potter from Lasiya was a dangerous entity when forced.
All mockery had ended after his first duel.
The march proved uneventful as barren land littered with rocky outcroppings gave way to to uneven tufts of grass and occasional thickets of young trees. The land changed the more they marched north. Grass soon covered the ground like a finely woven carpet as they passed thicker and thicker groves of trees being tended to by men and women who raised a fist in salute, their weapons never more than a few feet from them. The squad returned the unspoken gesture in silence, it wouldn’t be long until they were home.
Untended grassland morphed into an ocean of fields where men and women toiled without complaint. As much arable land as they could manage had been turned into farmland to support the growing population of the nearby city. Healthy green plants budded from the well-maintained land. Ashon looked forward to this year’s harvest, it was a refreshing break from pottery or training. Every able-bodied hand pitched in every harvest, eager to store every last bit of food from the surrounding farmland as they celebrated.
As the squad crested a small hill, large white stone walls shone in the sunlight. The walls of Lasiya, the last settlement of mankind in Iroli. The symphony of crashing of waves carried over from the shores miles to the north, the faint taste of salt upon the air. They were well and truly home.
“Remember, we meet here in two hours time. Keep your spears at your side at all times.” Captain Gondul spoke authoritatively before saluting his squad with a fist over his chest. “Dismissed!” Everyone returned the salute before rushing off into the city itself to return home for a brief respite from the day’s hard training.
Cobbled streets spread throughout Lasiya, forming a connecting grid that made it easy to traverse for the multitudes that lived there. Side streets where the many homes had been built were clearly marked by posts depicting various ancient weapons and symbols. White stone homes had been built just beyond the walls. Closer to the very center of the city were the various shops from Bakers, Potters, and Cooks to Smelters, Smiths, and Tanners. At the direct center of Lasiya stood the most important structure of all, the armory.
Hard stone met leather sandals as Ashon traversed the city, his friends Rynn and Kumil marching alongside him. The streets were currently empty, as the adults would be either outside working the fields, tending the trees, inside the workshops in the city’s center, or off to the east working the mines. Everyone worked, nobody slacked. And if one refused to pull their weight, they were punished.
“You owe me one.” Rynn remarked as she elbowed him, her brown eyes shining mischievously.
“For what?” Ashon raised an eyebrow questioningly as he rubbed his side comedically.
“For thrusting out my spear when you did.” She smirked, “I didn’t want you to feel alone in your embarrassment when getting chewed out by Captain Gondul back there.”
“Right.” Ashon rolled his green eyes and smiled. “You didn’t have to do that, Kumil would have screwed up anyway.”
“I was just tired is all!” Kumil cried out in exasperation. “Honestly, we’d been at the drills for hours without even a break for water!”
“Gondul is known as the toughest Captain for a reason.” Ashon noted, “Thanks to him, we haven’t lost a single skirmish against either of the other squads.” Kumil grumbled in response.
“And whats your excuse Ashon? Why’d you thrust when the call to rest came?” Rynn inquired which made Ashon rub the back of his head sheepishly.
“Daydreaming.” He spoke softly.
“Daydreaming?” Kumil and Rynn looked at one another before shrugging.
“Battle frenzy.” Kumil remarked offhandedly with a self-assured grin. “Ashon was in the middle of a fierce battle against a tribe of Saikkals again.”
“Really? Shouldn’t you imagine something more heroic?” Rynn butted in before Ashon could respond. “Those little ash-skinned devils aren’t exactly much of a threat you know.”
“It was a huge tribe! At least twenty of them against himself!” Kumil snickered.
“It wasn’t that!” Ashon laughed as he fiercely denied his friend’s claims. “I just want to go out and see the world is all.”
“He means he wants to see all the dried, dead earth the world has to offer.” Kumil laughed and waved as he turned off onto the street where his home was. Ashon watched his friend leave.
“Ashon,” Rynn spoke somberly, “the histories say we’ve sent out scouting parties long ago. They found nothing but rock, dust, and crazed tribes eager to kill us. If there are others out there like us, they’re too far to matter. We may as well be alone in this world.” She patted him on the shoulder with a smile, “It would be best to keep your thoughts to our home rather than the world beyond. See you in two hours.” Without another word, she left him to head towards her home further down the main road.
Ashon said nothing as he stared upwards at the blue sky. A few slow moving clouds lazily made their way towards the desolate lands in the south-east. He clenched the spear at his side, wishing he could gaze for just a moment from up in the sky. To be able to see forever, and prove them all wrong. A sigh escaped from within as he turned off onto a street in the opposite direction of Kumil.
White stone houses passed by in a haze as Ashon marched down the street where his home was located. His mind too occupied to watch where he was walking before he collided into another person. Blue sky entered Ashon’s view as he fell backwards from the sudden impact. Reflexively, he threw out his arm to catch his fall and rolled into a kneeling position.
“Good reflexes there, boy.” An unfamiliar voice entered his ears. Ashon looked up to see a man he had never seen before. A face that looked to be not much older than his own father’s stared back at him. A white robe covered the man’s body that looked as if it had just been washed, as it was free of dirt or stains. But unlike most people living in Lasiya, he had no muscles to speak of, as if he had lived a life free from daily training or labor. But despite his appearance, he had not flinched when Ashon had collided into him.
But the most telling of all, was the man’s skin. It was as almost as pale as the clothing he wore. As if the sun hadn’t left it’s mark upon him despite his years. An impossibility in his mind, as only newborns shared the same pale skin.
“Who are you?” Ashon asked wearily as he rose to his feet.
“I suppose that should come first.” The man nodded to himself, “Forgive me, its been awhile.” He bowed to Ashon, “I am Murayas, a historian of sorts.”
“Historian? Ah!” Ashon bowed his head respectfully, “Forgive me for not watching where I was going master Chronicler.”
“Chronicler…” Murayas rubbed his chin thoughtfully before raising a hand to cease Ashon’s bowing “No worries boy, it’ll take more than that to knock me down.” He grinned. “Well, I’ve told you my name, you mind telling me yours?”
“Right,” Ashon nodded, “I am Ashon Deri, apprentice potter.”
“A potter?” Murayas laughed, “Rassalam send me an army of potters then.”
“Rassalam?” Ashon asked.
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“A name that no longer has any meaning.” Murayas chuckled, “A bit of ancient history from the…chronicles.”
“I…see.” Ashon stated, a confused look upon his face. He had heard every story the Chroniclers had shared with the public and had never heard the name before. Was this from something they had refused to share? If it was, why hide it?
“Well then, it has been a pleasure Ashon the Potter, but I must be going.” Murayas bowed and began walking past Ashon, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Wait!” Ashon called out, causing the man to pause.
“Yes?”
“My friend is also a Chronicler. She mentioned that the histories say the outside world is nothing more than desolate land. Is she right?”
A gleam shined in the man’s eyes as he smiled, which made Ashon’s heart soar with hope.
“My boy, she couldn’t be further from the truth. The world is full of wonders both mundane and magical. Broken though it is.”
Without another word, Murayas left Ashon in the street alone. For a moment, Ashon considered following the strange man and seeking more answers to the questions tumbling within his skull. But they could wait until he met the man again. For now, his stomach was yelling at him to fill it. With a grin, Ashon returned to marching towards his home for a quick wash and some food. Afterwords, he would practice the spear to be better prepared for the sparring to come.
Time passed quickly as the group of nineteen young warriors waited outside the town gate. Their leader paced back and forth in front of them irritably until the sound of sandals smacking the ground could be heard.
“Kumil, you’re late again.” Captain Gondul Rukin growled as the boy rushed out of the town’s southern gate. A bundle of wooden staves held underneath his arm.
“Apologies Captain.” He panted, “Won’t happen again.” By the look on everyone’s face, nobody believed him.
“Form up!” His voice boomed, and all followed his command. Grinning boys and girls marched in a double line once more, eager to begin the second stage of their daily training, sparring.
Fertile land gave way to cracked, dry earth as they entered the desolate landscape once more. Training had always taken place in the desolate lands, as fertile land in Lasiya was far too valuable to be trampled underfoot outside of select dirt paths. The squad kept themselves on full alert until they entered a portion of the desolation free from rocky outcroppings. It was here that the sparring would begin.
“Form a line!” Captain Gondul gave a command that was followed as soon as the words left his lips. He walked along the line, trading the trainee’s spears for the wooden staves he carried. Eyes gleamed as they gripped their new weapons, eager to pit themselves against one another. “Ashon and Kumil, you two are first.”
Without a word of protest, the two friends stepped out of the line a few paces before turning to face one another. Their eyes gleamed with purpose as they held their weapons ready. At this moment, their friendship was as distant as the sun itself. There would be a winner, and there would be a loser.
“Begin!”
Hardened wood clashed out in the desolate plains, as staff met staff in a blur of motion. Ashon grimaced as he traded blows with Kumil, knowing full well that if one didn’t take the initiative, the two would be at this until they were too tired to continue. Seeking a quick end, Ashon drew back before swinging his spear downwards in a horizontal smash. Kumil dodged backwards after blocking Ashon’s initial overhead strike, causing the follow-up stab to miss him entirely. In the brief moment where Ashon had extended, Kumil struck with an upwards swing of his own staff. Wood smashed upon wood as Ashon took a knee for stability and spun his staff to parry the incoming strike. With Kumil’s attack disrupted, Ashon swung his staff horizontally from his position.
Kumil jumped over the swing with a quick leap towards Ashon, his staff held ready for a quick stab as he fell towards the ground. Ashon rolled forward past his friend before jumping to his feet. Kumil’s strike met air, and was swiftly rewarded with a strike across his back.
“No jumping!” Captain Gondul shouted from the sidelines. The sound of snickering tore through the heat of battle.
“Yaltiks take you Ashon.” Kumil winced as he spun with a swing of his weapon while retreating. Ashon said nothing as he launched a barrage of stabs towards Kumil. Wood cracked against wood as each strike was parried with precision. With a roar, Kumil spun to the side, dodging another stab, and swung his staff in tandem with his spin.
Like a serpent waiting to strike, Ashon countered the swing with one of his own before rushing forward before Kumil could recover. In an instant, Ashon’s hands gripped Kumil’s wrists, fingers digging in to the pressure points underneath the skin. Kumil cried out as he was forced to drop his weapon which Ashon quickly kicked away.
“Enough!” Captain Gondul called. As soon as the words left him, the two friends separated and stood in a relaxed posture. “Good job Ashon. Kumil, how many times do I have to remind you, no jumping during combat?”
“My mistake Captain. It was the only opportunity I saw at the time.”
“And Ashon overextended in the beginning. But this is why we train.” Gondul announced to everyone present, “So we don’t make these mistakes when we finally face a real foe.” He affixed Kumil with his eye, “Kumil and Yoln, you two are up next.”
“But-” Kumil started to protest.
“But what Kumil?” Captain Gondul’s tone brokered no argument.
“Nothing Captain.” Kumil sighed and readied his staff as a large boy rippling with muscle stepped forth.
Ashon walked back to the line and Kumil’s second duel began in earnest. His eyes followed every strike, dodge, parry, and counter with precision. By the two minute mark, Ashon knew Kumil was going to win despite being winded from his earlier bout. Yoln had great strength behind every blow due to working the mines alongside his father and had even landed a few blows against Kumil. But Kumil struck with a speed that demanded one always be on the defensive, and for every blow Yoln had given, he had taken five in turn.
“Enough!” Captain Gondul yelled and the two fighters separated, panting and sweating. “Good job both of you. Kumil and Rynn, you two are up next.” Kumil swallowed heavily, but made no effort to oppose their grinning Captain. He should have known better than to be late for lineup after being told explicitly to not be. In the end, Kumil had fought five sparring matches in a row, losing all but his fight against Yoln.
As the sun turned the sky a wash of crimson and gold as it touched the horizon, Gondul had called for the day’s practice to end. Once everyone’s staves were collected and spears returned, they formed into the standard double line marching formation and began their trek home. Ashon felt more at ease with his spear in hand. Dangerous creatures lurked the darkness of the desolate wastes, and even marching home at sunset posed its own risks. Risks that, fortunately, hadn’t bared their fangs for another night.
“I’m home.” Ashon called out into the candlelit home as he passed through the thin cloth acting as a door. The smell of stew beckoned him as he slipped off his sandals among the others just beyond the door and leaned his spear against the wall with the rest.
“Welcome home dear.” His mother called from the kitchen beyond the den. “Supper is hot and ready.”
“How was sparring practice?” His father asked as he entered the kitchen. The muscular man already eagerly devouring the bowl of soup before him juices staining his thick beard.
“Won four of my five bouts.” Ashon proudly stated as he sat at the table between his mother and father.
“Thats our boy.” His mother smiled, “I’ve even received requests from other families for you to form a union with their daughters.”
“Mother!” Ashon cried out as he coughed up a mouthful of soup.
“Shes right son.” His father stated as he slurped up a spoonful of stew. “You’re almost a man now, its time to start thinking about a future partner.”
“What about that chronicler girl, Rynn?” His mother asked curiously. “The two of you are together an awful lot I hear.”
“We’re in the same squad.” Ashon huffed. “Of course we’re together a lot.”
“I’ve heard that the two of you are often seen together outside of training.” His father mumbled with a smirk.
“Can we not talk about this now?” Ashon asked over a mouthful of stew.
“I’m just suggesting you find a suitable union member for yourself before we’re forced to do so for you.” His mother stated. Ashon sighed,
“I’ll think about it.” he said as he pushed his bowl away before jumping up from his seat. “I’ll be back later!”
His mother and father watched him rush from the room with smiles upon their faces. They didn’t need to ask to know he was going to the town square to listen to the Chroniclers speak of the world’s history, or their own.
“If we don’t find someone to bind him soon, he’ll end up running off on his own someday.” His father chuckled.
“I’ve a few promising matches already lined up.” His mother smiled mischievously. She knew her son wouldn’t take the initiative to ask a girl to be bound to him. An arraigned binding would have to do.
“He may not like that.” His father rubbed his beard contemplatively.
“He wont. But sometimes the best things that happen in our lives are the ones forced upon us.” She smiled as she placed her hand over her husband’s.
Ashon ran through the cobbled streets that were now filled with people heading home for the night. But for the younger generations, the night was theirs to sit in the town center and listen to the Chroniclers tales of times when the world was whole. When their ancestors fought valiantly against the very Gods. The Gods themselves sought to destroy the world in retribution for their ancestors’ impudence, but they had failed. Mankind remained, relentless, tenacious, and unbroken. When he reached the town center however, a curious sight made him gape in shock. There were far more than the younger generations watching the performance. Men and women with gray in their hair muttered amongst themselves as they watched a young Chronicler give an impassioned speech.
A familiar young Chronicler, Murayas.
“I speak of course of ancient Pilval!” He shouted, gesturing wildly with his arms. “A city so grand that it had made the Gods green with envy! Buildings roofed in gold that reached into the sky, touching the very heavens! A city so massive, it had covered the land as far as the eye could see! One could walk for an entire day and would just barely reach the middle. Where hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of all races and creeds lived together as one!
“A city where mankind lived alongside the ash-skinned Saikkal who once cared for the dead in grand ceremonies that brought all to tears. Where the winged Yaltiks soared the skies from their nests atop the tallest towers, granting fair and just law to all who lived within the city itself. The massive Gulnds who worked with meticulous hands to forge the greatest works of the city itself. Ulurs who blazed far hotter than the largest pyre, brought warmth to all during the harsh winters where white rain blanketed the earth. And finally, the Dartyns who worked their great magic to ensure a successful harvest each and every year. Without whom, the city itself would surely starve.”
Murayas continued his tale of this unimaginable city from a time long past. Ashon could scarcely believe his ears at such a tale. And the passion with which he spoke, as if he had experienced the city itself first hand. Not a soul dared speak out to disrupt the man’s story, as all were absorbed within the majestic world that the man had spun for them. If Ashon closed his eyes, he felt he could see the city itself, with its massive spires of gold and silver.
“I figured you’d be here.” A familiar voice spoke from beside him. He turned to see a rather distraught-looking Rynn. “You always did love the stories.”
“Is it wrong to appreciate history?” He asked with a raised brow.
“No, there is nothing wrong with learning of history.” She sighed, “But this stranger is speaking nothing but lies. There is no record in the chronicles about a city of gold. This is nothing more than a fanciful tale, enthralling though it may be.”
“Stranger?” Ashon asked. “You don’t know him? I thought all Chroniclers knew one another.”
“He is not one of us.” She whispered cautiously. “He dresses like we do, but we know nothing of him. Not even his name. The elders are currently waiting to see how this turns out, but we may have to intervene at some point.”
“He said his name was Murayas.” Ashon stated as he listened to the man’s tale shifted to that of the ancient Kings of Pilval.
“You know him?” Rynn asked with a perplexed expression.
“I bumped into him when we returned before sparring.” Ashon turned to her with a wide grin, “If he truly is a stranger, that surely must mean that there are others like us out there! I asked him about the world outside our city before he rushed off earlier. Do you want to hear what he said?”
“What?”
“That the world is full of wonders both magical and mundane.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he returned his attention to the storyteller.
“Though the peace between all lasted for centuries upon centuries, all things must end eventually. As time passed, the people’s faith in the Gods waned. Furious, the Gods sought to destroy Pilval as a message to all who lived in the world. Earthquakes rocked the land, but were quelled by the Gulnds’ mastery over the earth. Hurricanes and cyclones surged towards the city, but were unraveled by the many Yaltiks who countered the storms. Waves larger than the tallest buildings were brought low by the Dartyns who dwelt beneath the waves. Enraged, the Gods sent balls of flame that rained from the sky, only to be snuffed out by the Ulurs.
“Enraged that the Gods would do such a thing to their homes, worship turned to scorn. The people of Pilval destroyed all representations of their Gods. Pictures were burned, statues shattered, monuments topped, and their very names were torn from all scriptures that mentioned them. Many hoped that such actions would send a message to the Gods. A message to let them live in peace, free from their influence. But, as you all well know, the Gods are not kind.”
Murayas paused to regard his captivated audience, “But that is a story for another time.” He laughed, “Until we meet again, good people of Lasiya!” without another word, the man sprinted off into the night. Shock gripped all who had watched the man, and the call to catch him went out too late. Like a shooting star, the man had disappeared just as quickly as he had arrived.
Rynn looked thoughtful as she regarded where the man had recently spun his story. Excited conversation erupted in the plaza as the people discussed the night’s tale. Many shared the view that tonight’s story was far more enthralling than a mere repetition of history. It made people wonder just how grand the world had once been. Grown men and women hounded the Chroniclers, asking if the next part of the story would come tomorrow night. Most simply left after a recounting of the histories, but the people lingered. They spoke with such passion to one another as they discussed the tale they had just heard.
“But it was just a story…” Rynn mumbled to herself.
“It was a good story though.” Ashon chuckled. “I hope he comes back again tomorrow. I have questions I want to ask him.”
Rynn gazed at the crowd of people that were repeating the man’s words. “I’m sure you aren’t the only one Ashon.” She sighed, “In fact, I know you aren’t.”
Murayas laughed as he ran east through grassy plains that turned into a desolate waste. Moon and starlight illuminated the darkness just enough for him to see. He could hardly recall the last time he had to run so far, so fast to evade his pursuers. “Those Lasiyans are true warriors.” He grinned as he leaped over a mound of rocks jutting from the earth. “A shame they were born in this broken age. We could have used men and women like them, couldn’t we Rassalam?” he mused, wondering just how things would have turned out had he an army of them in those ancient times. “We’d have killed the bastards, thats for damn sure.” He grimaced as history raced through his mind. Their hopes, their resolve, their failure, and above all, their final act of defiance.
A faint pulsing within his mind guided Murayas as he raced towards the massive mountain range in the distance. The first of his goals was here somewhere in these mountains. It had taken many lifetimes, but he was finally in the right place at the right time. Nothing would stand between him and his goal. Soon he would hold one of the keys to this world’s salvation. And then he would kill a God.