Good evening, my dear Snow Elves, most of you reading this know me and have been longing for me to write again. A little story first though. I have finished an entire story of my own but have so far not found an agent willing to publish it. Though because of a serious personal trauma (that I may or may not choose to share with you later) I have been suffering from writers block. I lack motivation to write and have stopped actively looking for agents. So, my dear Snow Elves, it's your job to get me motivated again.


Up.

Hold.

Down.

Up.

Hold.

Down.

Repeat.

The sit-ups were easy, rhythmical and a routine that had long since lost its purpose. What good did these exercises do her? What use did she have of the hours and hours of training she went through every day? What good did her healthy diet do her? What she could do was nothing like anyone else could do. This wasn't due to her eating or her training, nor due to meditation or anything else said to be healthy for the human body. It just was.

Why continue practice? In the last three hundred years she had no use of her abilities. Carolus Rex had been a disappointment, wars had become a disappointment. He had been a tactical genius, he had known how to inspire his troops, but he had been proud, suffered a great deal from hubris and unbearably religious. Since then and the crushing defeat at Poltava she had realized that war was no longer her place.

War had changed, it was no longer the same thing as she had been trained for. She could no longer be the difference between victory or defeat, now war was decided by who had the best technology. People were no longer relevant, they could no longer fight, people had been reduced to hostages of war, no longer the cause of or the solution to war. She could almost say she missed war.

She missed a decent fight, someone that could match themselves with her, many hundred years had passed since anyone had been able to defeat her in a fist to fist fight. She had tried everything, everywhere, martial arts in Asia, MMA in USA, cage fighting in South America, sometimes legal, sometimes illegal. She preferred the illegal ones, the ones without rules. She smiled and stood up. The very notion of rules in a fight was ridiculous, one fought to survive.

'Or because it's the only thing one's good at', she thought bitterly. There was money in fighting, people never expected her to win so she had made money, though she had also developed a name and she didn't want a name. So now she found herself in England, in a shabby apartment in a place where the landowner didn't bother asking for identity as long as she didn't complain about the leaks in the roof. Perfect for her taste.

When you as a seemingly teenage girl, 70 kg heavy and barely 1.70 cm made potato mash out of 200 kg muscle mountains a name was something you quickly got by. She sighed and grinned, the taste of victory was always sweet but never satisfying, the expressions on the faces of the crowd when she stood as lone victor with barely a scratch she felt proud … for a second. They could never defeat her, they couldn't even dream of it, what she had been taught had long since been forgotten.

Cultures were changing again, slowly women in war were being accepted again, but overall many still believed their place was safe and at home. Cultures shifted back and forth all the time, in ancient times warrior women were common, then they disappeared, returned, disappeared and returned. Men had always been allowed to fight, but not people like her, a woman, by todays standards a girl.

She hated this new development, a hundred years ago she had been an adult woman, a person allowed to decide and care for herself, now she was just another runaway teenager. Not to mention that the new scientific developments were starting to scare her, governments knew more and more about what their people did, identity was required for every whim. She had been forced to swim over the Atlantic just to get to Europe, no airplane would let her step aboard without ID.

The world was shrinking and eventually she would be cornered, there would be questions she couldn't avoid and eventually they'd find out that something was seriously wrong with her. 'Very wrong indeed.' So what could she do? Even she was limited to this earth, this planet. She didn't even know why.

She was waiting for something, all of the survivors were waiting for something, but not one of them knew what they were waiting for. So they lived, searched, waited and fled. And all the while the world was catching up with them, soon there would be nowhere left to run.

She picked up the paper that was laying on her kitchen table. Would she go against an unspoken order if she went to a new world? A world not quite so ruled by technology and knowledge? She looked curiously at the pictures, at the people who smiled and waved at her, pictures on a paper that moved. This new world appealed to her, a world where abnormality was normal, maybe even she could be normal. She couldn't practice magic, not like they could, but she could do a lot of other things they couldn't even dream of.

She knew how to get there, she had been looking for a way in for a long time. She hadn't been surprised to notice that their magic was not invisible to her, as it was to other muggles. Magic had never been a stranger to her and although she had never noticed it before now that she knew she couldn't help but notice it everywhere.

It had been such a coincidence that she couldn't help but believe that Anhur had set her upon the path that led her to the discovery of the Wizarding World. Anhur and Sekhmet were the only two deities that she still regularly prayed to, which still had meaning in her life. They were the ones closest to her. Anhur, the god of war and the patron of the Pharaoh's warriors and Sekhmet, the goddess of vengeance and disease who had fiercely defended Ra. She had not forsaken Ra, Isis, Horus or any of the other of the Pharaoh's gods, but Sekhmet and Anhur were close to her on a personal level, a level that no other deity could ever reach.

She had stumbled across a strange creature, a creature so strange she had almost believed it to be a Ka, but it hadn't been. The tall, cloak-wearing figure had been a soul-sucker, he had stolen a persons Ka. This vile crime had shocked her deeply, only the Pharaoh and his court were allowed to capture a persons Ka and only if the person had been guilty of a terrible crime. She had seen the court pass this sentence, but the court did it swiftly, with as little of a fight as possible. This creature had stolen the Ka in a slow and excruciating way. She had almost been unable to watch it through to the end. The persons Ka had not even been able to put up a fight.

She still wondered what fate the Ka had suffered. She doubted very strongly that it had been set free, as was common for dead Kas, nor had it been captured to be used in battle. It had been devoured and she wondered if that would destroy the soul. She had never heard of anything that could permanently destroy a soul, a soul was an important thing, not even those attempting to assassinate the Pharaoh would have been subjected to a fate that terrible.

Accustomed to war as she was she didn't usually think about the victims, she didn't wonder who they had been or if they had deserved to die. Normally she allowed all the death and despair to wash over her, it wasn't her task to comfort the survivors or heal the wounded, it was her task to successfully complete her mission and then report back to receive a new one.

This time was different. Whenever she had seen the court capture someone's Ka she had known it was deserved, this time the Ka had been devoured and she could think of no one who deserved such a fate. Out of mercy she had killed the victim, death certainly to be preferred to the soulless state they had been forced into and in the vain hope that the Ba's death would salvage the Ka.

Something at the back of her head was nagging at her that the violation on this Ka was reason enough for her to enter this new world and see what it was like. Essentially it wasn't her job to protect the masses, but she also knew he would have wanted her to and he wasn't around anymore to be protected. No one alive had as much experience with souls than she did, maybe she could stop the heartless destruction of Kas. Unless it was an isolated case of course. She didn't know and she knew that new world brought new questions and new dangers. Maybe a new war …

She had never started a war, but she was prepared to do just that to protect souls. She thought about her own Ka, her Ka was her very dear and the thought alone that some kind of demon would suck her Ka out through her mouth was terrifying. Never had anyone threatened her soul, her soul was her strength and the possibility that in this new world she might lose it was beyond terrifying. She was trained not to feel fear, but this made her knees shake and the sweat break out.

And what if she missed whatever she was still living for?

She silently prayed to Anhur, her patron. What was she to do? A Guardian without a Pharaoh to guard, what purpose could such a person have? After thousands of years she was still waiting for an order from her Pharaoh, but he wouldn't be giving her any orders ever again. It was time that she started to take decisions of her own, something that was more difficult than she ever realized.

She had chosen to follow Carolus Rex and a lot of other leaders throughout time, but she had only made those decisions to stop having to make decisions of her own and most of these decisions she had regretted. Now she had to chose between entering this world and perhaps to face a monstrous demon that stole Kas or to leave it be and allow people to suffer at the hands of these beings. She knew what would have pleased her Pharaoh more.

She had every reason to go to that world, the only thing that spoke against it was her fear. She sighed and thought of Anhur, the god of war did not allow fear among those who counted him as their patron. The Pharaoh's Guardians had not been allowed to feel fear.

She looked at the paper again. She knew where to go and she didn't waste any time. She packed her scarce belongings, chased out five cats from her apartment, cleaned it rather sloppily and put the key together with three extra months of rent in an envelope and dropped it in the mailbox. She took a cab to central London, where the signs of magic were unmistakable if you could see them. Eventually she stood before the Leaky Cauldron, the only way of which she knew that could get her into the Wizardig World. She took a deep breath and with one hand pushed the door open.

It was as she had expected it to be, just a step above medieval. It was dark, shabby and lacked all form of modern technology. She smiled at the prospect of no more technology, she hated the new inventions. What was present in abundance though was magic. She needed to do a conscious effort not to stare as she saw how easily these people controlled magic, and for such tedious tasks.

She needed to remind herself that this was probably not the same magic as the one she was used to, but still the disregarding manner with which they used it made her stomach ache. Where she came from using magic was a difficult and almost sacred act and not something you used to make the spoon stir your tea for you.

She made her way forward, realizing she was dressed wrongly. This was something she needed to attend to as quickly as possible. She walked towards the bar, barmen had a long history of knowing things they both should and shouldn't. Some people threw her glances and frowned at her apparel, but didn't react further.

"Good evening", she said politely to the quite bald barman.

"Evening, miss", he greeted back. "Ready for Hogwarts, are we?"

"Hogwarts? I don't think so", she said coolly.

"You're not a student?" he asked taken aback for a second.

"No, a tourist. I need clothes and I don't know where to find them. I'm certain you can inform me where to find someone who sells clothes." He took offense by her cold and unamused behavior but she didn't care. "And boarding, if so possible."

"We have rooms", the barman said, trying to sound as cold as her but not really succeeding. "If you want clothes you need to go to Diagon Alley, if you go out back it's the brick from the trash can, three up and two across."

"What are the prices for a room?" she wondered and stood crestfallen when he mentioned a currency she had never even heard about. "Do you taken foreign currency?"

"No", he said grumpily and although she wasn't quite sure if what he said was true it was her own fault for being so cold. Barmen were valuable sources of information and she preferred to keep on their good sides, but being as scared as she never would admit she was she couldn't help but acting cold and on her guard.

"Do you take this?" she hadn't expected to ever have to use it again, but she always carried it with her. The payment she had received for her years of service. Payment in gold, ancient Egyptian currency. She put a single coin on the counter, knowing it was worth far more than any of the rooms could possibly be.

"T-that would certainly cover a months stay and food", the barman stuttered. "Isn't that too long?"

"No, I think that'll be fine", she said. "Another thing, I don't have one of those … sticks."

"Wands?" he asked confused. Then he sighed and smiled at her. "Are you a foreigner?" It was a question but it didn't sound like one because her northern African appearance made him rather certain she was.

She nodded grimly. "Yes."

"Try Ollivanders. Though you need one to get to Diagon Alley, Diagon Alley is where you can get everything, books, clothes, pets, ingredients, currency exchange, anything. If you need to get through I'll let you, just ask. Oh, I'm Tom!"

She smiled, almost condescendingly. "Not today, Tom." She knew she was rude by not telling him her name and that her guarded attitude made her mean, almost unbearably so, but she couldn't help it. Tom however didn't seem to notice, still too preoccupied with the strange and very valuable gold she had given him to realize she was treating him badly.

"Of course", he said and showed her to the rooms upstairs. He unlocked room twenty-four and handed her the key. "Dinner is served … whenever you please ma'am."

"Thank you", she said. "Now please leave me be." Tom was about to say something else but she held up a hand. "If I desire your company I'll let you know." Then she closed the door in his face and sighed deeply. Her heart raced and there was sweat on her brow. She could still leave if she wanted, but she wouldn't, she had never failed anything she had set her mind to.

She was not accustomed to fear, but now she was afraid. Maybe tomorrow she would go out into Diagon Alley, but no earlier. Maybe she would sit downstairs, study these witches and wizards and learn as much as she could. Fear was controlled with knowledge, so knowledge was what she needed.

"Seen a ghost?" a voice asked and she jumped up. Was she not alone? She looked around to find the source but couldn't detect any living being. "You seem scared. Want to use me?"

She almost growled in protest and then noticed what had been talking. "A chair? Are you a … talking chair?" She never even considered that she could be losing her mind, she had been trained to adapt and expect the unexpected.

"Yes, indeed I am", the chair said happily. "Have you never seen talking furniture before?"

"No, I can't say I have. Is this common?"

"Oh, no, not really. It's just here, in the Leaky Cauldron, that we talking furniture live. And honestly we don't talk much, we have been created for specific purposes. Mirrors designed to give beauty tips, beds designed to sing you to bed, chairs to praise your efforts and saying that you've deserved to sit down for a while. Most of us have long since abandoned our duties and just comment whatever we feel like commenting."

"So you could tell everything a guest does to the next guest that stays in the same room?" she wondered both distrustful and disappointed.

"No. The furniture is only interested in the here and now, in truth I can't even remember what the guest before you did. Trust me, missy, if we could remember things like that every witch and wizard would object to us being here."

Even though the chair had a point she chose not to trust it. She would condone all her research in silence, making sure the chair would know nothing. She remained silent and looked around the rest of the room, was there any other furniture that could talk? She noticed none.

Now not feeling safe in her own room she decided she'd only stay long enough to gather herself and banish all fear from her body and mind, then she returned downstairs. There were living, breathing people there of a kind she knew nothing about, but at least it was better than talking furniture, people were more predictable.

She sat in a far, dark corner and when Tom asked her if she wanted anything she ordered a cup of coffee just to be rid of him. She sat there in silence, taking in the witches and wizard who were reading papers, drinking brandy or tea. Amused she noticed the warning sign on the wall that warned for the Exploding Lemonade. She blinked twice to make sure that Exploding Lemonade were the right words, the place was quite dark, but that was what it said. She decided never to try something as hazardous as Exploding Lemonade, she wondered if these people were suicidal or just masochistic.

Then a face stared at her and started screaming. She was so taken aback that she didn't immediately notice that the face was not actually present in the Leaky Cauldron, but that it was a picture on the paper. She recognized the picture, she had heard the police talk about him on the radio and had seen a picture on the news, he was a wanted man and to judge from the picture on the paper he was wanted here as well. She needed to get her hand on that paper.

Then a pompous man walked into the inn, followed by a young teenager who looked rather miserable. Tom showed them the way to a door behind the bar and then the man and the boy disappeared for a while. When they returned Tom led the boy up the stairs and the man left, both seeming a bit happier. She could tell by the glances the other guest threw the pompous man that he was of some importance so she memorized what he looked like.


She and the boy seemed to be the only long-term residents and after five days of lurking through the Leaky Cauldron she finally gathered the courage to enter Diagon Alley, she was getting tired of sticking out like a sore thumb, not to mention it collided with her training to call attention. Attention had been for the priests, not her.

She asked Tom to open the passageway for her and he did so more than willingly. The sight that met her was quite interesting. Before her laid a narrow street packed with people and everywhere she looked where stores, colorful and strange stores. She carefully moved forward, feeling more and more as if she was sticking out horribly and her desire for suitable clothes was increasing quickly.

Though Tom had said something about currency exchange so she guessed that was her first stop. The bank wasn't difficult to find, it was the largest of the building and apparently the bank was called Gringotts. She hesitated when she saw the creatures standing flanking the door, she was old enough to recognize the Goblins and to know that they weren't the nicest creatures to deal with.

The wizards and witches coming in and out didn't seem to have a problem with them though. Her main problem with them had nothing to do with that they were flanking the doors, but rather that they had been prone to send petty grave robbers to rob graves of the ancient Pharaohs for as long as she could remember. It had been so five thousand years ago and it was so now. They were excellent smiths, but most of their raw materials, especially around the Mediterranean had been stolen from graves and royal mines. The conflict of the goblins claiming that the mines were theirs had often been ridiculous, for most of the mines they had claimed to be theirs had been started by villagers who hoped to strike gold, or some other precious metal. She had overseen the activities when careless villagers hoped to find good money and had saved more than one of them.

Some mines were indeed goblin mines and it had been the royal armies task to keep the people away from them. It was just that the goblins were so effective that their own mines always ran dry very quickly and so they went to the villagers' mines at nighttime and stole their ore, being as effective as they were the damage done to the villagers was substantial. The goblins had also always had a keen eye on the ingots kings and queens had been buried with.

She shook her head and decided not to think too much about that now. If she had to deal with goblins she had to remain civil and calm. She walked in through the first set of doors and the goblins ignored her, much to her relief. Before her was a new set of doors, silver doors with a warning inscribed.

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

She scoffed. Hypocrites. She opened the doors and wondered how many of the treasures the goblins owned were made of materials that had never been theirs. She came into a large room, filled with wizards and witches, along the walls was a long counter and there were goblins sitting behind it. Eventually she found a sign that said 'foreign exchange' and noticed there was no line. She walked up to the goblin and noticed displeased that they were sitting so high up so they could look down on everyone. Damn goblins.

"I'd like to exchange US dollars for … what you have here", she said with only the slightest hesitation. She had earned a lot more money while she had been in America than she had in Great Britain, not to mention that the pound could still come in handy. Seeing as she nearly always worked outside the law and didn't want to be traced she had always had cash and nothing else. Now this came in handy.

"Put the amount of money you want transfer on the scales", said the goblin condescendingly and made a little gesture towards the golden scales before him.

She put first a single dollar bill on the scales, to see what happened. One silver and nineteen small bronze coins appeared on the scales on the other side of the scales, even though the coins had to be heavier than the single piece of cotton, the scales remained balanced. This intrigued her. In order to be on the safe side she transferred all her fighting money she had earned in the last two years and soon realized that this was no laughing matter. The currency these wizards and witches used was heavy and when she stood there, rather crestfallen, with over a thousand golden coins and a few silver and bronze ones she had nowhere to put it.

"Would the miss like to open an account with us?" the goblin asked and for a second she thought he looked amused.

"No", she said quickly. "I'll probably won't be able to come and get it when I need it anytime soon."

"We sell equipment for … people with your problem", the goblin said, noting her not very suitable attire. He reached beneath the counter and conjured what looked like a golden colored coin purse. "All your gold will fit in here." He demonstrated it by putting all her money in it, leaving only three golden coins on the scales, that had now gotten severely out of balance. "These three galleons are the payment."

"Give me three of those", she said. If there was one thing she had learned it was to never keep all her money in the same place.

The goblin nodded, extracted six more galleons and handed her three bags, one filled, two empty. The dollars magically disappeared and she was dismissed. Quickly she left Gringotts, happy to be away from the goblin bank. Now it was time for clothes.

She searched Diagon Alley, having no problems to locate Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions. She entered the store and saw a short witch run all over the place, taking sizes here, correcting something there on people who were standing on round raised platforms. She patiently waited until the with had time and approached her. "Hogwarts robes, dear? What house?"

"I'm not a Hogwarts student", she said annoyed. "I merely want regular, simple robes."

"Oh", the witch said taken aback but gathered herself quickly. "Go stand on there", she said and pointed towards one of the empty platforms. "What color and model do you fancy?"

"Something that doesn't impair movement, something that isn't in the way", she said, wanting to be able to fight. She had hated the many years in which it had been demanded of women to wear long dresses that hindered any type of fight or flight. She had often pretended to be a boy, finding that hiding her breasts was a lot easier than to walk around in a dress.

"How do you mean?" the witch asked confused.

She decided a quick lie would be best. "I practice martial arts, I want a robe that allows me to practice it. Do you have sand colored?" Two measuring tapes flew towards her and started measuring her rather thoroughly, annoyingly thoroughly.

"I have sand colored, yes. Want any pattern?"

"No."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do. I'm not really used to such demands." The witch rummaged around and conjured a large square patch of sand colored fabric. It levitated towards her and as the witch pointed her wand at it started forming around her. It went rather quickly and soon she was dressed in something that almost reminded her of what the ancient Greek wore. The fabric ended a bit above her knees, had no sleeves and a brown belt to keep it tight around the body. The robe had formed itself over her clothes.

"Do you want to see what it looks like without your muggle clothes?"

"Muggle?" she asked confused.

"Non-magical folk", the witch explained as if it was the most well known thing in the world.

"Sure", she said and suddenly, magically her regular clothes were gone. The robe adapted itself after her actual body, the one without clothes and she was even more satisfied. There was just a few minor details and the witch was staring right at them.

"Wow", the witch breathed. "Those are … amazing."

She had to do a conscious attempt not to try to hide her arms. Her arms were filled with tattoos in silver and gold, in truth they looked too shiny to be realistic, as if someone had placed bits of actual gold and silver in her arms. In the regular world these tattoos either frightened people or led to a lot of questions.

"You should really let them show. I know muggles can be pesky about magical markings, but they're amazing. I don't recognize them though, are they Egyptian?"

So the witch recognized them for what they were, magical markings, binding markings. Markings that forever bound and instructed her to the task she had sworn to, though in the last five thousand years they had been silent, unmoving.

"What does it say there?" the witch asked and pointed at a marking on her customers shoulder.

"Atem", she replied wearily.

"What does it mean? Of course, if you're allowed to say, I know many of those carrying magical markings aren't suppose to tell and … well … most of them wouldn't enter my shop … or any other decent shop for that matter … but … " The witch fell silent and slowly fear started to radiate from her.

"Atem is a name, an old name of a man long since dead." So people with magical markings had a bad reputation, the witch had quite clearly feared her. "I am not dangerous to you or anyone else, these marking have stilled."

"They look brilliant", the witch said. "I think you should show them, if they don't move around anymore people will not feel threatened by them.

In secret she would really wish to show them. For as long as she had served her Pharaoh she had proudly shown her markings to everyone, they were a symbol of both her loyalty and status. She paid for the robe, matching sandals and a more discreet light brown winter robe with bronze fastenings. She got her regular clothes back and she packed them in her bag, with her arms proudly bare she walked out on the street, at once calling less attention to herself now that she was out of her 'muggle' clothes.

Her next dilemma was Ollivanders. She was no stranger to magic, Mahad had taught them all basics and even a special little brand of magic especially for the Pharaoh's Guardians. But from what she had seen these wizards used a magic entirely different than her own. She didn't think she'd be able to use a wand.

Eventually she decided to go anyway. Magic was a powerful weapon and all mastery of it was another weapon in her arsenal. Especially if she could learn to use it the way these wizards could, so casually, as if magic didn't require the faintest of efforts.

She entered a dusty and narrow shop, filled with small boxes. The man was so small and pale that she almost missed him among the boxes, he walked towards her. "I have never sold you a wand before", he stated. "My name is Ollivander. What brings you here?"

"A wand", she stated dryly."

"Of course. What wand did you used to have?"

"I have never owned a wand before", she admitted.

"Curious", Ollivander said. He took her in, his eyes fastening on the magical tattoos. "I can see you have some affinity for magic, I just don't see how that could be accomplished without a wand. Well, let's give it a try." Again a tape measure came into the picture, though this one didn't have any markings that she understood and it measured rather strange things. "Which is your wand-arm?"

"I'm left-handed", she said dryly as the tape measured around her neck, giving her the feeling it would choke her.

"Hm. Let's try this one. Ebony, dragon heartstring, hard."

She took it and looked at it, not certain what to do. She waved it and nothing happened.

"Definitely not that one", Ollivander said and handed her a new one. "Cedar, Phoenix feather, unyielding."

She took it and waved it and the most extraordinary thing happened. From her chest a spectral sphinx appeared, as if it had taken a leap out of her. The sphinx was larger than a regular lion, big as a horse, her eyes and hair were black and her fur golden. She roared, the wand snapped in two and then the sphinx vanished.

Both equally shocked they stared at the pieces of the wand that now laid pathetically on the floor. "I'll repay you for the wand that I broke", she said.

"No need", Ollivander said, still sounding positively shocked. "Though I think there is no wand powerful enough in my shop – or anywhere else in the world – to channelize the magic you possess. I think you should leave."

She left and it was only after she had vanished from sight that Ollivander realized that he hadn't asked for a name.


So Snow Elves, your turn, write me something motivational

I didn't have the time to really read this over, it was either do it in a hurry or wait a week. So I hurried. You're welcome to point out every flaw though and I'll correct it.

(Yes, yes, the YGO part will come, jeez, patience)