War of the Magi
By BG-57
Chapter 1
The wind blew leaves across the dusty road. The light of a late afternoon sun beat down, casting deep shadows underneath the trees that lined the trail. There were fields that may have once held grain but now only held weeds. A ghost of a rail fence lined one field, only the upright posts protruding like stumps of fallen trees. Grass sprouted in between the wagon ruts. It looked like no one had used this path for years.
Yet it was being used now. A tall and brawny young man walked along the path, his skin a dark bronze and his long mane of hair a brilliant violet- blue. He wore red breeches with dark trim and golden vest that showed off his broad chest. Strapped to his back was a long scimitar with a red blood groove. His crimson eyes scanned the horizon for a village or town. He stopped by a rock and dropped a bag next to his feet. He pulled off a leather boot and held it upside down. A small rock fell out and landed in the grass. He sighed, and replaced the boot. He leaned on the rock and extracted a gourd from the bag. He took a swig from it and gasped. He was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was startled by a voice.
"Isn't it a little early in the day to be drinking sonny?"
The young man whirled around and leaned into a fighting crouch, his hands curled into fists, making his leather gloves creak. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he saw an old man emerge from behind the rock.
"Start talking old man," he growled.
The old man merely smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. The young man looked at him properly. Average height, bald and thin, with long hair in the back and a long flowing beard and moustache that reached his waist. He was dressed in yellow and gold robes with wide shoulder pads with strange dark symbols on them. In one withered hand he carried a long staff with a blue gem embedded on the top. He tapped the gem against the young man's chest.
"If I wanted to kill you you'd be dead already sonny," said the old man in an irritatingly cheerful voice.
The young man pounded a fist into the nearby rock, causing it to crack into three pieces. One piece slid off and landed on the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.
The old man was still smiling, although his eyes were narrowed appraisingly. "It seems we got off on the wrong foot sonny. I apologize if I offended you."
"For starters my name is Ifrit, not 'sonny'!" said the young man testily.
"I am Ramuh. Pleased to meet you Ifrit," said the old man extending a hand.
Ifrit folded his arms across his chest and looked to one side.
Ramuh sighed. "You look like a traveler. Tell me, are you going to the village ahead?"
Ifrit looked back at Ramuh, still miffed. "I guess so."
Ramuh walked ahead without looking back. "Its called Jidoor. I am an Elder there. Feel free to stay at my house."
Ifrit stood in the center of the road looking puzzled. He then picked up his bag and dusted it off and took another swig from the gourd.
"Crazy old loon," he muttered to himself.
By BG-57
Chapter 1
The wind blew leaves across the dusty road. The light of a late afternoon sun beat down, casting deep shadows underneath the trees that lined the trail. There were fields that may have once held grain but now only held weeds. A ghost of a rail fence lined one field, only the upright posts protruding like stumps of fallen trees. Grass sprouted in between the wagon ruts. It looked like no one had used this path for years.
Yet it was being used now. A tall and brawny young man walked along the path, his skin a dark bronze and his long mane of hair a brilliant violet- blue. He wore red breeches with dark trim and golden vest that showed off his broad chest. Strapped to his back was a long scimitar with a red blood groove. His crimson eyes scanned the horizon for a village or town. He stopped by a rock and dropped a bag next to his feet. He pulled off a leather boot and held it upside down. A small rock fell out and landed in the grass. He sighed, and replaced the boot. He leaned on the rock and extracted a gourd from the bag. He took a swig from it and gasped. He was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was startled by a voice.
"Isn't it a little early in the day to be drinking sonny?"
The young man whirled around and leaned into a fighting crouch, his hands curled into fists, making his leather gloves creak. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he saw an old man emerge from behind the rock.
"Start talking old man," he growled.
The old man merely smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. The young man looked at him properly. Average height, bald and thin, with long hair in the back and a long flowing beard and moustache that reached his waist. He was dressed in yellow and gold robes with wide shoulder pads with strange dark symbols on them. In one withered hand he carried a long staff with a blue gem embedded on the top. He tapped the gem against the young man's chest.
"If I wanted to kill you you'd be dead already sonny," said the old man in an irritatingly cheerful voice.
The young man pounded a fist into the nearby rock, causing it to crack into three pieces. One piece slid off and landed on the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.
The old man was still smiling, although his eyes were narrowed appraisingly. "It seems we got off on the wrong foot sonny. I apologize if I offended you."
"For starters my name is Ifrit, not 'sonny'!" said the young man testily.
"I am Ramuh. Pleased to meet you Ifrit," said the old man extending a hand.
Ifrit folded his arms across his chest and looked to one side.
Ramuh sighed. "You look like a traveler. Tell me, are you going to the village ahead?"
Ifrit looked back at Ramuh, still miffed. "I guess so."
Ramuh walked ahead without looking back. "Its called Jidoor. I am an Elder there. Feel free to stay at my house."
Ifrit stood in the center of the road looking puzzled. He then picked up his bag and dusted it off and took another swig from the gourd.
"Crazy old loon," he muttered to himself.