Disclaimer: In this fic, all characters (except Tarn), spells, and concepts are copyright and property of Wizards of the Coast. No infringment is intended.

Chapter 1: The Power of Realization

Tarn stirred. As a memory of his father's mutated face shimmered in his mind's eye an overwhelming sense of doubt disturbed his dream. Shaking himself vigorously awake, he berated himself. Doubt was as clear as any a way to failure. He could feel no doubt. It was too late anyway, Tarn had already severed as many ties to his past as he could for this adventure.

Peering over the edge of his bedroll he spied Anaba, his bodyguard, squatting in peace, scanning the horizon for any possible signs of attack. Briefly Tarn wondered if Anaba's kind ever actually needed any sleep, he hadn't seen Anaba use his bedroll yet and they had been on the trail through the mountains for three days already, with not a hint of trouble. Tarn had taken to calling his companion 'Anaba' for lack of any other name to call him, for Anaba had not yet spoken a word on their journey. This made for lonely travel. 'Nevertheless,' Tarn thought, 'it is comforting to know that I have an ally on this road.'

Jumping up to his feet Tarn dusted off his travel clothing with his raw hands and walked with caution over to Anaba, not wishing to startle the beast.

"Anaba," Tarn said quietly, lightly tapping him on the shoulder, "we travel at first light." A grunt of agreement was all the reply that Anaba gave. It was all the reply that Anaba ever gave and Tarn was beginning to get used to distinguishing the different tones that Anaba could grunt.

It was still half an hour to first light, so Tarn had time to oil his leather vest armor, not wishing it to fall into disrepair. While not quite the proficient soldier, Tarn still insisted that he had the best armor an weapons available. It was not for nothing that he had brought his savings of gold, for he somewhat hoped that his fine weapons would more than cover for his lack of skill with the blade. Wiping off the sand that had fallen into the creases in the material, Tarn sighed deeply. The sands of the mountains were so unforgiving to his armor, and Tarn knew that the peacefulness that had followed them thus far would not last forever. He must be ready, always, and with little skill of magic, he must place trust in his physical skills with the blade and trust his armor to protect himself against magical harm.

A low growl nearby awoke him from his reverie. Anaba was ready to leave, and peering out toward the horizon Tarn saw the glory oranges and yellows of the sunrise. Nodding in silent agreement Tarn rolled up his bedroll and stuffed it back into his pack, setting foot back on the trail.

Towards midday, Anaba, who had taken the lead on the trail as the more adept tracker, stopped without warning, turning to Tarn with a motion for silence. Tarn stayed silent for caution's sake, but signaled his inquiries to Anaba, they were not due for a rest for another hour at the least.

Pointing at a soft indentation in the ground with his fat stubbly fingers, Anaba growled softly. Not quite understanding the trouble but knowing that it must be something of significance, Tarn drew his sword and watched for signs of movement in the surrounding rocks. Anaba slowly backpedaled against a near outcropping, and without hesitation and with a flash of speed I had not though capable of the big beast, he snatched a squiggling vicious looking creature from behind the rocks.

"Goblins," Anaba growled with forceful distaste on his voice. Besides the overwhelming shock of Anaba speaking for the first time, Tarn's instincts took over with the knowledge of an upcoming battle.

It was at this moment that all hell broke loose.

Raging Goblins streamed from rock outcroppings screaming an undistinguishable yet terrible battle cry as Vashino Sandscouts swung from the cliff sides onto the nearby path with a murderous intent. Tarn yelled over to Anaba with regards to tactics, only to realize that all his learning of tactics would go out the window at this point. With seeming calmness, Anaba knelt on the mountain trail and began a chant, casting Giant Growth upon himself, making him more powerful and able to take on more of these creatures. Then, standing with rage clearly etched upon his bull shaped face, he brought his broadsword up and took out four of the creatures flowing towards him with one swipe. Not one had touched him. Anaba truly had the power of first strike. Tarn on the other hand was being attacked relentlessly and without mercy by the goblins. As luck would have it, Tarn's armor withstood their puny attacks while Tarn himself cast a Wall of Fire around himself and Anaba.

Startled at the respite, Anaba looked around at the dancing flames. With a raise of his brows and a sudden understanding he faced Tarn. "How long can you keep these flames up?" he demanded of Tarn, glaring directly into his eyes.

Stuttering at the forcefulness his companion displayed he brokenly replied, "as long as those creatures don't summon something larger and we don't move."

Anaba nodded and immediately knelt on the ground again, chanting with a sense of urgency. A flame issued from his palms and continued to grow in size until it was slightly larger than the beast himself. Opening his eyes and ceasing his chanting, the flames staying within his palms, Anaba said, "Put down your wall minotaur, there is no need anymore."

Reluctantly Tarn ceased his spell as a burst of heat seared by his left cheek and took out all of those beyond what had been the wall. Intrigued, Tarn turned to Anaba, who was in a balance of spell casting no longer. "Fireball," was all that Anaba would say as he began to again walk down the path. Stumbling after Anaba in awe, Tarn began to realize the awesome power of his bodyguard and, indeed his own fortune at being able to stay alive. A Fireball upon so many creatures could only be cast by one with great skill of the Earthly arts, a skill that far outstripped Tarn's own. Tarn was a struck with the incredible realization that he was not the yet the warrior that he had been led to believe, and made a promise to himself to strive harder to be more the warrior that he could be rather than merely slide by on image and bravado, as he now knew that it meant nothing to be egotistical without competence.

Author's Note: I hope this lives up to the expectations of MTG fans, but in any case, after reading, reviews would be appreciated! I hope you enjoy! More to come soon!