Prologue: Hello there, my good reader. Before you turn the pages and begin this book, first allow me to warn you. This book is not a pleasant tale. If you do not like stories of mystical intrigue and of tortured souls finding there meaning, I suggest you leave this story, and go pick some daisies, you'll feel much better, and then you also have daisies to give to a friend or family member.

Book one: Thomas

Chapter one: one day at high school…

The beautiful winter had once again settled over South Dakota. But not in the small capitol of Pierre. Barren and choked out grass tried to poke its way up through the earth but due to the frost, it had all died and turned brown. Buildings seemed duller, bright hues seemed to turn darker, and streets were clogged with mud. All of the finer beauty and ugliness of nature was lost upon the cold, lone figure that plodded along in the February cold.

It was seven thirty in the morning and Thomas was exhausted. It was Monday. He ambled toward the seemingly distant red-brick high school. He was exhausted because he had been up late researching magic. Magic was one of the more elusive topics on the internet. Some of the sites contained bullshit rituals for how to become irresistible to women, and others contained exactly what he wanted. The location of ancient artifacts of known magical power. In two weeks he was going on a trip to eastern Europe, and he knew exactly where he was going spelunking.

On this little excursion he was looking to add the legendary Manual of the Planes to his ever growing collection. But that was two weeks from now. And now was definitely now. High school. He had had to endure their taunts for far too long. Someday, he had vowed, someday he would take his vengeance on every last one of them. But if wishes were fishes there would be no room left in the river for water. But the worst of it all were the girls. They held the fact that he was single like gold over a poor man's head.

As he opened the door to his first class all the cheerfulness went out of the room. The conversations went on unabated, but they were their volume went down, and he could feel the eyes of his peers burning into his back. He hummed a tune under his breath, it was a song he had heard once, and it was symbolic to him.

When all you have to keep is strong,

Move along, move along,

And even when your hope is gone,

We must move along

He took his seat. Today would be like every other day, taunts and insults from everyone, except a select few true friends.

The days wore on, unhindered, and the sands of time ran, until Thomas was on a plane to southern England.

As he stepped out of the plane, Thomas smiled. The veritable stench of recycled air hung on his clothes, he had almost been sick, but he was here. Immediately he got to his prearranged cab, and they roared off to the hotel. When he got to the hotel he checked in and though he was only fifteen, his adult manner and tallness passed him off for over twenty-one.

When he reached his room he opened his black duffel bag and began unpacking. The Manual of the Planes was not to be taken lightly, it was more than likely going to be guarded. With flourish and skill he pulled out a variety of charms and beads, a long night-black cloak, and a wickedly curved, gleaming, scimitar. He smiled.

The next day Thomas was trudging through the early morning fog, in south Scotland. The ruined abbey of Felldoh was his destination. When he reached the ruins on a slight hill, he began scouting around for some sort of concealed entrance. Ok, if I was Urza planeswalker, where would I hide my book, he thought. After some time of fruitless searching, he sat down on a pedestal that had daffodils growing around the base. Odd, he thought, there aren't daffodils anywhere else around here, all I've seen is violets. A few seconds later he was on his knees searching through the flowers. After a few minutes he came up with a ball of yellowed parchment.

To my find my legendary book,

For secrets you must look,

Seek the founder of stone,

My book shall be thy own,

Seek the window of colored sand,

Power over land,

Seek the founder's daughter,

Power over water,

And in her flowing hair,

Power over air,

Down to danger dire,

Power over fire,

Form an angle between the three,

And there you will see,

Death will open its grave,

None go there but the brave

It was written in the old hand, but Thomas was fluent enough to understand it. There was one thing Thomas always studied a place extensively before he went there. The founder of Felldoh Abbey was a woman named, Elizabeth. Her daughter was Germaine. He searched for a few more minutes until he found a statue of Elizabeth. She was gazing downward with her hands clasped in front of her, and there was something about her eyes that Thomas found odd. The founder of stone, he thought, very clever Urza, now for her daughter. A few more minutes revealed a statue of Germaine. Her hair, Thomas thought, he felt along the carved locks, until he found a small crease. That was all he needed. He pulled out his knife. Inserting the flat blade into the crease he worked and levered until a small square section of the cunningly carved hair popped out into his hand. He peered into the small space once covered by the piece he had just removed, and to his surprise he saw a small mirror. He remembered that the founder's statue's eyes were made of steel, and it was burnished, so it would reflect easily. He looked back at the rhyme. He didn't know about all the power stuff, but he knew that he was close to finding the book, all he needed was the window of colored sand. How can sand be a window, he wondered, and then it hit him. Sand is used in the making of glass, colored sand, stained glass. Now, where is there stained glass around here, he thought, after searching and searching, he still couldn't find any. Sitting down on the very same pedestal, directly across from the statue of Germaine. Wow, Urza really stumped me on this one, he thought, wait, he turned his head upward, watch it be right above me, he thought. It was. Most of it was covered in dirt and grime, but he could see a small blue pane. It was at the top of what would have been the wall behind the pedestal, so had the window not been covered up, he would have been, wreathed in multicolored light. Using his own skill he climbed what was left of the wall, and wiped away the grime and dirt. Suddenly a shaft of red light shot downwards, and struck the mirror in the back of Germaine's hair, then went off Elizabeth's eyes, and straight into the ground. Suddenly the ground began to rumble, and with a horrid grating sound. A gaping hole appeared in the ground, and a marble staircase began to rise out of it. Death had opened its grave. He climbed down, and checked his charms, drew his scimitar, and his handgun, clipped the flashlight to it. Evidently he was the brave, for he began to descend the staircase.

Chapter 2: The book

The flashlight cast a small beam of red light out onto the wall of the staircase which descended into blackness. Slowly he descended, one foot after the other, his feet crunching on the dust of ages past. He reached a long hallway of dark stone, where the stair ended. He sat down on the bottom step of the staircase, and thought, if there's gonna be trouble down here let it come to me, Aw man, what the hell am I doin here, even if this isn't a wild goose chase what can I possibly hope to gain, I have almost no family, no friends, no person who cares, but most importantly I don't have her. Her, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, her deep brown-red hair, her eyes, they were the deepest brown he had ever seen, and it was no bad aspect that she had a great body. But she and he were never to be. She would be graduating this year, and he still had three years of school left. Unless, no he told himself sternly, no crackpot plans to try and make her love you, she never will.

He was jolted back to reality by a sound. Someone, or something was coming along the hallway. He couldn't see in the half light. It was shaped like a human, too much not to be, he thought as the form of the figure became clearer as it moved toward him. It was definitely not a male human, as he would have presumed. No its shape, and its walk were too feminine. But who would put a female human in an ancient underground chamber? As the figure emerged into the relative light coming down from the staircase, Thomas nearly screamed and fainted at the same time. There she was, standing before him. But after his euphoria at seeing her alone, with him, soon turned to suspicion. " Amber?" he called out. She said nothing. Perhaps it was her, or maybe it wasn't. The Amber standing before him, walked, talked, and looked like the Amber he knew. There was one thing you just couldn't pull over on Thomas. His mind may be easily clouded, but his eyesight is always razor sharp. You can't move in his presence and have him not notice. This was evident as the Amber-figure moved toward him, and he noticed a small movement toward her left hip . In one fluid motion she drew a sword from a sheath on her back. But Thomas was ready for her. As her broadsword flashed up his scimitar slashed down. They met with a clash. He quickly reversed the motion of his weapon and dodged hers as her momentum carried her forward, and for a split second she was off balance. That was all he needed. Flicking his blade around her wrist the pain caused her to let go of the sword and it clattered to the floor. There she stood breathing heavily, though the fight had only lasted a few seconds, it had been intense. A few strands of her perfect hair were in her face. He stood there, weighing the options. Then a thought occurred to him. This would be revenge for never knowing, never caring. It was a stupid motive for murder but he was in a rage. Her eyes shone with fear as he opened his closed eyes. He moved toward her, the sword hanging limply in his hand. She opened her arms, and he fell into them sobbing. He cried into her shoulder for only a second, and when he felt her reach for a dagger, he continued to sob, but moved the scimitar in his hand up, and ran her through. Her eyes shone with grief, and surprise for a moment, then her body fell sideways to the floor. He didn't sniffle, or even wipe the tears away. He just continued along the corridor. Soon he came to and atrium. There was a pedestal in the center.

As Thomas moved toward the pedestal in the center of the plain stone atrium, he felt an influx of magic. Immediately he leapt back, and a lightning bolt slashed the air where he had been a second ago. Jeez Urza, wasn't a doppelganger enough, he thought. Again he moved closer, and saw a skeleton perched on the pedestal. He made a mental note to keep all skin covered while touching the pedestal it probably cursed. As he pulled on gloves, he climbed up the stairs surrounding the pedestal, and saw a obsidian box sitting on the altar like top of it. Way to hide it nondescriptly Urza, he thought dryly. As he examined the box, he found that it had no cracks, no creases, and no visible way to open it. It was too heavy to move, and the obsidian was nearly unbreakable. Thomas's eyes narrowed, there was something missing here. Something wasn't right. The box wasn't magical. That meant there had to be an earthly way to open it. He tried spells on it, but the box resisted him at every turn. He was breathing hard, and extremely angry. He threw another spell at it, but it glanced off. Then he recalled something a relative had once told him. Just give it some lovin. He went up to the box. He stared at his reflection in the polished black stone. Then he reached out a hand, and stroked the box. "c'mon baby," He said aloud. " why don't you open up for old uncle tom?" no sooner were the words out of his mouth, when a hairline facture opened, and widened, till it seemed like the whole side of the box was open, and when he looked in, he saw the object that would change his life forever.

What he saw was a sword. There was no way to actually tell how long it was, but it was jet black, shone with an unearthly gleam, and had a small ball at the end of the hilt. His scimitar clattered to the ground. "Mirari" the word came unbidden to his lips. He had read something once, in one of the ancient manuscripts, about a mythical sword, the power the one who holds that sword, wielded, was unimaginable. He stretched out his hand, and grasped the hilt. He lifted the ancient blade. It felt as if it were not a sword, but an extension of his arm. Suddenly an image flashed through his mind. A glowing, blue skinned warrior, stood above a battle, the mirari sword clutched in one hand, and a lightning bolt shooting from the other, the warrior was leading a horde of black armored killers into battle, the minions wore armor reminiscent of the storm troopers in the movies, only all of it was black. A shadowy figure ran at the blue person, he couldn't make out who or what it was, but the blue-skin parried and sliced the figure's sword in half, then, with a second stoke, sliced its head off. A second shadow ran up, the blue-skin dodge left and ran this one through. A third ran at him, both arms clutching a sword overhead ready for a downward chop, but the blue-skin simply held out his sword, and let the figure's own momentum impale itself on his blade.

With a jerk, he came back to reality. The room was filled with fog. His eyes narrowed. He could see figures coming out of the fog. The living dead, he thought quietly, these were those who had failed to best the sword's will before him. He dropped his bag to the floor. With the sword in both hands he went quietly to meet them. They swung their weapons, everything from mace and chains, to pikes. Moving like quicksilver he slashed, parried and sliced his way to a wall, where he wouldn't have to worry about being flanked. After a few moments they stopped coming. But one escaped his vision and managed to flank him. It wielded a battle ax. It came down and he barely had time to black it. The unnatural strength of the zombie forced him to one knee. He was sobbing for breath. His face was so close to the zombie's, that he could smell its rancid breath. No, he thought, no, This isn't where it ends, This is not where it ends! He forced himself up to his feet, and severed the zombie's ax arm with a single stroke. Then he slashed its knee out. It fell to the ground with a dull thud. Before he severed its head, he whispered, "No one bests me."

After he had disposed of the last of the zombies, he returned to the pedestal and examined the stand the sword had been on. Near the base he found a notch, cut exactly to fit the hilt of the sword. He inserted the hilt, and heard a grating sound. He looked and saw in two simple leather bound books. Funny, there's only supposed to be one, he thought, maybe one is enchanted. But which one. He reached down and grabbed the book on the left. Nothing happened. Urza Planeswalker's guide to the multiverse. But what was the other one. He reached in and grabbed it. Again nothing. He buckled the sword into his belt. Without reading the title on the second book he strode from the cavern.

Chapter 3 another visit by the grim reaper

When he finally got home, he was greeted by a strange man wearing a suit, and an air of general grimness. This did not bode well. He came of the plane, and into the small one-gate airport. The man greeted him, took him by the shoulder, and steered him into a black car. They drove in silence. Every once in a while the man would sigh. When they reached his house, the strange man led him inside, and sat him down on the couch. "listen, son, something's happened," He paused. " to your mother." Thomas sat, stony faced, and said nothing. "She was in a horrible car accident, yesterday, and, well, she died in her sleep last night in the hospital." Thomas's eyes clouded, but then became clear again. He put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, son," the man said. "please, sir," Thomas said. "could I have moment alone?" "Sure son." The man left. Thomas went up to his room, and put all of his artifacts into his suitcase, and as many clothes as he could. He then left. Using Urza Planeswalker's instructions, gathered the magic around him, and planeswalked away.

Chapter 4 Furion

Using the first of the books he determined that he was still on the material plane. He only knew that he was on a planet that was inhabited by two creatures, the catlike monstrous Raag, and furia, which were like exceptionally smart, strong, and experts at doing whatever they were assigned, or so the book told him. The furia, were warrior people, born and bred. Every male was in their army. There were billions of them in their army. But poor, and weak leadership had let the raags almost overrun them. They were, modernized, but had nothing near the skyscrapers and concrete monstrosities of earth, all this technology went to machines of war. But Thomas had a better knowledge of war then most of the furia command staff, which was pitiful. In this he saw an opportunity. The furia were lead by the zealots, a chain of command, which was headed by an archon. The furia did not detest war like humans, they reveled in it. The people were not happy unless they had an enemy in their sights. Sure soldiers died, and land was destroyed, but the furia, and their precious fatherland Furion, always triumphed.

One earth year has passed. Thomas had now integrated himself into furia command. His take over was to begin tonight. It was only dusk, but he would soon be archon, and all of the armies of furia would be at his command. First his own order of fanatics, calling themselves the lightless ones, would be instated as zealots, and he would be archon. During this period he had gathered many powerful artifacts and spells around him. He had even devised a shaky loophole in the what he called the immortality theorem. This theorem, proposed by the famous planeswalker Urza, stated that, one person, no matter how powerful, could ever achieve total immortality. But what was the exact definition of immortality? According to Urza, one who lives forever and cannot be killed. But if he left a few weaknesses, he could achieve the nearest to immortality that anyone had ever come. He may not be totally immortal, but he could get damn close.

The next day, the acting archon, Thomas, accused the people of a place called earth, of trying to weaken the furia, by killing their hallowed leaders. Thought he was only acting archon, he gave the people a sense of security, a sense that he knew where all of this was heading, but unbeknownst to the furia, he did.