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Tales of A Planeswalker - The Walker (Chapter One)

Azrael Thran (Joshua Bishop)
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The wind had started as just a whisper, flowing in from the east to cool the scorched earth. Then it had become a bit stronger causing the leaves of the trees to sway. Now the wind was a roar, almost a living thing it seemed to the few that lived on the Alabaster plains. Huddled in their houses of wood and sod the villagers prayed to the god of the storms for relief but they found none as the wind continues to blow. Then as soon as it had begun the wind stopped.

The villagers began to peek out from their windows, squinting as the sun started to come from behind the dark clouds that had formed. Men, then women, and then children came out into the sun. Thanking the god of storms for his intervention, the villagers once again began to work the scorched earth of the Alabaster plains unsuspecting of who and what was watching from his perch high above.

The villagers had been right about one thing, the storm was not natural. It had been a mere diversion to conceal the being now hovering high above the village. He was what looked to be a human, wearing naught but a simple tunic of white cloth and a pair of leather leggings he could have passed for human. But one thing he was not was a mere human. No human had seen the wonders he had seen, fought the horrors he had fought, or suffered the sorrow he had felt. The being raised an arm to move the few remaining clouds he had summoned out of the way of the sun's rays and then turned back to the village. Below the villagers were once again at work, tilling and tending the earth. How far ago it seemed to that being, he had once done those same things, but that was long ago. Nearly five thousand years ago, the figure reminded himself.

Gazing at the village briefly once more, he began gathering mana, magical energy, to himself. After gathering enough he began to speak the arcane words and perform the gestures that would shape the energy into a spell. As the final words of the spell left his mouth his memory of that spells arcane phrases seemed to fade away, on the edge of memory. A large ball of shimmering green energy had formed in his hand. Now, he thought, tis time, may the gods forgive me for what I must do.

With that the being drew back his arm and threw the ball at the center of the village. The ball flew fast, leaving a trail of green in its wake, and then went screaming into the earth. At first nothing happened and then the cobblestones where the ball struck shuddered. Watching intently the being saw the first signs that he was a success.

A deafening roar was heard in the air and the few villagers still in the village began to run. Nothing could save them though. A huge Green Dragon had appeared in the center of town and was now demolishing their city. Gazing around with malice in its eyes, it located its target and then pounced. Landing atop the building that was its goal it tore the roof of the building and then began to dig, through the floor, through the top-soil. The villagers were just recovering from shock when the dragon reached its goal and let out a loud rare signaling the being in the sky. The dragon came tearing up through the earth at high speed. Suddenly a bright flash filled the sky and the dragon went tumbling to the ground, but curiously disappearing before hitting the ground.

A being, looking to be an elf, floated casually up to the same altitude as the other being. Then with a grin it spoke, " Nice trick young walker but you must summon more than dragons to destroy another of your own kind."

Young, thought the first being, If I am young to this one, how old is he?

The being flushed out by the dragon smirked in an arrogant manner then drew a razor edged glaive from thin air. The summoner of the dragon drew a sword in similar fashion. The two eyed each other then, they attacked. Soon the glaive wielder became aware that he was no match for this one with martial attacks. A thought crossed his mind and he seized upon it. Drawing forth the mana and speaking the words to shape it he released a blast of fire at the sword wielder.

The sword wielder non-chalantly raised a hand and knocked aside the fireball, then before the glaive wielder could recover his defensive gesture, he struck with all his might with the sword. The blade bit deep impaling the glaive-wielder. The glaive wielder looked down at his wound then smiled as his body began knitting itself back together. The sword-wielder was ready however.

Speaking a word under his breath the sword-wielder gathered mana into himself and forced it through the blade. With a scream of rage the glaive-wielder found he could not regenerate any longer. The sword-wielder, had he been in a better mood, might have pardoned the glaive-wielder for his transgression that took place two days earlier. Not this time though.

Pulling his sword from the badly injured glaive wielder, the sword-wielder sliced high and with a snap and gush of blood the head of the glaive-wielder went flying off, to land among broken cobblestones. The body of the Glaive-wielder soon followed.

That's that, thought the mysterious swordsman, he deserved it, no one betrays Chrono Thran and gets away with it.

Snorting in agitation, Chrono Thran threw a hand up. A shimmering portal immediately flared to life. Snorting once more the figure stepped through, stepped through to another world.


Tales of a Planeswalker : The Walker/Chapter 1 © Azrael Thran (Joshua Bishop)

Migrate Wizard: 
First Release: 
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