The Saga of Zammar the Great #15: Black! Lands!

Story Recap:

The forces of Candahar were saved from the Und’kal threat by the intervention of armies from The Whitelands, The Dragon Empire and Indus. In the aftermath of the fight, Ren mediated deeply rooted conflicts between these parties in an attempt to form alliances that were inevitably unstable.

Because the battle of Candahar left the city destroyed, Ren established a refugee camp, where she gathered people who had fled the Und’kal menace. She also housed the armies that had come to Candahar’s rescue. In preparation to counter  the alien threat, she asked representatives to call their leaders for a meeting of nations.

Abasi fled the destruction of Kampalla with companions Imad, Hadi and Jamil. While on a journey to bring warning of the Und’kal threat to the Pharaoh, god-king of the Blacklands, the four found themselves waylaid at Candahar. Here, Abasi met with his old friend Omir, and learned how Abejide, one of the chiefs of Candahar had accepted white people into the city. Before the two could act, the Und’kal horde fell upon the city, and Abasi was dragged into battle.  

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Ren fidgeted ceaselessly with her hair. Maybe the braids were too much…I should have tied it in a tail. But this is what the women of the Blacklands do. What if they think it’s rude of me to copy them? I should have just left it down...

“You look wonderful, my Queen.” Maria said.

“I don’t know…I should have worn that dress that the village chief from Boran gave me…” She said, pulling on her awkward leather jerkin. “But it was so big…I thought it would look strange. I used to have so many nice dresses…”

“This is a time of war, you need to show that you are ready to fight…”

“And the hair…maybe we shouldn’t have braided all of it…Or leave it straight…Or I don’t know…” Her voice was shaky.

Maria extended her arms to hold Ren’s shoulders. “My Queen. You will be fine, you need not worry about these things.”

“But it’s the first time they see me…”

“And they will love you, my Queen.”

“Brenda, Abejide is almost done.” Zammar’s booming voice spoke above her.

Ren’s fingers started numbing. With Maria, she had been hiding behind Zammar for the duration of the ceremony, trying to calm her nerves. Now she focused her hearing on the ethereal chanting that filled the dry desert air.

She peeked her head around Zammar’s arm. Abejide was standing on an improvised podium of dirt in front of a low mound.  His arms were raised in the air as he crescendoed to a high note. The remnants of the Candaharan people, so few now, stood across the mound from him and imitated the chant.  

The mass burial ceremony was taking place just beyond the blood stained ground where the battle had been fought. Behind the Candaharans, and as testament to their resolve, the remaining structures of their city were finally starting to materialize from rubble. In the distance, downwind to the south, a dark and thick plume of smoke rose to the sky. Ren had decreed that all Und’kal corpses be burned, not wanting to risk disease.

“It looks like the white people are finished as well.” Maria said.

The large gathering of soldiers from Lion’s Gate was walking slowly towards Abejide and his followers. Behind them, six horses rode to the north. They carried bodies wrapped in ornate cloth and were led by three armoured riders. The soldiers would be buried in their homeland, by ancient tradition.

“Why do they wear that heavy metal? Are they so afraid of us that they think we will attack them at such a time?” Maria said.

Minus their helmets, every soldier from the Lion’s Gate assembly was fully adorned for battle, regal in their golden plated armour. Moving as a group, they looked formidable. Ren had to squint against the sunlight that bounced off the wall of steel before she could make out Anderson proudly leading the men. I guess looking powerful is more important than being cooked alive...Even Ren, in her sleeveless jerkin, was sweating in the desert heat.

The chanting stopped suddenly, leaving behind an eerie and empty silence.

“Looks like all of the others are coming now.” Zammar said.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #14: Father and Son (Indus pt.2)

Story Recap:

Indus is a land of people that live in close harmony with nature. These people tamed the indigenous animals, keeping them as lifelong companions. For thousands of years, different tribes warred amongst themselves. Now, though the nation has been unified under a council, those ancient tensions still linger.

The people of Baghadaar worship the spirits of Raj, Kavi and Harisha, the ancient kings of the tigers, snakes and monkeys.  Aitzaz (Aey-teh-zaaz) is a young tiger tamer of the city, whose tiger is named Khan. Two years ago, he graduated from training school with his classmates Maisa, Rahul, Sachiv and Mahit. These are companions who he has trained with since the choosing ceremony, where he was chosen as a tiger tamer by the spirit of Raj.

Now, just a week has passed since Aitzaz attended the choosing ceremony of his sister, Indira. Indira was chosen by Kavi as the tamer for the Anai-Kondra, a mythical snake that lives for a thousand years and whose birth signifies the beginning of a new age.

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Aitzaz stood outside a small wooden house and peered through a crack in the curtains that covered the window. He could just make out a pile of boxes wrapped in colourful cloth on the table across the room. Welcoming gifts? But it’s been two months...

Aitzaz had helped Lyla move into her new house after her parents, both tiger tamers, were killed. He remembered the day well. She had cried, and he had been there to comfort her. With Khan outside the door, Aitzaz had made sure that he was the only one to do so. The memory was bittersweet; tainted by guilt but redeemed by the joy he would experience over the next two months. She’s happier now, with me.

He knocked on the door, crossed his arms behind his back and waited with a humble smile.

“She’s not there, runt.”

The voice startled Aitzaz, and he turned around to three monkey tamers standing a few meters away. Arms crossed, monkeys hissing furiously on their shoulders, the three glared at him. He recognized them as three of the tamers that had had their choosing with Lyla, the same year as himself.

“Esam, hi.” Aitzaz’s voice didn’t sound nearly as aggressive as it had in his head.

Esam, who was tall with a pockmarked and scared face, cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just visiting Lyla…” Aitzaz mumbled. This is ridiculous, I’m a tiger. I shouldn’t be scared of these guys.

“Well she doesn’t want to see you.”

“What?”

“Just…leave Lyla alone you little shit.” Esam barred his teeth and swung his fist towards Aitzaz’s face. Aitzaz moved quickly; unlike the monkeys he’d been trained in physical combat. One hand blocked the attack while the other countered. The man’s abdomen caved behind the force of his blow.

Esam groaned and clutched at his stomach, but before Aitzaz could continue, he was hit hard from the right. He gasped and stumbled to the left. The other monkey tamers grabbed his arms and soon he was pinned between the two. Esam stood tall and glowered.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you little pig.” His fist made contact with Aitzaz’s stomach. Aitzaz braced in time, but the pain made him gasp. The next attack hurt even more. “Lyla doesn’t belong to you.” Esam spat on Aitzaz and punched him again. His monkey scratched Aitzaz’s arm and shrieked violently.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #13: The Mindspace

Story Recap:

The battle with the Und’kal left the city of Candahar utterly destroyed. But from its ruins came the union of unlikely parties: Lion’s Gate (a city of The Whitelands), The Dragon Empire and Kathman (a city of Indus).

Ren, Queen to the fallen kingdom of Torst, mediated the conflicts between the different parties in an attempt to restore stability in the region and begin rallying forces against the alien threat. She called for a meeting of nations to discuss the new threats.  

Soon after meeting Aythyl, Tristan allowed the young Und to “mindshare” with him. This ability allowed the alien to live through Tristan’s life as a young man in The Dragon Peak mountain range. The two, close friends now, promised to work towards peace between their races. To facilitate this, Aythyl trusted Tristan with his heartstone - a rock that would allow the two, now connected in mind, to communicate across great distances.  

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Ren rubbed her eyes and massaged her temple tiredly before picking up a cron. The golden coin from The Whitelands was lustrous and weighty. She sighed, put it back on the makeshift table she was seated at and scrutinized the other currencies laid out in front of her. The Dragon Empire had moon shaped coins, aptly named crescents. The marked pieces of papyrus paper from The Blacklands were called ran, and wooden chips marked intricately made the currency of Indus. Neither was used extensively; both nations ran primarily on an internal bartering system.

Ren was wearing the yak skin clothes she had been given at Tristan’s village, and it really was too hot for them. Her skin itched along the seams, and the tough leather scratched and rubbed against her body. She bore the discomfort without complaint. Her hand reached down to a pouch on her belt and she played with one of the Torstian coins inside. She didn’t add it to the collection in front of her.

“It’s not possible, surely.” Takahito stuttered. The man from The Dragon Empire, wearing enviously thin red robes, seemed to never to stop trembling.

“The Whitelands has never traded currency with either The Blacklands or Indus. There is no way of converting it.” General Brigadier Anderson added, his voice as impassive as ever. Over the past two weeks his impartiality had sparked much trepidation in Ren. Now she felt almost apathetic to it, and she knew that was dangerous.

“We need to make it happen to build the economy here.” Ren replied.

“Queen Ansari, I’ve already said that we should not think about the economy at all, there are more important matters. In Candahar we’ve always taken care of one another. This is a hard time, and though my people have set out to rebuild the city, we still do.” Abejide said.

“Chief Abejide, your people aren’t the only ones here anymore. This camp is growing large, and will grow larger. I don’t mean to intrude on your hospitality for too long, and I promise that we will move to found a new city. But for now, we need to stick together, and we need to set up an economy. The current system isn’t working; there is so much to be done yet most do nothing.

“Traditionally, all trade between the nations went through Torst. The moneychangers of the city had the knowledge to convert the currencies into the local Torstian coin.” Zammar said.

“There is no way to mint more of that money,” Anderson said, “now that the city is gone.” He looked at Ren with his piercing blue eyes.

“Another problem, Queen Ansari. Most of the people coming here have lost everything, they have no money to exchange anyway.” Abejide said.

Ren looked down at the currencies. Ideally, she would be rid of all of them; there was no point in so much tedious bookkeeping when the world could function with just one coin. Unfortunately, things like this were tied to tradition; it would take years for her to discontinue use of the currencies altogether.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #12: The Choosing (Indus pt.1)

Aitzaz skimmed his face along Lyla’s neck, taking in the subtle scent of jasmine and citron. His arms reached under her kameez and ran gently up her back. She moaned quietly at his touch. Then something tickled Aitzaz’s ankle. He ignored it, and in a moment he was on her, his lips devouring hers. She responded in kind, grabbing his head and forcing him closer. A knot was rising in his chest, but something tickled his neck beneath her hands, lingering annoyingly and distracting him from the task at hand.

Spirits dammit, leave me alone.

He gently pushed her down, allowing her a moment to find a comfortable place on the wooden bench, all the while not letting go of her lips. She pulled him on top of herself, and Aitzaz’s hands fumbled beneath himself to remove her clothing. Her hands were at his chest, unbuttoning his top. He was hard, and he knew that she knew it.

It’s happening!

Suddenly, he felt a tingle under the bridge of his nose and an accompanying urge to sneeze. He ignored it and pressed harder against Lyla’s lips, his tongue intertwining with hers. Then, lacking air, he choked. Forced to pull away, he unleashed a deafening sneeze that covered nearby grass in mucus. This was followed by violent hacks and barks as his body responded to the sudden asphyxiation.

Aitzaz felt his face going hot from embarrassment, even as he tried to quell the incessant coughing. But Lyla laughed her chime-like laugh, softly pushed him off herself and swung her legs off the bench. The golden monkey, presently the object of all of Aitzaz’s rage, leaped up her shoulder to nest in her wavy honey coloured hair as if to say “mine.”

Still giggling, she reached up a hand, allowing the monkey to clamber down to her lap where she started tickling its belly. “I think Taz got a bit jealous there, ‘Zaz.” She said with a grin. The monkey looked at Aitzaz with an oblivious expression of innocence. He glared angrily in response, switching quickly to an awkward smile when Lyla turned to him.

“He’s a good boy.” Aitzaz said and reached over to stroke the back of Taz’s neck, pressing his fingers into it just a little bit harder than was necessary.

“Zaz and Taz...” Lyla began to sing.

Aitzaz groaned “Oh, please no.”

“Nothing rhymes with Zaz or Taz” she continued.

“It’s not Zaz, for the spirits’ sake!”

“Maybe I’m just not good at making rhymes!”

 “Aey-teh-zaaz, it’s Aey-teh-zaaz!”

“But that’s okay, because they rhyme with each other!”

“'Zaz and Taz don’t even rhyme if you say it right.”

“So they’re going to be the best friends in the world!”

“Lyla…”

“But who cares, Zaz and Taz forever!!” She crescendoed and punched her arms to the sky.

“Eek!” Taz shrieked, and imitated her gesture.

Then Lyla burst into laughter and hugged her spirit’s animal tightly. Aitzaz watched for a moment, a smile playing on his face as he reminded himself of how lucky he was to be with the most beautiful girl in the city. Me, of all people. Not Rahul, or Mahit, me!

He pulled her close with an arm, and she stopped laughing to rest her head on his shoulder. After a moment, with a growing pit in his stomach, Aitzaz gently whispered “I love you.” And she responded by meeting his eyes with clear hazel ones. Before she could reply, Aitzaz’s lips found her, and they kissed. Not urgently as before, but passionately.

The Saga of Zammar the Great story recap

Map of the world - Saga of Zammar the Great

For the first eighteen years of her life, Ren never left the city of Torst.

Torst wasn't any ordinary city. Built in a valley deep in The Dragon Peaks mountain range, the city was the only neutral state in the world. With gates open to people of any colour, the city differentiated itself from the four other great nations: The Whitelands, The Blacklands, The Dragon Empire and Indus.

For a thousand years of war, Torst had maintained a semblance of balance in the world, preventing the nations from annihilating each other completely, while also providing a home to refugees who fled their ravaged lands. It became a powerful state in its own regard, and slowly fell to its own corruption.

Ren loved her city, and the ideals that it stood for. But having grown up in a noble family as the daughter of Torst's military commander, she was educated highly and longed to see the world with her own eyes. Instead, she had to content with spending days exploring the city's secrets, or lounging in its beautiful gardens.

Then Zammar came. And the mysterious man brought news of the Und'kal.

An alien species from the planet Ghek'yal, the Und'kal consisted of two sub-races. The Und were humanoid in appearance, except for the rough fur that covered their bodies, and their oval heads with elongated ears. They were also intelligent. The Kal were blood thirsty and driven by savage instinct. They walked on four bladed legs, with plated armour across their bodies and deadly claws always ready to rip their prey to shreds.

An immense horde of the aliens now descended upon Torst. The city, too proud to ask for help, stood alone. Commander Ansari, Ren's father, ignored Zammar's advice, and faced the Und'kal in open battle.

Women were not allowed to fight, and instead took refugee in the vast network of cave systems underneath the city. Ren took exception to the rule, and sneaked into the barracks dressed as a boy. She stood in the reserves, and watched as Torst's army was decimated by the aliens. She saw her friend Cody killed by the hand of a Kal. Enraged, she charged at the alien, only to be knocked unconscious.

When Ren woke, she found herself safe by Zammar's side. They were on a ledge overlooking Torst as it burned in the morning sun. The city state, which had stood for a thousand years of war had been destroyed.

Following Zammar, Ren set out on a journey to warn the world of the new Und'kal threat.

They soon came upon a village and Ren met a boy named Tristan. Tristan wasn't from the village, but his parents had left him there soon after birth. Having never felt a part of the community, he found solace in nature and animals. He saw the sadness and guilt that Ren had buried herself in after Torst's fall, and helped her overcome it.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #11: Candahar pt.8

Story Recap: 

After parting ways with his fellow villagers, Tristan joined Ren and Zammar on a quest to reach The Blacklands before the Und’kal. On their journey, Ren learned that she descended from the ancient line of Torstian kings, and with the reinstatement of the monarchy, was the fallen city’s new Queen. Meanwhile, Tristan befriended an Und named Aythyl. The alien mind shared with him, allowing him to live the lives of several Und’kal. 

After crossing the ruins of Kampalla, they arrived in Candahar just before the Und’kal swarm. Ren decided that she would stay and fight with the city. Zammar and Tristan joined her, the latter promising her that he would not hesitate in killing the aliens. 

As the battle raged, the Candaharran army was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Und’kal. After a deadly battle between Zammar and a Kal Prime, the city walls were broken. Still on their top, Ren was unable to escape the destruction. 

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She was walking through a familiar garden. Songbirds chirped happily in the trees that bordered the paved path beneath her feet, their melodies blending with the calming trickle of stream water. The wind blew gently, a refreshing breeze that rustled her hair. The sun was high in the cloudless sky, casting warming rays of light and reflecting in golden textures off of leaves and grass. 

Sitting in the shade of the tall mountain they were built into, the multitude of holy buildings that comprised the top level of Torst rose above her. Colourful mosaics decorated the windows of towering cathedrals. Tall, elegant spires protruded from their base to end in extravagant designs. Large domes capped flat roofed buildings. Golden spires stuck out from the apex of the domes, identical but longer than the ones that comprised the top of each minaret. Several temples and shrines could be made out behind the buildings at the front, their roofs more edged, but tapering along shallow curves. Everything was made of the whitest stone, so bright that it was almost blinding in the strong sunlight.   

The collection of holy buildings created a single place of sanctuary for all the world's religions. Together, they circled the biggest structure at the center of the level: The Golden Sanctuary - House of A'rah. This was where the native Torstian religion was practiced, a place she had gone many times to pray. 

The wind changed direction, wafting a familiar scent of flowers her way. She walked on, taking the first turn the path offered in that direction. 

The bright sky began to redden. She quickened her pace, instinct telling her to hurry. The new road seemed to stretch forever, disappearing into the curving horizon. A strange haze started to permeate the air, hiding the purity of the city in brown silhouettes. Her surroundings began to take on the crimson colouring of the sky; the leaves on the trees transforming to the crimson shades of autumn. Only the path ahead of her retained its greenery.  

Enormous balls of fire streaked across the red sky. Their orange contrails blazed through a curve as their trajectory guided them to the ground. She took a quick glance behind her. The garden was alight, the flames devouring grass and tree alike. In the horizon, the burning ground cracked and ripped itself apart. The chunks began to fall into a deep and endless abyss. She turned back fearfully and ran.  

Destruction followed in her wake. The green trees changed to orange as she ran by, and burned behind her before falling into nothing. She sprinted as hard as she could, her sides splitting with the effort. Ahead, the path opened into a clearing that was hidden behind a bright sun glare - the last piece of sky spared from fiery wrath. She concentrated on the aroma of flowers emanating from within as it gradually overpowered the smoke of fire. 

She stumbled into the grassy clearing awkwardly, just as the last of the path fell away behind her. 

There was a beautiful flowerbed in the circular meadow, and nothing else. The rest of the world had disappeared, lost to the abyss above which this one safe island floated.

Her breath came fast, but easily; the air here was pure. She walked towards the colourful flowerbed, her eyes fixated on the two figures that stood facing away from her.  

A tall, burly man with graying hair had his arm wrapped protectively around the waist of a slight woman that wore a shawl around her head.  

She took a cautious step forward, feeling the spongy softness of the grass beneath her feet. "Mom, dad?" She called to the two figures. 

Slowly, the two began to turn towards her, and the meadow started disappearing as they did. The edges of the clearing simply ceased to be, dissolving into small black flakes that fluttered away to join the abyss below. 

Her heart rate sped up again as she ran towards her mother and father. Their bodies began to vanish in a similar fashion, their feet slowly turning into nothing. It started to spread up their legs, leaving pillars floating in the air. 

"No! Don't go! Please!" She cried desperately. 

Finally, the figures completed their turn to look at her. Nothing remained of her mother beneath her torso, but she gazed at her daughter with beautiful green eyes. Tender love and affection brimmed out of them. 

She reached her mother a moment before the figure vanished. Her arms swung through the once occupied air. She fell to her knees, crying. 

Looking up, she met her father's gaze through glassy eyes. Only his head remained, and he looked at her with expectation, disappointment. 

"Don't..." She whispered, "please...don't leave me." But then he was gone. Everything was gone, and she was falling into the darkness, alone.  

The Saga of Zammar the Great #10: Candahar pt.7

Story Recap:

Abasi managed to escape the destruction of Kampalla with three soldiers - Imad, Hadi and Jamil. Together they made for Kairo to warn the pharaoh of the new danger, but were waylaid and found themselves in Candahar. Upon discovering Candahar's acceptance of white people, Abasi and his friend Omir decided to recruit people to overthrow the city's leadership. Before they could do so however, they were dragged into battle as a horde of Und’kal bore down on the city.

Ren and her guide Maria found themselves on the city's walls to join boomerang throwers in ranged defense. They watched helplessly as Zammar battled a Kal Prime. He defeated the alien but was mortally injured in the process. Tristan brought Zammar’s lifeless body to relative safety in front of the city's gates. Arion, Zammar’s horse, encouraged Tristan to give Zammar a mysterious liquid. Miraculously, it somehow resulted in revival of the man’s heart beat.

After the battle of colossi, the two armies re-engaged in combat.

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Abasi's spear pierced through the side of the Kal, coming to a sickening halt as it hit a hard bone-like substance. He pulled it out with a gush of black blood. The alien shrieked in surprise at his attack, turning quickly to look down at him with four eyes. It raised a talon menacingly, revealing its teeth in an angry snarl. Anticipating the attack, Abasi leapt over the dead body next to him, landing hard on the blood stained ground on its other side. The gash on his back burned with pain induced from the impact. Ignoring this, he turned quickly and prepared to move out of the way of another swing, only to cry in pain as a sharp spasm shot through his left leg. It straightened beneath him instinctively, throwing him back to land hard against some other corpse.

"Fuck!" He cried, cursing his old age and the white man that had impaled him in the side of the leg many years ago. The Und'kal walked over to him slowly now, reveling in its hunt. "Fuck you!" Abasi yelled, brandishing his spear and thrusting it forward to stab at the beast. It bounced off the tough hide, useless with his bad leverage. His leg remained locked as the creature revealed deadly teeth in a malicious grin.

Then, just as the Kal's shadow fell across Abasi, another spear pierced its side above the previous wound. Imad ran around the shaft, jumping on the alien's torso and swinging his scimitar around to cut the hard skin at its throat. The Und'kal didn't have time to turn as blood gushed profusely out of the gash. Its shrieks of pain simply came out as muted gurgles and the twitching body crumpled to the ground.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #9: Candahar pt.6

Story Recap:

Riding on Zammar’s horse (Arion), Ren, Tristan, and Zammar arrived at The Blacklands' city of Candahar only hours before it was assaulted by an enormous horde of Und'kal. As the dark skinned people of the city took arms, Ren too swore herself to the cause. Even Tristan picked up a sword, making a promise to Ren that he would not hesitate to fight the aliens he had come to love.

Ren and Maria, the guide assigned to her by Chief Hirat, took station on top of the city’s walls. With her bow ready, Ren’s intentions were to lead the city’s boomerang throwers. Tristan found himself in the middle of the main army, forced to fight in deadly melee.

The fighting raged in a desert valley, but was soon halted when a large Und'kal, a “Kal Prime”, confronted Zammar. The two clashed in fierce combat that had both sides struggling to gain the upper hand. However, when Tristan attempted to intervene, the unguarded Zammar was caught by a merciless attack, an attack that may have proven fatal for the mighty man.

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Her arrows bounced uselessly off the giant creature's tough hide; still, Ren fired them one after another in desperation, ignoring the sting of the bowstring on her hand.

"It is no use, my Queen." Maria said sadly behind her - not for the first time. Ren loaded another arrow and let loose. It glanced off the writhing monster, flopping lazily to the ground at its feet; she threw down her bow in frustration.

"It's okay. He's fine..." She replied, reaching forward to grasp the sharp palisades of the wall with shaking hands. It's Zammar. Her gaze fell on the medical soldiers stationed directly in front of the wall. Like the rest of the army, their eyes had remained glued on the brawl as Zammar alone fought the Und'kal. None had raised their arms to aid in his melee, not even now when he most needed their help. The only person that had even tried was Tristan.

But look what happened because of him...Ren shook her head violently to clear the thought. She would have done the same, no matter how hopeless the gesture. After all, no one man but Zammar could stand against that thing. But there was the entire Candaharran army...Surely together they could take down the large Und'kal? Abejide and Hirat have probably already thought of that. Maybe they just didn't want to help him. The paranoid part of her said that Zammar's skin colour had something to do with it. Ren turned back to the vast desert, squinting her eyes against the strong sun. There had to be something, some way to defeat the beast.

She made to move towards the wooden stairs leading down to the city behind her. "I need to get down to the fight..."

"No, my Queen."  Maria's hand whipped out to grab Ren's arm. The tight grip startled her out of the focused state she was in. "You must not abandon your post, my Queen." The guide added sternly.

Ren was surprised, Maria hadn’t been strict with her before. "But...I need to talk to Abejide."

"Your battle is here, my Queen. Believe in your comrades." The dark girl pointed a long fingered hand. "Look, this enemy will not last much longer, already its life blood drains."

Ren stared at the girl for a moment before nodding; it would have taken too long to get to the chiefs. Not to mention that there was nothing she could do against any Und’kal with a sword - she’d learned that the hard way. At least with her bow she could be of some help.

"Yeah..." She whispered, turning back around to lean over the wall and gaze at the pillar of dust that was rising from where Zammar had smashed into the base of the hill. "I'll finish it off myself if I have to..." she muttered under her breath, ignoring the sharp sting of splinters on her hands as they squeezed the wood. Despite the pretense, Ren had never felt more helpless.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #8: Candahar pt.5

Story Recap:

Tristan, a young man from a remote village of the Torstian holdings in the Dragon Peak mountains, lived a peaceful life until the appearance of a lost queen and a mighty man. Ren and Zammar preceded an attack by the alien Und'kal that would go on to destroy his home. The survivors from his village sought refugee, and headed for the Indus' city of Kathman. Tristan however decided to join Zammar and Ren in their task to warn and prepare more people for the alien invasion. 

On his journeys, he met an intellectual class Und'kal named Aythyl. Aythyl performed the strange ability of "mind sharing," allowing Tristan to live the lives of various Und'kal. He lost himself in their violent consciousness, resulting in an attack on his Und friend. Nonetheless, Aythyl trusted Tristan and presented to him a mysterious stone that allowed the two to communicate through thought. 

With Zammar and Ren, Tristan reached The Blacklands’ city of Candahar, where the natives were preparing for a large Und'kal attack. Making a promise to his beloved queen, Tristan committed to joining the fight. As the alien horde marched upon the city, he was warned by Aythyl of a new type of Und'kal that now approached, one that may very well determine the tide of battle.   

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Tristan turned again and again as he ran aimlessly, trying desperately to make some sense of the violent discord that surrounded him on all sides. His hearing was continually assaulted by the shouting and screaming of men and Und'kal, overlaying the driving drum beat from behind, and throwing him into a tumultuous vortex of confusion. Dark, bare bodies pushed against him continuously, tempting to crush him underfoot in the stampede, their poisoned weapons slamming against him threateningly. He could hardly keep up. 

It was the pure, undiluted form of chaos. 

"Move!" A man yelled, shoving him aside as he sprinted by. Tristan faltered in surprise; his left foot caught on something, causing him to stumble forward helplessly.

"Sorry!" He cried after the figure that had long disappeared into the crowd. The mob of human bodies was finally starting to thin out, allowing him to see the ground and landscape as opposed to an endless mass of people. On the other hand, the charge had thrown up clouds of dust that reduced visibility significantly, obstructing his view of the Und'kal army. Tristan turned around to see what had tripped him - an unrecognizable human body with limbs sprung out at unnatural angles. The torso had been completely trampled into a red mush filled with chunks of organ. He stared at the mutilated corpse for a long time, even as more people rushed by, many of them contributing to the damage. That was a person, Tristan thought mournfully. A person with a life, friends, dreams, hopes...maybe he even had children. 

"Above!" A strong yell from somewhere to his right. Tristan turned around and looked up just in time to see a large group of Und'kal warriors leaping high in to the air, above the front lines. They brandished their talons wickedly, growling and salivating through the jump. Spears stabbed up from below, cutting through the weak points in their natural armour, or bouncing off the plated parts and snapping dramatically. Kal bodies fell out of the air, a few already dead before hitting the ground, crushing those underneath that didn't move in time. The rest landed nimbly, many already injured, to be charged upon by the masses of people. 

One touched down right in front of Tristan. Its arm swing was instantaneous, the talon shimmering in the dusty morning sun as it blurred through the movement. Tristan hardly had time to duck his head. He backed away quickly as the giant creature gave him a vicious grin. The Kal began to bend its legs, salivating wickedly in the process. The tall, upright torso dipped straight down in between the four limbs. Anticipating the jump, Tristan struggled awkwardly to the side, tripping and rolling hard across the ground. He covered his face instinctively when he came to a stop, waiting to be shredded apart. 

The Saga of Zammar the Great #7: Candahar pt.4

Story Recap:

Brenda Ansari, known as Ren, found out after the destruction of her home that she was in fact descended from an ancient line of kings. As such, she was the now rightful queen of the single kingdom that represented unity in a shattered world. With the recent threat of the Und'kal aliens, it was more critical than ever for her to assimilate the lands and allow mankind to stand in united resistance. With Zammar, and Tristan, she escaped the ruins of her home to travel across The Dragon Peak mountain range and warn other nations. Unfortunately, they reached  the city of Kampalla too late, as it had been razed to the ground by a horde of vicious Und'kal.

Soon after arriving in The Blacklands city of Candahar, Ren found comfort in the company of an old warrior. The man was a change from the otherwise harsh atmosphere that the city had greeted the Queen with, reassuring her of her purpose. However, their talk was cut short by the sound of war drums. The same horde of Und'kal that had razed Kampalla had finally set their eyes upon Candahar, and now descend upon the city in bloodthirsty ferocity.

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Ren sat at the end of a mahogany table in a long, windowless room. The multitude of oil lamps hanging around the walls cast it in a dim orange glow, constantly flickering against the shadows of the people that sat around her. Zammar was by her side, across from the two chiefs. Two elder men sat along the length of the table, and across from them were two elder women. Sprawled across the table was a map detailing the layout of Candahar in the gentle valley, showing a thick blue line that represented the coursing way of the Arghan river behind the semi circular city. It was pretty clear that the desolate desert stretched out for a long way in every direction. Zammar and Abejide were staring at the map intently, searching desperately for any saving grace.

"The walls are weak, and this geography is no help - these low hills will not prevent the Und'kal from surrounding us on all three sides." Zammar commented, indicating to the terrain details solemnly. His presence seemed to add an enormous air of safety and awe to the room, as if in here they were immune to the enormous horde of monsters that charged from the west. Ren certainly felt much more comfortable with him by her side.

Abejide sighed with finality. "Indeed, Candahar's policy has always been one to attack, and make that our defense. This city was never made to withstand a siege of this scale."

"Our armies are strong. We should be able to hold off for a long time in front of the city...The enemy will already be weakened by their attack on Kampalla. Maybe, with the help of the gods, we can destroy them...Otherwise, we should be able to cripple their forces enough to allow the pharaoh to take care of it." Chief Hirat added confidently. She was a tall, very well muscled woman. Her long, dark hair fell behind a lean and sharp face in a single, thick braid. The leopard skin sash running across her torso did not do much to hide the giant breasts and their large, dark nipples. The woman seemed to exude an infinite supply of pheromones, her sexual energy was unreal. Ren kept glancing at Zammar, relieved to see that Hirat's eye bashing and advances seemed to have no effect on the man.

"The lads were telling me that their force looks numberless...Either Kampalla hardly fought, or the enemy received reinforcements." Elder Chima, an old man with a long red and white beard, said in a defeated voice.

"The Und'kal are not just individually strong, but they also hold the advantage in numbers. I do not expect a miracle in Candahar, especially if the force is of the same size as that which sieged Torst." Zammar said, his beautiful voice unfitting for words of such finality.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #6: Candahar pt.3

Story Recap: 

After a month of travelling through The Dragon Peak mountain range, Zammar, Ren and Tristan finally reached the city of Kampalla, only to find it razed to the ground. Emotionally charged, Tristan confronted his Und'kal friend, Aythyl. The two once again initiated the strange Und'kal ability of mind sharing, allowing Tristan to look through the eyes of several members of the alien species. In the process, he began to lose himself in their more violent conscious. Sensing this, Aythyl terminated the connection, upon which he was attacked by an enraged Tristan.

After regaining self control, Tristan joined Ren and Zammar. Zammar had summoned his beloved mount, a horse named Arion to carry them across the desert planes of The Blacklands. On its back, the trio rode fast and hard for three days until they finally reached the city of Candahar. Despite the confrontation at the city's gates, Candahar was isolated and had seperated itself from the rest of The Blacklands. Chief Abejide recognized his old accomplice, Zammar, and reluctantly allowed them through the gates. The city had already begun preparing itself for battle, awaiting the enormous Und'kal horde that marched towards them.

Meanwhile, Commander Abasi had fled the lost battle for Kampalla through a secret underground passage. He brought three companions with him - Jamil, Hadi and his old friend Imad. The three managed to scrounge camels, and made to ride across the desert, aiming to warn the Pharaoh of the impending horde of monsters. A few days into their journey however, Imad spotted a horse charging across the desert in the distance. Abasi, not a man to tolerate white scum in The Blacklands, made pursuit.

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Ren woke slowly, watching the dust motes above her dance lazily in the strong noon sun that streamed in through the window. The bedding beneath her was soft, pulling her in with its seductive embrace. Here, she could lie forever. The fox kit was huddled up on her belly, its big black eyes looking back at her curiously.

"Hi Air," she whispered, stroking the soft fur. "That's a nice and strange name...Better than Brenda at least." She grinned at it, reluctantly moving to get up. Air yapped before leaping off and bounding towards the door, where he turned back to look at her expectantly. Sluggishly, Ren followed him through and out of the empty palace in to the city streets.

Candahar reminded her only slightly of when she had ventured in to the Blacker regions of Torsts under city. It felt so much more primitive, the only real similarity being the colour of the people and the way everyone seemed to stop what they were doing to look at her. In Torst, she had mostly gotten suspicious glares. They were used to seeing whiter people, but the mistrust was strong. Here, people regarded her with wary curiosity; many of them had probably never seen someone with skin as light as hers. Of Course, many also looked at her with a lot more aggression, the sparks of hatred easily showing behind eyes on otherwise composed faces.

It wasn't their fault, she knew that. That was the way they had been raised, the seeds of hatred sown strongly through generations and further fueled by a millennium of bloodshed. These people must have felt justified in their mistrust. Still, the propaganda machines of The Blacklands certainly had a lot less impact in Candahar than they would else where. In Kairo, she would already be dead.

Walking through the crowded city streets, Ren tried her best to smile at all of the strangers that stopped to look at her. It was like she carried a little bubble of silence around her. Within a few meters in every direction, there was no noise from the city folk. Silent hushing accompanied her, as they dropped whatever they were doing to turn and stare with wide eyes. And once she had passed a threshold, they began gossiping behind her back.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #5: Candahar pt.2

Note: This is part five of a story. If you are seeing this for the first time, you may benefit from reading the previous parts as can be found here: http://zammarahmer.blogspot.ca/search/label/The%20Saga%20of%20Zammar%20the%20Great

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The high sun beat down on Abasi's bare back, burning the giant gash that had opened vertically across it. He gritted his teeth and kicked the tired camel beneath him in frustration, reminding himself that it was just pain. His left arm pounded with more where the monster had crushed it beneath the large taloned feet. Oh well, he had gotten even with that one...and the arm still functioned well enough. He wanted to drift, to fall away like his single sleepy eye kept encouraging him to in the desert heat. His vision was narrowing, the blackness of his eyelid slowly taking over from the painful glow of the sun. He felt himself swaying just slightly, his head slowly drooping down...Just a bit more and he'd be off this bothersome camel. Just a little bit more...

"How much further do we have to go?!" Jamil's irritatingly high voice crooned out in complaint behind him, instantly bringing Abasi back to the world with a start. He cursed under his breath in anger. 

"Kairo is on the other side of the world you retard...We'll never make it." Hadi replied glumly, his own voice being a pitch lower but similarly irritating. 

"Fuck man, I wanna go home...I don't want nothing to do with those fucking things no more." Jamil replied. 

Abasi sighed inwardly, furious with himself for picking Hadi and Jamil. How was he meant to know how spineless the pair were? They were both above blackness of eighty and neither were badly wounded. He had figured that meant they must have been good, pure blooded fighters. Now, he realized it was probably just proof that they hid away during the fight. 

Their constant complaining had done nothing but chip away at his patience, breaking it down in tandem with the heat. It was remarkable how different the weather was on this side of the Dragon Peaks. Here, it felt like autumn hadn't even started to bathe the world in cool. Once they had crossed the furthest reaches of most small streams from the mountains, the landscape quickly changed from the grassy prairie to a vast, barren desert of hard rocks and loose dust underfoot. Many rivers still coursed through here, fed by the headwaters in the mountains to west, none of which were conveniently close to the path that Abasi had chosen to travel. 

"Imad, weren't you from around here?" Hadi asked. 

"From there." Abasi turned just slightly at the deep voice to see the tall, muscled man pointing his long hand to the massive plume of smoke they were approaching. His face seemed completely impartial to the destruction of his childhood home. 

"Fuck...sorry man." Hadi replied. 

They stopped their camels at the edge of the village; the fifth ruin they had come to. The air had grown noticeably heavier as they approached, and now the smell of burned wood hardly prevailed over that of flesh. It was impossible to tell the layout any more; all the wooden structures had collapsed and burned. Few logs remained, the rest of which had been transformed into ashes littered with bones and limbs. Amongst the debris, the once vibrant colours of childrens toys stuck out of the otherwise monotonous scene. On a tall pole, still standing in the center of the village, the lonely flag of The Blacklands flew lazily in the warm wind. The black canvas, bordered with red, had been slashed where the golden headrest was meant to be.

Abasi turned to face his men, he didn't really want to look at the ruin of a loyal village, the bodies were still too visible, the failure of The Blacklands military far too clear. 

The Saga of Zammar the Great #4: Candahar pt.1

Note: This is part four of a story. If you are seeing this for the first time, you may benefit from reading the previous parts as can be found here: http://zammarahmer.blogspot.ca/search/label/The%20Saga%20of%20Zammar%20the%20Great

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"We need to go, right now!" Ren pleaded with the immensely muscular back in front of her. Zammar did not reply, still lost in his thoughts. He was facing the long ramp that led down from the Kampallan ring. Directly in front was a giant fissure that had appeared when he punched the stone in unbridled fury. Tristan was afraid the entire mountain would crumble and crush them because of it. But so far it had held. On the other hand, he was grateful that the tall mountains, in whose shadow they stood, obscured view of the absolute ruin contained within. They did not, however prevent the smell of rotting, burned flesh from permeating through the thin evening air.

"Please Zammar..."

The man turned around, revealing his gorgeous face with an eccentric swirl of beautiful black hair. He looked at the young queen with deep, empty brown eyes.

"Not yet, Ren." He whispered finally.

"But they're going to reach more villages...we can warn people..." She, like Tristan had been stunned silent by his solemn mannerism.

"No, we will never catch up on foot." He unsheathed the immense greatsword across his back. It rippled mesmerizingly along the lethal edge with an azure glow. With a loud heave, the immense man thrust the sword deep in to the ground directly in front of him. There, it began to pulsate softly with a stronger, more visible blue that banished the shadows immediately around in periodic intervals.

"What are you doing...?" Ren managed to utter before Zammar's hands landed softly on her shoulders. Tristan felt a dagger of envy at the way her entire body went limp and she stared up at him with large and completely unguarded, but beautiful green eyes. He could almost hear the rapid increase in her heartbeat.

"Listen Ren, this was not your fault."

She was silent for a long while before whispering "We should have arrived sooner, we should have warned them."

"No, think of what happened at Torst...Kampalla never stood a chance."

"I don't care...I should have done better...so many...so many people..." Her small voice died instantly as the giant arms pulled her in to an embrace, effectively hiding her behind the bare muscles.

"Ren, I will not let this happen again." The conviction in the mans voice was penetrating.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #3 - Queen of a fallen kingdom

The pearly laughter of children mingled immiscibly with the angry haggling of merchants and bustle of hundreds of people and animals. Colourful market stalls, bursting with all sorts of goods from food and clothes to charms and effigies, lined either side of a crowded dirt path. The road was divided into three lanes. An outgoing crowd on the right side, and incoming on the left. Both brimming with people that struggled individually against a mass of bodies. Courtesy was not a luxury afforded here. In the center was the thicker portion on which carriages and animals slowly trudged along in the morning traffic.

Captain Abasi, Commander of East-side defenses, looked out of the small carriage window with his one black eye. The aromatic smell of freshly cooked Suya drifted in, causing his lips to water just slightly. This was soon replaced with the unappetizing odor of manure as their cattle drawn carriage clambered on. It hit a bump, causing him to bang his head on the side of the curtain rod.

"Fuck. This is taking way too fucking long." He said, rubbing his forehead with a dark palm.

"Sorry sir, I didn't think it would be so crowded." stammered Private Chuma, who was sitting across in the cramped space.

"Of-fucking-course the market is going to be crowded you little shit head. Refugees need to eat too." The Commander turned to the cowering little boy, feeling his anger dissipate at the sight. Chuma was mighty incompetent, but Abasi had chosen him as a personal aide for his pure skin. Just the sight of it made him giddy with joy. The boy read an eighty eight on a blackness scale, almost as high as Abasi's ninety.  

It was his own blackness that had earned him this position. Kampalla, being as it was on the very frontier of the blacklands - bordering the neutral region that belonged to Torst, was too susceptible to foreign influence.  Kairo felt more truly black men were needed in positions of authority to bring the city back into line. The Pharaoh himself had asked Abasi, a war hardened man of devotion to the cause, to come and ensure that black supremacy and patriotism was always evident in the city. It had been the absolute pinnacle of his life, to meet the supreme leader; the blackest of them all in the long, ebony Hall of Kings.

Now however, with the recent flux of refugees from the east, managing the city defenses and entrance procedures was becoming increasingly difficult. The city too was far too crowded and filled with more people of lower blackness readings. The corruption angered him greatly, and he often cursed the city council for continuing with their low reading acceptance policies.

"It's not your fault, it's these fucking refugees."

The Saga of Zammar the Great #2 - Tristan

She was standing at the crest of a small hill, the winds blowing her long black hair violently. Black clouds rolled over head, hiding the full moon and dousing the Earth in their fury. A flash of lightning. For a single fleeting moment, an immense ivory tower illuminated in the distance. At it's flat cap, a stream of red cloth billowed wildly, attached to the hilt of a greatsword.

Shielding her face from the fury of the storm with an arm, she trudged slowly down the hill and across a muddy plane to the tower. She had to climb it. She didn't know why, but it was important. She had to reach that sword. Another flash of lightning as she approached the ivory walls. A face grinned out at her. No, a decorative carving she decided.

She felt the smooth ivory and found recesses and openings large enough to lodge her hands and feet in. She started the arduous ascent. Her left arm hurt.

Hours seemed to pass and still she climbed. Against strong winds and rain battering her face. Her limbs burned fiercely. She looked down, there was only darkness. She closed her eyes and continued the climb. Another flash of lightning. Another face grinned out at her from the tower. Bright white light illuminating empty eye sockets. She used it as the next opening to lodge her hand in and continued upwards.

Centuries passed before she reached the top. Her arms, ready to give out, thrust her body upwards one last time as she scrambled on to the flat surface, lying flat on her back, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes against the stinging rain, losing mind to the mysteries of the unconscious. A flash of white light illuminated her eye lids, the distant roar of thunder breaking her trance. Not yet she thought. She had work to do.

She clambered to her knees and stood up. There was no sword. A sinking feeling in her chest. She was always useless. She began to walk towards the far edge of the tower. An audible crunch ripped through the noise of the storm. She looked down, there lay a cracked skull. Human. Child. Her eyes wide with fear, she backed away. Another crunch. She ran to the edge, the roar of thunder drowning out the breaking of bones. As she reached the edge, another flash of lightning illuminated the world.

Beneath her lay the ruin of a mighty civilization. Tall walls, broken. A shadow of their former glory. Houses, crumpled to the ground. A reminder of memories long lost. An immense statue of a mighty warrior, once glorious. Now, shackled in submission. The entire picture painted with the bones of the once living.

She backed away, shaking her head in denial. Her foot caught on something. A bone, sticking high out of the tower. She fell backwards, her arm looking for the ground that wasn't there. She tumbled off the edge of the bone tower. The flat turreted roof rushing away and into the stormy sky. She fell, on and on it seemed. Forever, into the darkness.

The Saga of Zammar the Great #1 - Torst

Ren crouched to pick the flower, a purple one...Browallia Bluebells she recalled, loves shade. It was hard to find a sun loving species in the valley, but Ren didn't mind. She liked the shade and all of the shade loving flowers. Her eyes followed the great cliff face in the distance, she had to crane her neck before she could see the top. There she gazed at the massive overhanging rock that covered almost half of the valley, blocking out the sun and elements. It was more than a few hundred meters higher than her current elevation, and jutted out mostly unsupported for almost a kilometer from the cliff edge. Slanting upwards, the ledge reached its highest point towards the far edge.

With a sigh, she added the Bluebells to her basket. A few strands of hair, long, silky and deep black, rustled by the wind covered her eyes, green eyes. She sighed again, brushing them off to the side. Her thoughts were drawn to the stories of the outside world; the vast mountain range that separated this valley from the rest of civilization, remembering the tales of all the fascinating creatures and amazing culture outside the great cliff walls. Ren wondered if she too would ever see them with her own eyes. She wished, for a moment that she could fly.

No, she couldn't leave. Turning around, Ren gazed across the great valley. She was standing on a ledge that jutted out of the cliff face and was part of the forest on the right edge of the valley. Her favorite spot. From here she could see everything. The other side of the valley was an almost identical mirror image to the one she was on. There too, a great cliff face was capped by a massive overhanging rock. The two rocks reached for each other overhead, separated by a gap that spanned the central portion of the valley. Since the valley ran from West to East, this gap was the only strip of area touched entirely by the suns light. 

Gazing downwards towards the road, Ren spotted a farmers family trudging along the thick road, their pack mule straining under its burden. She felt sorry for the animal, and the family...but Pa always said that you can't give too much to the poor because they will become dependent and unable to live on their own. She followed their progress until they reached the Pillars of Augenmar then lost attention and looked to the city of Torst. Her city. 

How could she ever think to leave it behind? Torst, the first and only multiracial city in the world. Built into the side of Mount Romsdalen at the end of the valley, beyond the great overhanging rocks, Torst had stood unharmed for centuries. Its great outer walls glinted in the rising sun, casting a shadow on the roads in front. These walls, made of smooth white stone rose over fifty meters, hiding and protecting the city behind. Above them, Ren could make out the middle levels, built higher into the mountain and protected by an even taller wall. She had to crane her neck to see the final level with its great domed cathedrals and spires. On either side of the city was an immense statue.

The Great Warrior on the left and the Great Intellectual on right. The unknown founding fathers of Torst. The warrior's mighty arms rested on the pommel of a massive greatsword that had been thrust into the ground, straight but for its jagged edge. His muscular chest popped from below a strapped leather tunic and a stone cape hid his back . A symbol of the cities might.

The Great Intellectual looked visibly more feeble, hunched over in a long robe. He held a book in his hand and was reading it with a crooked finger, a long beard flowed from the hooded face. His presence indicated the wisdom and intelligence of the cities citizens. The two had protected Torst since they together joined forces to found it in a world teeming with hatred. Or so the legend went.