"Stories of the Blue Phoenix; A Synopsis."

Ieh'son, the Monk

Three nations battle for control of the Eastern Lands. The magocracy Bedune, the republic Sehi-Sarah, and the dictatorship of Delim-Tarlith each vie for control of the resource-filled lands at the Four Rivers near each of their borders. But in the Frozen Lands far to the North, a fair-skinned and blue haired child is born. Branded as a heretic and bad omen, his family is killed and the child abandoned. Picked up by a caravan of monks from the Blue Phoenix monastery in Bedune, the child is brought back from the brink of death. Soon, the tides of war envelope the young Monk Ieh'son, and the corruption of an ancient evil is revealed to be much deeper than anyone could have imagined. Now, the fight to save the world is on, and every race has a stake in their own salvation.

"The Ar'Tira"

"With the exception of a few lonely scholars, the remnants, cultures, and beliefs of the Ar'Tira society largely faded into obscurity." - Baen Ti'ren.

During the Age of the Night and after the Creation Wars, the world of Neilith birthed and nurtured many societies, both large and small. Like any budding civilization, these groups of people held varying beliefs, worshiped all manner of Gods, and clung to their ancient traditions. Those same societies inevitably fell into the sands of time, and most were lost to the ever churning abyss of history.  The Ar'Tira was destined to be one such society, except for a chance encounter with a Mage of the Tower.

"Fight"

"I don't intend to start a fight now."  Ieh'son muttered, more to himself than to anyone else in the room.  Most of the occupants had long since stopped listening to anything that but the prospect of War with the nation of Delim Tarilith, and he did not care for that outcome.  His eyes scanned the long table of nobles and war advisers, each shouting over another with their ideas of absolute victory.  Ieh'son spotted Saishi, looking very tired indeed, at the head of the table.  Ieh'son sat five chairs down, between a haggard looking nobleman and a high ranking member of the Merchant class of the once great Bedune nation.  Even though some that he had known well were dead, others still craved for death by boasting of war.  Ieh'son shook his head sadly, and the nobleman shot a venomous glare towards him.

"Eternium"

{Note from the Author:  This is a shorter "intro piece" to Ieh'son's Master at the Blue Phoenix Monastery.  Yirshen will be the focus of my upcoming NaNoWriMo challenge (website HERE), and everyone is welcome to follow along!  I'll try to post regular updates to my twitter account as well: https://twitter.com/eblufenix . For now, enjoy!}

"I wish I could say that I knew him well," Ieh'son started, but then the tired King looked up and noticed him staring off into the distance.  Saishi was standing near the edge of a cliff, overlooking a small part of his camp.  He was exhausted from the day's news and events, and it showed in his slumped shoulders and glazed eyes.  Ieh'son was sitting, legs dangled over the cliff, hands absently brushing the parched grass.  From the bottom of his mind, Ieh'son wondered why there had not been rains in months, especially during the wet season.

"One End, One Beginning"

His blue hair singed, and coat in tatters, Ieh'son staggered outside of the citadel.  His weapons were heavy.  Dropping Twin Hex to the ground, the swords once forged by the demi-gods themselves clanged and clattered unceremoniously on the broken pavement.  Dust and sweat invaded every fabric of his bones, and the stench of burned-out gears, stretched leather, and dead bodies overwhelmed his lungs.  Destruction was everywhere.  It was appropriate to the destruction this war had caused, both here and in his homeland.  So many sacrificed, so much potential wasted.  For all the small gains, what a terrible loss.

Ieh'son laughed.  He laughed because if tears were shed, he would fill oceans within the Void.  He laughed because if he screamed in rage, the entire Nine Hells would cower in fear.  He laughed, desperately trying to hold onto his humanity for all it was worth.  After what he had seen, even the smallest amount was worth salvaging.

"You tried." Durr said, wading his huge body through the mutilated throng of war.  There was not a fleeting touch of sympathy or victory in his voice, merely resignation, weariness, and trepidation.

"I succeeded," Ieh'son shrugged helplessly.  "I unearthed knowledge not seen since two ages ago, sacrificed thousands of lives, and lost the one person who truly loved me."

"And you destroyed him." The half-minotaur said, with a touch of confusion reaching his tone.  Ieh'son nodded, and shrugged again.

"He,"  the blue haired mage caught himself, "It, was merely a tool.  An illusion for an evil much  more ancient and sinister.  Yirshen was right, his soul was forfeit a long time ago."  They stood there, listening to the sounds of the dying fading on the wind, replaced by a silence that was more deafening than all of the machines from the war.  Baen, the arcanist who had destroyed entire legions of Delim Tar'lith's army with a single wave of hand, approached cautiously.  He watched as Ieh'son gave a small gesture, and the swords Twin Hex vanished into the dust, while Gleam Scythe appeared in Ieh'son's hand.

Ieh'son sighed as he felt the healing magick's flow into him.  He grinned tiredly at Baen's look of wonder.  "You can study them soon, my friend, if you plan on following me," he said.

"Where will you go now, Blue Hair?"  Durr asked, raising his axe and signaling what was left of his war band to prepare to move.

"West,"  Ieh'son said, studying the fine groves of Gleam Scythe's handle, "I need to finish what I began.  Even though it's true beginning is much older,  I must be it's conclusion."  Baen looked confused, but Durr simply nodded.

"One end, One beginning,"  He sighed, as if recanting something everyone had always told him, "an old saying in the War Band."  Ieh'son let go of Gleam Scythe as he began to walk, and it vanished before the blade touched the dirt.  He looked to the West and grimaced, knowing that his journey was far from over, and dreading the unknown toward which he was walking.

"I will follow you, friend,"  he heard Baen behind him, and he glanced back to see Durr nodding in agreement.

"Our homeland is in the west, as well,"  Durr said, his voice returned to the solid steel and iron that Ieh'son was used to,  "The War Band will travel with you until we must part ways."  Ieh'son managed a grateful half-smile.  Allies were few in the Western Lands, and enemies were bound to be plentiful.

"Failure"

Ieh'son hit the ground in a heap, the small crystals he had tried to form as a shield falling to the ground and shattering. He sat up slowly and groaned, rubbing the back of his head for what seemed to be the hundredth time today. The young Monk looked up to see Maldath frowning. The mage picked up a small cup from a wooden bench and took a sip of the dark tea that he preferred. After setting it down, Maldath scanned his small workshop and remembered the various trinkets and minor artifacts he had collected over the years. There was the Staff of Sime, whose wielder could instantly conjure two or more images of himself, and the Rogue Amulet, who allowed the wearer to make small objects lighter than air. His favorite had to have been the One Stone, a small and insignificant looking pebble. This little rock allowed one to channel Magicks through it but change the elemental flow mid-flight. He always loved that trick to beat the Ice Mages from long ago.

Finally, his eyes settled again on Ieh'son, struggling to stand across the cleared space in his workshop. Maldath shook his head in disgust. So much potential, so much power seemingly locked away behind those blue eyes and beneath that blue shock of hair.

"Failure, again." the old Mage said, disgust clearly in his voice. Those blue eyes sparked cold rage at him again.

"I'd like to wipe that frown off your face with my fists or feet." Ieh'son nearly shouted at him. Maldath leaned his head forward and sneered.

"You are welcome to, if you can reach me." In a blink of an eye, Ieh'son was across the room again, flying at the Mage with fists ready to punch. Maldath was ready, as always, with a Push to force Ieh'son back. The surprise on Maldath's face made Ieh'son smile when his Push impacted a shield of ice and immediately dissipated. Before the Mage could react, Ieh'son's fist was an inch from his face.

"So you can learn," Maldath said, his sneer becoming a small smile.

"If I have to fail a thousand times," Ieh'son said, turning his back on Maldath and walking back to the other side of the room, "I will succeed where no one else has."

"Fates of Three"

{Author's Note: So much for posting on a two-a-week basis. It is certainly looking like two-a-year at this rate! Fear not, I will attempt to post more in the coming weeks/months, aiming for a post a week on this blog. I hope you enjoy this little part I put together.}

"Tell me, Saishi, which outcome you fear most," Urael whispered as the wind whipped across his aging, grey hair. His eyes were tired, the weariness of sending young men to their deaths at the time of war beginning to show. The finer features around his mouth still showed the signs of youth, but those lines were fighting a losing battle. Much like he was now.

It was more of a statement, but the leader of Sehi-Sarah understood the urgency of his tone. He nodded slowly, carefully choosing his words as his eyes scanned the valley. It was the designated meeting place, but Notan was late. He had suspected a trap for the entire journey here, and his tardiness did nothing to soothe his suspicions.

"I wish, only for peace," Saishi said stiffly as his eyes caught a glimpse of a small caravan that came into view over the side of the valley, "at whatever cost it may be." Urael simply nodded, but swallowed hard as his eyes matched his newest comrade.

The nations of Bedune, Sehi-Sarah and Delim-Tarlith had been at war for nearly 200 years. At odds was the territory near the Tower of Tristadune, where the borders of the three eastern provinces met. The Tower, ever neutral by the Mages themselves, kept a high guard near the warring nations. But Delim-Tarlith had threatened to destroy the other two nations within the last few decades, gaining massive power with their technological advancements. Urael, High Magistrate of Bedune, and Saishi, Lord of Sehi-Sarah, had banded together to fight against the power of the souther province. This is what had sparked this meeting.

Urael look down at the peace offering of a white flag with a red star clutched in his hand. It delivered by an ambassador from Delim-Tarlith a few days before with a message to meet at this place. There was a legend that this conflict had begun here. He hoped such a meeting would eventually lead to an end of all the bloodshed. He looked up as the caravan came to a stop. From the covered coach driven by half-mechanical horses, Notan seemingly materialized in front of them.

"Urael, Saishi," the leader of Delim-Tarlith nodded at each of them, an obvious smirk on his face, "you two are looking well."

"Notan, we have come here to begin negotiations of peace," Saishi said harshly his eyes not leaving the guards that surrounded the dictator. Notan raised a hand from behind his cloak and brushed a strand of black hair from his long face, shadows covering nearly half of his features. He laughed softly.

"I merely came to inform you of your impending defeat, friends," He whispered as well, his strong voice overcoming the wind-blown valley, "it will only be a matter of time. Your weak alliance will not save you or your pathetic nations." Notan turned and began to walk back to the caravan.

"You will not win, Notan," Urael finally spoke, "we will defeat you." Notan turned his head as he stepped into the caravan.

"And which Legend will you discover to aid you?" Notan sneered and disappeared into the shadows. The two men watched the caravan leave. Finally, the aging mage shook his head, turned, and began to walk down the small path to the portal.

"Where did you stray from the path, brother?" He wondered aloud as Saishi caught up to him, "where did you stray?"

"Refugee"

{Note from the author: Baen is a scholar and a very powerful arcanist. Originally from the now-fallen magocracy Bedune, he becomes fast friends with Ieh'son. This short details their first meeting after the tragic Grand Deception, a betrayal that led to the downfall of the mage nation Bedune.}

It had been a very long time since Baen had felt the pull of magic as much as he had now. He was in his study, looking through some arcane tomes by the Six Authors, convinced that the Fall had been professed before and he had simply missed it. He had flipped through hundreds of old books, reading through the archaic languages as though he was born speaking them. Years of study, decades of patience in the lost arts and he had somehow missed this? The Gods had some sense of humor about them.

The mage was still grieving the loss of his home nation by that impudent, weak little arcanist when the power flew through him quickly. He attempted to latch onto it with his mind but could not prevent the power from slipping from him. He moved quickly then, closing the tome and throwing it on a small bench near the walls covered in books. He hurried down the stairs quickly, his brown robe flowing across his body. Entering the long hallway connecting his personal library to the rest of the fortress, he waved to the guards as they stood away from the door entering the Grand Throne Room. Saishi stood there, a thousand worried looks glancing across his face. His smiled a little upon seeing his friend and advisor enter the room.

"Baen Ti'ren, how did you know that I needed some comfort?" Baen half-bowed in front of his Emperor and long-time friend. Saishi looked at his friend and was troubled once more, "You feel something, don't you?"

"There was an immense amount of magic that flowed through this place just now," Baen said, his concern very obvious on his face, "did that scoundrel Cre'dalin make his way in somehow?" Saishi shook his head.

"No, I'm happy to say that is indeed not the case. However, a band of refugees from Bedune arrived a few minutes ago. With them was a young monk from the Blue Phoenix monastery. Although he claims to be from the northern wastes, his skin tone is very light and his hair a sapphire blue, nothing like the barbarians that we have had to fight off in the past." With a sudden bang, the doors to the Throne Room opened and the very same person Saishi had just spoke of entered the room. Guards ran after him to stop his unauthorized entry, but Baen quickly raised his hands to stop them. The magic had suddenly resumed its tremulous crescendo. The blue-haired monk walked halfway into the Throne Room and knelt down, blue wavy hair falling over his face and concealing his eyes.

"Your name, Monk?" Saishi said loudly. The young boy looked up then and matched the Emperor's gaze, his blue eyes blazing in the light of the day.

"Ieh'son."

"I tried." - (I)

He was starting to hate the rain. It always seems to make the pain worse. Now as he sat on the muddy ground with death all around him, the warrior figured that it would make it seem better. No such luck. The cold droplets hit his skin like a thousand arrows, puncturing more than just the small veil of warmth around him. The constant rain penetrated his soul and his thoughts, entering his mind and willing to stay there. But he would have none of it. Friends and comrades had died this night, and he merely ran. This was not how it was supposed to end.

"Master Ieh'son?" Came a small, timid voice. It was another servant that had escaped before him. Ieh'son stood slowly as the rain began to soak his clothes as well. He looked down at his hands where he had tried to stop the bleeding of another soldier; they were covered in red and black. Blood and dirt. He had heard a legend before that said that was truly what all beings were composed of. He was starting to believe it.

"I tried." Ieh'son whispered slowly to his hand. The servant inched closer to him, a mixture of fear and wonder in his eyes.

"They said we should push forward soon," the servant boy said cautiously, not knowing what this one was capable of. From what he heard, it was not much. He was surprised when the warrior quickly turned to face him. The young servant could have sworn that he saw Ieh'son entire eyes flash blue for a brief moment. Looking disturbed and angry, he opened his mouth to yell loudly. Instead, the one with blue hair mouthed something without words, and his complexion softened.

"Sehi-Sarah." He said, motioning to the east, "we must follow this route if we are to hope to make it to the city in a few days time." Over the hill he moved then, his speed belying his previous despair. The servant raised his hand and looked back. Waving it frantically, the small band of refugees picked up their belongings and followed the mysterious young blue haired warrior.