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"Legend of the Twelve Regions"
Cald... Barak sat in his throne, wearing magma armor. It was a tradition that the warlord wore his magma armor when it was a time of war, which was why it was very important that the armor be very comfortable. No sense in getting chafed by something you were likely to wear most of your life. "Valkan," Barak said, "you led our fire team into the Weave. Tell the distinguished embers of the council: did your fire team destroy the Shadow Magi?" "They have been driven out of the Weave," said Valkan tentatively. Barak turned his heavy gaze upon the short Magi. "You evade the question, former bridge-builder. Did we, or did we not, destroy the Shadow Magi?" "Of course, yes, more or less, you know, if you count the, uh, well, kind of, you know, they were driven out and, uh, well, their base in the Weave is, uh, burned, and, well, in the most strictest sort of literal sense of the word, uh... not so much, really, and, er, no. Heh." Valkan grinned desperately. Barak drummed his fingers on his armrest. "You see, sir, we ran into some resistance," explained Valkan, nervously pulling on his fingers. "The Weave Magi, they're not so peaceful as they've always claimed to be. Gia told us to leave the Weave alone, but you know we couldn't do that, not when there were Shadow Magi lurking about, so we pressed on. They attacked us without provocation. We had several firefights with both the Weave Magi and the Shadow Magi, proving our power. But then the Weave Magi got to the Shadow Magi's hideout first, and drove them into the Sands of d'Resh. "Rather than further aggravate the situation, we felt it best to withdraw from the Weave and pursue the Shadow Magi ourselves, but the Weave Magi didn't let up; they kept attacking us all the way to their border, and vowed to get revenge!" "Revenge for what?" asked Barak, quietly. Valkan forced a lame smile. "Why, uh, well, there was a little bit of a fire." "Fire?" "You might call it a grass fire." |
"A grass fire?" echoed Barak. "In a region with mile-high stalks of grass?" "Well it serves them right for trying to stop us from getting the Shadow Magi!" barked Valkan. "They're protecting them! I don't trust them! They're up to something!" Several other council embers voiced agreement. Barak raised his hands for silence. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "If the people of the Weave were allied with the Core, why would they drive the Shadow Magi from their region?" "Well, why else would they fight us?" blustered Valkan. "Maybe they thought we'd allied with the Core, and were launching a joint attack with the Shadow Magi," observed Barak. "After all, I was in the Core for a while. But if they persist in wanting a war, we'll be happy to give it to them." Suddenly Sinder burst into the Council area. All eyes turned on him, for non-embers were expressly forbidden to disrupt a Council meeting. "Warlord! I bring grave news!" he panted. "The Orotheans! They have taken the Scroll of Fire!" The entire Council erupted in an outrage. Oaths were sworn, fires summoned, and everyone cried for vengeance. It took a thermal geyser for Barak to restore order. "Hear me, embers of the council of Cald," he said, his voice booming. "We now have war on three fronts. The Weave threatens to attack, the Orotheans violate our trust, and Shadow Magi still stalk the lands to the west." Barak stood and raised his fist. "We will fight these wars, and WE WILL WIN!" The assembled council cheered wildly. As Barak sat back down, he muttered to himself, "But it sure wouldn't hurt to get a little help."
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