Dojo Darelir, the School of Xenograg the Sorcerer

The Nur-Wan


Inhuut, oldest and most respected of medicine men throughout the Eight Clans, stands before the council of the chiefs.

"Behold the Twilight Time! It is as the Nur-Wan warned, great chiefs. The Ancient Enemy has come again to enslave our minds and spirits."

"I did not want to believe the Nur-Wan, and thought him a false messenger," speaks Teogi, khan of the Rellugai by council vote seven years ago. "May the Sky Father forgive my lack of trust."

"You were not alone in that doubt, My Khan," replies Inhuut. "We did not fully accept him but nor did with cast him out or slay him. We did not act upon his words soon enough but we did not sit idle, either." Teogi and the other chiefs nod their heads with some relief at that.

"How many of our warriors are ready now, Inhuut?"

"Only one in four, My Khan," the old shaman answers. "Now that the chiefs have brought all my brothers and I together here and now, we can begin to prepare the rest."

"Good!" booms Teogi as he jumps to his feet. "You shall make sacred our hammers, our arrows, our shields so that we may help the Sky Father and the Earth Mother in their war against the Demon Gods!"

"Yes!" cries Samuj, war chief of the Rellugai, as he also rises from his chair. "We shall smite their Unliving Ones until they are dust under our feet!" The six other chiefs also stand, the council vote unanimous. They will war in the name of righteousness.

"And give their defiled spirits final rest," adds Inhuut, his words a prayer.


After the council meeting Teogi walks with Inhuut.

"Revered One, where is the Nur-Wan? Will he return to make war with us?" asks the khan.

"I have spoken with my grandfathers, My Khan. The Nur-Wan is out there now, in the darkness, fighting the Unliving Ones. He will not return to make war with us. The battles he will fight are on another front." Teogi nods with a frown, wishing he could tell the Foreigner-With-The-Message that the Rellugai have heard him. The khan looks around the camp, watching the men put on their lamellar and arms. Every boy old enough to sit a horse will soon fight. The young women too. Every sacred hammer must be wielded to the utmost if the Eight Clans—indeed the very world—is to survive.