Welp, I finally did it.

Got off my keister and wrote an introductory short for Tiamat.

Hope you all like it.

And I apologize in advance if the formatting is wonky. Hotmail is 
_evil_.

Redhawk

--

"Messiah"

By Redhawk

It is I, Ozymindas, former Royal advisor to the upstart Pharoah 
Rama-Tut, who brings you this tale of your mother's first days upon this 
Earth. It would do you well to pay attention, for Tiamat is an 
unforgiving sort, and her mercy is as dry as the desert sands of her 
ancient home.

Your mother, Tiamat, She Who Gives Birth to Dragons, was born in what 
you would consider the dimmest recesses of history. Egypt was her home, 
the pinnacle of modern civilization. Her home village was the town of 
Akkaba. Note, children, that Akkaba has been forgotten to all who knew 
it. Remember this. Akkaba at that time was just on the edge of the 
advancing sands and the fertile silt-waters of the river Nile.

Your mother was abandoned by her parents, whose name she never knew. 
Abandoned, cast out, left to die on the hot sands of the desert. Her 
crime, you ask? She was different. She was strong. The marks on her face 
branded her as different, as an abomination. That night, the town of 
Akkaba was raided by the Riders of the Storm, a fierce band of bandits 
and warriors. The Riders slew any who breathed in that village that 
night, sparing only the goats, camels, meats, and the woolens. All else 
went to the sword or the torch, for the Riders left no survivors to wag 
their tongues of what they had seen.

Your mother's coming onto this world was the subject of a prophecy, and 
none believed it moreso than Baal, their leader. Baal was a fearsome 
warrior, as cruel and as deadly as a sandstorm. It was Baal who rescued 
your mother, it was he who raised her from a whelp to a warrior, from a 
babe to a woman grown. But her life was not easy, just as your will not 
be easy.

She was beaten nightly. Flayed, her malleable flesh hanging from her in 
tatters, she labored. She learned the sword as other women learned the 
needle. She learned the axe, and the mace, and the spear, as others 
learned the cooking-pots. When the men came in their drunkenness to take 
their pleasure of her, she fought them, and won. When they ambushed her, 
screaming of her abominations, she cut off their manhoods and stole 
their camels, left them to die in their misery. Only Baal's touch did 
she tolerate, for it was him who ordered that she be treated harshly. 
"She is the Eternal One." he would say. "She must learn to survive all 
that man can do."

Why do I tell you these things, you ask? Foolish children. Today you go 
before the terrible gaze of Tiamat, and are judged. Will you be worthy, 
I wonder? You, back there! Do you think your quick wit and unnatural 
charm sufficient to sway the Mother of All? And you, over there! Pay 
attention, lad! A strong arm and thick hide will not save you if you 
show disrespect! And you! Your battle-frenzies and your lusts for the 
blood of the fallen will serve you no good here! Foolish, foolish 
children.

Perhaps this lot does deserve to perish. None of you are truly strong. 
Some are gifted, possessing powers beyond that of mortal ken. Others are 
not. It makes no difference. Only the strong shall survive.

Are you strong?

 


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