The air in the tavern is thick with smoke from countless lit pipes, even more so from the banter and laughter of the drunks all about. A small table, nestled in a corner and flanked by the firepit seats two young men enjoying a drink together, or so it seems at cursory glance. One wears the Knight of Cosrin insignia on his heavy cloak, the other the simple blackened garb given out as the local Factory Worker uniform.
   "So ye wont forge us weapons than?", the factory worker spits out at the Knight.
   "Nae. I am sorry Karl, but that i cannae do." answers the larger man, more sighing out the words than speaking them.
   "BAH! There was a time when ye were the most fiery comrade of the Front!! Ye have grown soft Jihad!"
 
   The Knight tries to calm the other man while eying the room nervously. "Shh! Lower yer voice lad" , he whispers harshly, "Ye will compromise the entire movement." The factory worker settles back into his chair slowly. "The time has come to Act Jihad. The people cannot idly sit by and be exploited like dogs! We have toiled with blood and sweat and tears fer generations, and fer what? So the pigs can live in luxury while our people live poorer by the day? They will never change. They will never understand anything but violence. Im telling ye the time has come Jihad. Tis the only way."
   The man eyes Jihad and takes a long pull from his mug of ale. He lowers his glass slowly, though never his eyes, until it rests once more upon the table top. "So thats it eh? Ye are walking away from what ye once stood fer yerself? Ye will not help yer comrades?"
   Jihad leans back in his chair and places a hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples slowly with a forefinger and thumb. The simple concentration needed to do this enables him to become lost in thought for a moment, memories and dreams, recollection and tales, prophecy and legend.......
   ......."The wolves are closing in! We have to keep moving!" a man proclaims, dragging a young woman behind him and clutching a small infant to his chest........the pounding of feet upon the sand...........the grumbling of the Great Sandwyrms, ever hungry, ever hunting.....the cry of a wolf, the roar of the Wyrm and the subsequent silence............
   ......."Can he truly be the one Paul?" the same woman, though older now, asks of her husband. He leans over a rail on the deck of a great ship staring out at the vast emptiness of the sea. "I dont know dear. I dont know......" he replies without turning to face her. "He bears the mark spoken in the Scrolls." The ship glides over enormous waves, the crest of M'uad Dib emblazoned upon its sail.........
   " I was only twelve years of age when we landed upon these shores Karl. Did ye know that?" Jihad says suddenly.
   A look of confusion overcomes the face of the factory worker.
   "Eh?"
   Jihad frowns slightly and mutters "Nothing. Tis nothing. Ferget it. I am truly sorry Karl but cannae let ye get yerselves killed. If I forge ye the weapons ye ask fer ye will start a revolt, which will be crushed surely. The Town Guards outnumber yer men by six to one. Tis a hopeless endeavor this."
   "Than join us Jihad," the man growls imploringly.
   "I just.....I cant," forces Jihad, looking away from the man. Karl pushes himself to his feet and hurls his now empty glass into the wall. The loud crash startles a few patrons nearby, but goes largely unnoticed.
   "Ye have fergotten who ye are Jihad. Remember those words." the man says angrily before storming away.
   Jihad sighs and rests his head in his hands for a brief moment before rising. He carries his still full mug over to the bar and places a few coins near it. Walking to the door he wraps his cloak about himself tightly and steps out into the harsh air of the Frostfall. The first snow has just begun, a few flakes cling to Jihad's cloak before they melt and disappear.......



   Nightfall
   It was only a short walk from the tavern to the Guild. Jihad decided to walk through the town center. The wind picked up a bit along the way and the air grew chill as darkness enveloped the land. When Jihad came upon the green, it was now mostly covered by a dusting a crystals, reflecting upon them the light of candles all about. The monks celebrating the Time of Creation, as is the norm this time of year, with devout prayer for nearly the entire
day. Here they were even in the cold night air giving thanks and praises unto high. Jihad was always amazed at what man can accomplish when they have string enough faith. He wished at this time, as many other times, that he had in himself this Will which seemed to elude him. He had chosen many paths in life, but never was it a straight one. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye outside the circle of light the monks created Jihad noticed
someone was sitting under a tree a ways back. His years in the hunt , the threat of attack from roving Trolls sometimes making him feel more prey than predator had made his sense keen. Intrigued by this he made his way over to figure shrouded in darkness. As he grew nearer the individual grew larger, Jihad judged him to be nearly ten feet in height, though one can never be sure, especially under such circumstances.
   "Hi Jihad" said the still masked being in a deep yet warm voice. "Fezzik happy meet Jihad at last."
   "Ah, greetings Giant, tis an honour fer me. I have heard great things about ye lad." Upon this Jihad bows deeply to the still man, causing the giant to lumber to his feet and return the genuflection. "Tell me Fezzik, why are ye ou tin this weather tonight? Tis a chill to the air this eve."
   "Fezzik watch pretty snow. When lots of snow Fezzik make big Snowman. Big sa Fezzik. Children like play on big Snowman. Even though fraid of Fezzik." Upon this the giant smiles, giving life to the otherwise dim silhouette. Jihad swore for a moment he saw the fires of Valtera's Pit in that smile, though he later recalled this to be the image of candlelight reflected from the group of monks.
   The two men talked for awhile and departed from each others lives friends. Jihad making his way to his home, Fezzik lowering himself to back to his place, patiently waiting for more snowfall.



Home
   Jihad arrived in his rooms without further encounter. The Guild was eerily quiet in the night, being usually a center of life and activity in the day. He decided to stop at his study, footsteps echoing hollowly on the stone walls. Upon arrival he removed his heavy cloak and made his way over to a large desk. Fishing a key from his pocket he reaches to a lower drawer and removes a heavy, aged book. Dust sparkles with light while rising from
its yellowed pages, a thump lazily rides through the air, and the book opens to to a random page. Jihad rests his elbows on the polished wood, his head on his calloused, hardened hands, and his eyes upon written word.....

The Book of Faith
The Prophet Valkyn
The Coming of the Light

   And so the Dark Being encloses the Land for three generations with Magik and Chaos. The Birth of the Dahlsim, the Chosen, brings forth a glimmer of light like a snowflake upon the Great Black Sands. In this the Future remains blank, like a wall not even I can peer through, like a child still unconcieved. The Balance is yet undetermined, the Creator leaving mortals to decide Fate. I cannot see these times, though indeed they
will be Epic. These days shall forever decide the Balance of Light and Dark, and the fate of mortal man............

   Jihad found himself in a sleep so heavy he did not hear the door swing open, nor the quietest of footsteps making there way toward him. He did not hear his name being called softly, carried to him by the air he breathe. He began to stir only at the feeling of heat upon his neck and the arms wrapping about his shoulders.
   "Jihad dear, why dont ye come to bed." said a tall yet somehow delicate women. Her elven features were beautiful in the moonlight streaming through a small window up high. She removed her arm from about him for only a moment to brush back from her face a golden lock of hair, though silver in this light, and tuck it gently behind small, slightly pointed ears. "Is anything wrong Jihad? Ye haven't been yerself lately. Is it me?" Fins asks of him, a
solemn look upon her face.
   Upon this Jihad turns and stands, pulling Fins' body and mouth to his. Their kiss is long and slow, each afraid of losing the other, afraid to lose the bond they had found. "Fins", Jihad says softly, "I will always love thee. Not distance. Not time. Not even the Gods themselves could end what is in me heart fer ye. I love ye lass. I love ye more than I have ever shown, or ever could possibly. My heart is yers, and t'will always be. Promise me ye
will never ferget that. Promise me that one thing."
   Jihad gazes deeply into Fins' eyes, coal black to silvery green. What was there in that moment is always hard to describe in mere words. A feeling that makes time without meaning, but gives life the meaning it inevitably finds itself always searching for.
   Outside the Night grew deeper. The Moon's silvery glow became hidden behind an ever growing mass of clouds. The town was as silent as ever it could be. That night the lives of men were still undecided. The clouds continued with its mission and the entire land was covered in white. The heavens continues to weep their frozen tears.....





   FINS
   The next morning the sun broke through the clouds, and the light upon the snow laden land was indeed glorious. A dash of warm sunlight upon her cheek awoken Fins that morning. She lazily came into consciousness and immediately knew something had gone awry. The normally warm figure of her love was in fact not where it always was, instead lying in his place, nothing but a chill air. She rolled over slowly, dreading what she might find. Tears burst
forth from her eyes as they came upon a single white rose, its bud yet to flower. Beside was a note, though she hesitated to read it. She laid there for a long time staring in disbelief at what she knew in her heart was a last goodbye..........

   FEZZIK
   Fezzik awoke the next morning feeling empty, something he had grown accustomed to over the years. He had been shunned in his homeland because he was half human, shunned everywhere else because he was half giant. He had spent many long years alone, in a small shack out in the wood. He hunted for his survival, but could never quite satiate a stronger hunger in him. He lazily rised from his bed and took out a well used quill and parchment. Staring
out a frost covered window at the fuzzy, almost unreal landscape before him he began to write a letter. He found it funny that most assumed he could not write. He had spent along time teaching himself the skill but had made good headway as of late with the help of a young monk named Gandhiji.
   "Peace can be the only path" , he whispered to himself, though those words took upon them a distorted and sad meaning this day.......

   Gandhiji
   Gandhiji began the morning as he always did, rising with the sun and going for a long walk about the streets of Moorgate. The day was special however, as he was to meet a friend this day, usually he was left to his own ponderings along these strolls. He worried greatly about this man he was to meet. He was working out a plot to kill the richest factory owner in town with hopes of bettering the lives of his fellow workers. Gandhiji knew this was
foolishness and sought to talk him out of this evil path. The stroll to the factory was a short one and Gandhiji passed the time by reciting the Prayer for Wisdom, as found in the Great Book of Revelations, ten times.
   When he came upon the factory he found a group of townsfolk outside with signs and angry voices. He approached Karl with haste, bowing and breathing the words, "Karl, what is this? Im happy to see you have changed your mind and now seek peaceful protest. Nothing can be gained from violence but violence in return. You must seek understanding, only through understanding can the communal spirit truly rise like a dove."
   "Greetings monk." said Karl without missing a step in his march around in a long oval. "If they will not raise our wages," he shouted aloud as he was now nearly ten paces from Gandhiji, and the outcries of other men ignited the air with fiery words, "than we will not work!" Gandhiji, aware, as was his duty, noticed the town guards beginning to enter the immediate surroundings as well as the overweight balding man dressed in fine clothing emerging
from within their ranks.
   "GET BACK TO WORK!", shouted the factory owner in a booming deep voice. " I will throw you from your homes! You want more money?!?! I want more work! Effective immediately you all are taking 50% pay cuts!" he sneered at the group of protesters, all of them factory workers, all of them with families, all of them barely surviving on the meager earnings they made for their effort.
   Gandhiji stepped forth between the opposing groups and tried to calm Gilliam Bates. "Sir, reconsider your words. These people cannot survive on half their current wages. Its the cold season, they will not have enough money to even buy bread."
   "Well they arent making any money out here picketing either are they?", Gilliam replied while eyeing down the small monk. "Either they get back to work now"(at this point Gilliam raises his voice for all to here)"Or I will close the factory for the cold months. How will you like that eh? I will fare well. Can the lot of you say the same?"
   Suddenly at this point Karl steps forward from the ranks of protesters, dropping his sign upon the the muddied snow. "This is what ye answers to our demands?", he says as he walks a straight path which dead-ends into the factory owner. "Ye threaten us with starvation? Ye threatens us?!? By Ica's name ye will pay fer yer sins Gilliam. Ye have prospered too long off our hard labour ye filthy pig!" Karl spits upon the man at this point, an arc of
silvery spittle landing right on his opponents nose.
   The rest of the events which happened, did so quickly, as Gandhiji can only recall bits and pieces. The factory owner charged forth at Karl, unsheathing a gold and jewel laden dagger as he does so. Gandhiji steps quickly between the two men, yet not quickly enough, or perhaps too quickly. Karl rips out from beneath his cloak a bronze short sword and rushes forth into the onslaught. It seems everyone was taken by surprise. The guards had barely
enough time to blink, the protesters to scream, Gandhiji to pray for his salvation.
   Gandhiji fell to the ground in pain. His back screamed in pain from a slash with a cold blade. His stomach burned with the fire of its own acid, seeping down through his innards. Things began to grow dim, noises began to fade out. He looked up and stared in disbelief as the group of men unleashed weapon upon weapon, advancing the town guards. He saw the factory owner fall, landing side by side with the body of Karl. Gandhiji cried at this point.
Nothing saddened him more than the sight of violence, of another of Kali's beings destroyed. The clanging of metal rang in his ears. He thought it strange how much they sounded like the monastery's bells. He rolled his head over to the side with the last of his strength, turning his head from the melee which soon encompassed the street. "Forgive them Kali, they know not the wrong they do," escaped his lips in barely a whisper, as he stared into the
heavens above him. The sky had been a beautiful blue that morning. He knew this to be a sign from Kali that everything would turn out well. He accepted death without fear, without regret, yet oddly he faced his journey to his Goddess also without longing. He wished he could stay here, to help, to teach. He passed away that morning. He was buried in a simple ceremony two days later........
   Jihad
   "Well than Captain, let us be off." Jihad said to a short wiry man with a fully bearded face with a forced smile.
   "To lands unknown eh? If the sea doesnt swallow us before we find the blasted place", the man mutters in reply.
   "Ah, where's yer spirit of adventure capn?" Jihad replied to the man's mutterings. "We may all die out here, but at least we will have a fun time eh?"

all, or when tears streamed down his face for reasons unknown.    The sunset that eve was a beautiful one, though strangely dark. Jihad went below deck that night in a melancholy mood to his quarters. He said nothing to those he passed on his way. Jihad didn't sleep that night, and found it hard to sleep for many nights after.......
   A note was found that day next to the lifeless body of a giant. It was barely legible and spoke mostly about not fitting in.
   Fins spent that day in her room. She did not answer those at her door, and sat silently looking out her window from high in a tower at the sea.
   A great many bodies lay outside the factory when the fight finally ended. People would wonder for years after how the workers had gotten their hands on such expensive weaponry.
   The sun set that eve in Moorgate as it had for countless years. It would rise again the next day as well.
The End!

   Thus ends the legacy of Sir Jihad M'uad Dib on the day 16 of Frostfall in the year of our Goddess 126.