The Seventh Bio of Christmas

Arashara Goshiri silently watched the sun set over the endless expanse of sand. She was always at home in the desert, although this desert wasn’t her home. It was Aunstrom, the great desert of Valhalla.

Nearby, her scouting party--a band of Greek soldiers and a lovely kyrie by the name of Empress Kiova--were lighting a fire in the shelter of two small ruined walls.

The setting sun glinted off the object in her hand, catching her eye. It was the Eagle of Einar, a gift the valkyrie lord had given her shortly after summoning her from Persepolis. He had said it was an object befitting her stature, centuries old, and that it had always been calling to her.

But it was no mere artifact, not just a trophy for her to flaunt. It was more dangerous than the swords her people wielded back on earth; it was even more powerful than the mystic weapons the warriors of the 10th Regiment of Foot wielded: the "muskets," as they called them.

A deep, reverberating roar echoed above the dunes, startling Arashara and almost causing her to drop the Eagle. Pouring over the dunes like grotesque slime was an army of Utgar’s horrific orcs, led by Utgar’s right hand: Taelord, the fearsome kyrie.

Arashara didn't have to say a word; the warriors of the Sacred Band and Empress Kiova were at her side before the howl died down. They stood, ready, at the top of their dune as Utgar’s hordes swarmed forward. There were too many of them.

Arashara gave the Empress at her side a single glance, and the Kyrie nodded; she instantly took to the skies, flying back the way they had traveled the past three days, back to Lord Einar’s castle.

The Greek warriors charged, and Arashara was in their midst. The orcs were not her quarry; Taelord was. The kyrie monster landed atop a small dune to survey the battle, and that was his mistake. Arashara focused her inner thoughts, and pointed with the Eagle of Einar at Taelord.

The desert came alive. The sands spiralled and coiled and convulsed. The Greeks knew what was going on, but Utgar's army didn't. The sands did her bidding and reached up from the ground almost like a hand, grabbing Taelord, then they moved with the speed of a sandstorm to bring Taelord to her; in his place, filling the void nature abhors, a member of the Sacred Band was carried to the small dune, in the midst of the enemy army.

It was a sacrifice she had had to make, for now Taelord was at her feet.

ZBeeblebrox,