Tales from Ibn Punacious - Artaxus

A Tale from Skyra

Ibn Punacious, originally from the western continent of Sabex, is a well known storyteller in many parts of the eastern continent of Anzac, from Northumbria to the Caloren States and to lands much further east. In recent years, his tales have taken on a new, fiercesome reputation, and only the brave of heart listen to a story's completion. Groans not borne of pleasure and much writhing and rolling of eyes have been reported. Some groups of citizens have even contemplated banning any future telling of Ibn's stories, insisting they are a form of torture. The dwarven city of Miridor has declared him an outlaw, posting a bounty of five thousand gold royals for proof of his demise. Oddly, the stories have actually increased in popularity among the Kmer of the Caloren States.

You have been warned.

* * * * *

One summer night, many years ago amidst the Greek city-states, three merchants traveling from Athenia to Corinthia gathered around a campfire. The journey was an easy one and the weather fair, so they did not mind making camp earlier in the evening.

Long after second moonrise, they were disturbed by the sound of something large crashing through the underbrush. Knowing that to ignore such a monstrous sound would be foolish indeed, they drew steel, alerted their guards, and prepared themselves for whatever the gods had in store for them.

There was a loud pop from the fire, startling everyone, when into the dim light stepped a warrior, much battered and hard worn. By his armor and his dirty, ragged cloak he was revealed to be a Macedonian, which did nothing to put the three merchants at ease. His sword, however, was sheathed and his empty hands were held up in plain sight.

"Peace," spoke the warrior, "I mean you no harm. I have been traveling since day before yesterday morn, and could not give you grief if I tried. A little rest and warmth is all I crave. I beg you, please, in the name of Hestia."

The three merchants and their guards relaxed, since Hestia, as goddess of the hearth, was both a gentle and very ancient deity. One did not lightly refuse a request for hospitality when Hestia was invoked. Such a request also held obligations for the petitioner.

Upon seeing him in the firelight, they noticed that his hair and beard were completely white — an oddity since his face was smooth and taut and by his voice, they had at first thought him to be a young man. They made room, however, and bade their guest to sit at the fire and take sup with them. The Macedonian gratefully agreed, and after some urging, related his story to them.

"My name is Iksander. It was only yesterday," he began," that the world looked fair and it seemed that Fortune Herself had smiled on us. My companion Artaxus and I were on our way to Thebas to sell our swords. The Thebans are always in need of veterans."

The merchants nodded in agreement at this.

"In the early dawn three days ago," Iksander continued, "we had bested five monstrous ogres with nary a scratch between us. Better, we found they possessed a handful of gems and a sack of gold sovereigns. Artaxus had never been very wise, but his skill as a warrior had always made up for this. At least, until yesterday." The Macedonian paused, full of thought.

"Pray, continue with your tale! What happened?" exclaimed the first merchant.

"It was pride, of course. Artaxus boasted that the world had never seen such skill as his. I foolishly let him have his way, as I was feeling good myself. But Artaxus went on and on about his skill. I saw a bright flash of light and knew that we had been overheard one or more of the gods. Before us stood an aleax. The gods had sent a doppleganger, equal in every way, down to his armor and sword, to challenge Artaxus and thus punish him.

"Artaxus did not waste time. As soon as the aleax appeared and moved for him, he returned battle in kind. For an hour they fought, swords ringing and clashing until, at last, Artaxus defeated it. Incredibly, Artaxus was only slightly wounded. I thanked Zeus and Nike for the victory, and hoped that the gods would be satisfied.

But with his next words, I knew that Charon the Ferryman was waiting for him. Artaxus declared he was proved right, that his sword skill was the best in the world. I feared Ares or Athena would punish me as well! Nothing I said could dissuade him! Then I heard him boast that not even the Fates themselves could gainsay his skill!"

The merchants gasped as such presumption, and they as well as some of the guards made hasty warding signs against misfortune.

"Suddenly there were two more flashes of light. The first flash was a second duplicate, armed and ready for battle. The gods were determined to punish Artaxus for his vanity.

And then I saw Her and Her Sisters with their hideous whips. It was the sight of their anger which turned my hair white and left me senseless for a day."

The merchants, unbelieving, waited for the words to come. "You mean ...?" asked one.

"Yes," intoned the Macedonian gravely. "This time he was beside himself ... with Furies."

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