The fabled woods of Nor are usually filled with the chirping of birds this time of year. Yet in the clearing near the Tree of Infinite Truths, no creature dare stir. Sitting upon the roots of the aged elm sits the Tree Guardian, a powerful dimension traveler, the wrinkles of his years resembling the sacred bark he rests his back against. Nature itself respects the elder’s meditation.
A single twig snaps–the elder’s eyes dart awake and he launches onto the soil to engage in the match he has foreseen with a swiftness unknown to his bones for many moons. A mighty blast of splinters and flame marks the arrival of the Usurper, who casually steps through the havoc he has wreaked upon this forest of the ages.
The Guardian drops his weathered green cloak as the life energy of the forest he has sworn to protect pulses through his veins, the terrifying tranquility of certain fate engraved into his face as he whisks his hands with graceful elegance through the wisps of aether encircling him.
The Usurper reaches deep into his soul to feel the fire of hell itself rise within. His eyes grow red with the embers of the Flamepeak volcanoes of the old legends. He leaps high into the air and smashes down with an Earth-shattering crash that splits a fissure into the once-tranquil meadow.
The Guardian ceases his elegant dance and casts his arms out to either side, each as still and unshaken as the branches of the mighty tree behind him. Casting them to the heavens above, he calls upon the rains. As the water falls to the Earth across the leaves of what has been his home these past hundred generations, the Guardian calls forth from the forest one of its Elvin archers. The warrior leaps forth from his perfect concealment in the trees to take his place on the field of battle.
The Usurper expected more. Doubling his reserves of fire, he glows bright red with the terrible power at his disposal. He screams with the agony of containing the flames and bellows them at Guardian. The elf obediently jumps into the flames and disappears in a haze of ash, taking with him the onslaught intended for the old man.
The Guardian calls upon more rains, and a wizened sage owl joins his cause. The Usurper is taken aback to see the physical manifestation of a former dimension traveler so early in the fight. Drained from his last counter, he reluctantly allows the creature to stay.
But the Usurper is not without allies of his own. From the smote ashen crevice before him, he calls up a goblin armed with a crude but deadly pike. Simple, ugly, unskilled, but he shall do as cannon fodder. The Guardian orders the sage owl to attack and the majestic iridescent blue bird streaks to the heavens. For a moment only glorious sunlight penetrates the unsettled dust masking the once tranquil field before the bird strikes at the head of the Usurper. The traveler puts his hand to his face and tastes his own blood. Curse the pike-goblin for not reaching for the bird!
But an opportunity now presents itself as nothing stands before the Guardian while the sage owl banks to return to the fight. The Usurper rises another goblin from the crevice. Calling upon the energy of the land, he commands both to attack with swiftness. The Guardian is taken aback; the conjuring illness of the creatures is bypassed!
The goblins charge the old man. A defiant palm strike from the regrouped mage un-summons one back to the nether realms, but the pike of the other lands a piercing shot in the old man’s side. The returning sage owl scares the remaining goblin back to Usurper, but the damage has been done. Even the soil of ages upon the Gaurdian’s threadbare robes cannot hide the growing crimson stain.
The Guardian has had enough of these games. With a forceful hand gesture, he forces the waters of the rains deep into the soil of his forest. The Usurper looks on in awe as the mighty oaks become mangroves and clearing becomes swamp. From the fetid ground comes forth an army of rats.
A master of three elements! This was a fight indeed!
The goblin is overwhelmed and succumbs to the tidal wave of rodentia, his pike remaining upright due to the sheer mass of animals ripping his flesh from his bones.
The rage of the Usurper knows no bounds. His bloody scream stops the rats dead in their tracks, and with a subtle nod, they reverse direction and drive for their former master. The Guardian says nothing, only watches in sad horror as his owl obediently dives into the mass, sacrificing himself to buy the traveler time, precious time. The Guardian whispers his good-bye to the owl in a voice heard only by the trees.
But the Usurper has made a mistake. The swamps have spread to whole acres of forest, channeling the energy of both trees and marsh to the old wizard. He calls out in words forbidden to men for many generations, and from the soils comes forth a terrifying bone dragon. With a hearty trample, the rats are crushed.
The Usurper isn’t fazed. What pyromancer would be frightened of a dragon? He closes his eyes and ignites the forest not yet consumed by the swamp and summons the fiercest defense he can:
An iguana.
“An iguana? Seriously, that’s all you got in your hand?”
“You see all the red manna? I got screwed with my opening hand, what can I say?”
“You wanna just concede now? Or will you make me go through the motions?”
“Iguanas have deadly strike, buddy, this isn’t over.”
“What? Lemme see that card.”
The Guardian carefully looks over the iguana, and notes the poisonous claws. They may not look like much, but all they need do is land a strike, any strike, to kill the mightiest of creatures. He ponders the devices at his disposal, searching through thousands of spells and magics to see if-
“Oh my god, go already!”
“I’m being careful.”
“I have a fucking iguana, you have a dragon, do something!”
The Guardian reaches into his satchel and pulls out a golden chalice with intricate jewel work. He tosses it into the air, where it floats above him. The bewildered Usurper looks at the cup, and then feels life itself being drained from his veins as the cup fills with red liquid seemingly materializing out of nowhere.
“I lose one life each turn? Nice artifact.”
“It has its uses. And I attack with the bone dragon.”
The sinew and bone monstrosity roars mightily as it runs to cover the ground between the travelers. The iguana looks helplessly at his own conjurer for support, and the Usurper gives it a reassuring nod. The iguana gulps nervously and stands his ground, his claws turning deep blue with his toxin.
The dragon crushes the iguana with no incident.
“Bullshit. Dragons do not have combat advantage.”
“He’s a legendary creature.”
“Not in fourth generation rules, and he’s a fourth generation creature so don’t try pulling that bullshit we’re-doing-3.5 excuse on me again.”
The dragon steps on the iguana and howls in pain as the crushed reptile lands his talons with his final deathblow. Both creatures die.
“I don’t think so.”
The Usurper casts a spell of demonic bravery on the iguana who, in a fit of legendary bravado, lashes out at the dragon. The mighty dragon collapses instantly, as the iguana climbs over its dead adversary’s flesh–
“Wait, bone dragons aren’t fleshy, they’re immune to poison.”
“…Fuck, you’re right.”
The dragon crushes the iguana with no incident, but is tripped up by the spines of the recklessly brave iguana, giving his master one last chance to turn things around. The Usurper cringes as he realizes the only option left to him and conjures another iguana.
“How many of those you got?”
“Four in this deck.”
“That’s what you drew? Another iguana?”
The forests and swamps, now untapped of their magical potential, cast their full manna to the Guardian, who bestows wings upon to the bone dragon. The ferocious beast swoops high into the air before slamming down with terrible might upon the Usurper. The iguana looks on, helpless to defend his master from the flying beast and is slightly relieved by that fact.
“Fuck it, I concede.”
“Good game, want another? I’ll let you go first.”
The flame temple of the ember-mages of Ori lies deep within feared volcanoes, the ideal site for an exiled monarchy. The true rulers of the land of Ells have watched helplessly from their fiery keep as the upstart descendents of their bastard children have defiled their throne and, with an audacity unheard of in a millennium, labeled them “usurpers.” An old cloaked man approaches the wrought iron portcullis of this fortress of the damned. The Usurper gazes down upon the visitor, eyes glowing with vengeance, eager to welcome this new guest.
