Sanai Khan

Group: Young Champions

Server: Pinnacle

Rank: Tovarich

Security Level: 15

Online Name: Sanai Khan

Country of Origin: Uzbekistan

Origin of Powers: Magic

Archetype: Tanker

Powers: Ice / Energy

Battle Cry: I do not fear death, do you?

Movement: SuperLeap

Favored Attack: Bone Smasher

Favored Defense: Frozen Armor

Hated Nemesis:

I am sent to America by CCCP-Russia. Why? I will come to that presently.

I trace my line back to Genghis Khan, through his firstborn son Jochi and grandson Batu. All of northern Asia we ruled. In the west we were called the Tartars and the Golden Horde, and we ruled Russia for a quarter of a thousand years. All of Europe we could have conquered except for family quarrels and distractions. Our Spirit Banner went before us and all the steppes became the land of the Eternal Blue Sky.

The Mongol Khanates ruled with strong but fair hand, it was not until the outrages of Timur the Lame were ascribed to us that our contributions were forgotten. Linking East and West, we established trade routes. We respected and practiced many religions and spoke many languages. Our women were not servants but partners. Yes, our war engines and technologies were advanced, but we also brought maps, dams, canals, ships, and currency. "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure-dome decree," said Coleridge.

But that is the story of my people, not of me. When Batu Khan overran Hungary, a powerful spirit witch did he encounter. "I curse not you", she spat, "but your son here. Only one son shall he have, and his father will die soon after. He and his fifty decendents will live in cold and depravation. To each will..." Her curse was interrupted by an intruding sword; we do not know the rest.

It is from that line I come. Her curse has proved true, each of my ancestors has had only one child, a male, and has died within weeks of his son's birth. But in the curse is disguised a blessing, for I believe I cannot die until I beget a son, and the magics she used are bound up in me. Powers of the cold northern wind, of language, and of endurance.

I grew up in Uzbekistan, where the last Khanate emir was ejected by the Soviets in 1920. In 1989, when I was but a child, I was sent by the Soviets to Moscow for study. But they do not want a Mongolian hero: they had been repressing the reminders of the Golden Horde for decades. On minor missions they sent me, but rumors of my fame grew in Uzbekistan, Khazakstan, and surrounding countries. When Soviet Empire came to an end, the Russians did not want the rise of a new Khanate spirit, so to frozen Franz Joseph land I was sent. They hoped I would die quietly there. But as I mentioned, the curse sustains me, and I did not die.

Now, word of me living leaks out, and again anxious to lose a rival hero, they again seek to rid themselves of me. "The Rikti will kill him, send him to America." Undersecretary Antonov sums it up as I am boarding plane. "Seek out Red Brigade", he chuckles, "that motley riff-raff should take you in. We do not need heroes of the lesser races here. If you return to the East, an accident is sure to happen to you. Do not even try."

And so I am here -- in this new America -- far from the open steppe and mountains of my heritage. Will I ever see again the land of the Eternal Blue Sky?