To understand how Eliphaz arrived in the city of Shechem—and came to rescue Narina from the fiery clutches of Baal-Molek—we must turn to an event that is rather well-known in history. It is a story that has been told and re-told, over fires and under the stars, etched into tablets, scrawled on scraps of papyrus, illuminated with fanciful inks and paints, translated into languages that the world would yet know for thousands of years.

But for Eliphaz it was not a story at all, and despite the revelations contained therein (which are observed to this day), its meaning was neither enlightening nor joyous nor hopeful—but a shameful mistake that would weigh on his soul for years.

It had started as an ordinary day, and Eliphaz had spent it in the forests of the valley of Hebron, laying traps for game and enjoying the dark sun of the late summer. But as he returned to the tents of the valley, to the camp of his family, it was deathly quiet, as if something were amiss.

“Eliphaz.”

His mother had come to him, the evening sun casting long shadows over her face. She spoke in hushed whispers.

“Eliphaz! Your uncle has stolen your father’s blessing. You must leave now. Take this camel and head in the direction of the setting sun, for Jakob is still close at hand, and you can still overtake him.”

Eliphaz didn’t say much, but simply followed his mother’s commands. Only once he set out from his encampment, and looked into the pouch which was strung along the back of the camel did he realize what his mother intended for him to do. For inside was a wide blade, a sword that shone red like blood in the desert sun.

“Reclaim your father’s blessing,” she had said, and Eliphaz saw now the role he had been given. He looked again at the sword, and this time a status bar appeared:

Inventory

The Sword of Lamech:

“If Cain shall be avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy and sevenfold.”

This sword grants a Strength bonus of +77, but only if the target is related to the user by blood. Be warned that the use of this weapon may incur the wrath of God.

Eliphaz shuddered at the thought. Could he really kill Jakob? But the more he mulled it over, and as the camel carried him swiftly across the desert, the sharper his rage became. For if what his mother had said was true, then Jakob had truly tricked his poor grandfather, taken advantage of blind and senile Ishaak who rested all days and nights in the darkness of his tent. For Ishaak had intended to grant the blessing to Eliphaz’s father, but it was only through a cruel trick that Jakob had stolen it, and taken the holy stat boost for himself.

“Is this true?” Eliphaz had said as his mother dressed him in black desert robes. His father, Esau, was in the corner of the tent, a dark mass of pathetic silence. Shame had struck Esau so deeply, he could not even look at his son, for they both knew the terrible cost of having lost the blessing. And now Esau shuddered at the terrible cost he may have put on his son in attempting to get it back.

“Don’t worry father,” Eliphaz thought to himself. “I will slay Jakob just like Cain slew Abel. Except this time, Elohim will be on my side, because Jakob stole the blessing through deceit and lies, rather than virtue and truth. So while his stats may be boosted, his Strength higher than any mortal, his Spirit that of a young god, I will prevail, for I have Elohim on my side.”

He rode on into the night, the red eye of God setting into the vast expanse of the desert.

—

By the time Eliphaz spotted Jakob, the sun was set, the desert sands bathed in blue while the sky turned a deep shade of purple. The low hum of a nightwind blew across the desolate expanse.

Jakob was still far off, a small figure among the dunes, but Eliphaz could tell that he had been seen for the speck remained decidedly far off, even as he quickened his pace. At this point the chase was over, for Jakob’s camel had been packed heavy with riches while Esau’s son traveled fleetly with only the sword of Lamech at his side.

As Eliphaz finally reached him, darkness had set in. To his surprise, Jakob had given up his escape, and was now lying prostrate in the sand, hands clenched tightly.

“My gracious nephew,” he said, speaking quietly in a hushed voice that shook with fear. “Please forgive me for my horrible deceit. If you blame me for what transpired today, I will not argue with you, but I implore to hear what I say before you lay that cursed blade upon my throat. For it was never my intention to trick my father who is dear to me and has only grown more dear in my heart in his old age.”

“Enough of your chatter!” Eliphaz snarled. “You lied to him! Like a clown you dressed yourself in pelts of goat and disguised yourself as a parody of my father! How dare you!” He pulled the sword out of its pouch, brandishing it in the starlight.

“That was never my intention!” Jacob whispered again, cowering before the blade. “It was my mother, Rebekah, who hatched the plan. I merely did as I was told, I never wished for this, for I knew that even in this escape I would surely be pursued, and would surely die. You say I stole your father’s blessing, but it is a curse. For what use are my stats when a blade lies on my neck?” With those words Jakob began to cry, pathetic tears and whimpers that began to soften the hardness in Eliphaz’s heart.

Could he really go through this? While in pursuit he had thought over this moment so many times, imagining it in countless ways, relishing how easy it would be to let the blade fall upon Jakob’s neck. But he hadn’t imagined this, and the pathetic figure before him seemed so different from the Jakob he had imagined.

Another thought went through his mind as well: could he even reclaim Elohim’s blessing? The blood spilt this night would be meaningless, a stain on the desert sand with no benefit. For if he raised the sword of Lamech, all he would gain was the curse of Cain, and that would be of no use to him.

Jakob, sensing his nephew’s hesitation, spoke again, eager to capitalize on Eliphaz’s sudden hesitation: “Dearest nephew, listen to my advice, for I know you do not wish to truly kill me. Is it not true that a man with no possessions is as good as dead, especially a poor man in the middle of the desert? So I suggest this: take my belongings, all the riches Rebekah has saddled my camel with and made heavy. Take my oil, my linens, my shekels and coins of silver, my figs and bread and olives. Take all of these off my burden, and then I will be no one. And then, when your just father—my dearest brother Esau who I bless every night—asks you whether you have avenged him, simply say that ‘your brother Jakob is no one,’ and he will be satisfied.”

Eliphaz’s heart pounded in his chest and his eyes grew damp with tears. He knew he could not kill this poor soul of his uncle, and Jakob’s plan was tempting, even though he knew that he could not tell such a brazen lie to his father. But the horror of that disappointment was so far away, and the horror of spilling Jakob’s blood so terrifyingly close, so he chose the former. Without a word, he walked to Jakob’s camel and cut the ropes which tied his pots and satchels to the saddle. They dropped soundlessly into the sand.

“Leave. Now...before I change my mind.” He whispered these words for he didn’t want Jakob to know that in the darkness he was crying.

And so Jakob continued his journey toward the Land of Ur, toward Nimrod and his tower of Babel, albeit with his beast no longer burdened.

And Eliphaz stayed there, in the middle of the desert, neither thinking nor sleeping, but simply standing and staring up at the stars, his mind fraught with fear and indecision.

—

By the time Eliphaz returned home to his camp the sun was already starting to rise in the east. His mother was waiting for him, pacing restlessly between the tents, as she had likely done all night.

“Thank goodness, I thought you were dead,” she shuddered and embraced his camel, ignoring the sullen figure of her son. She looked up at Eliphaz, eyes full of expectation. “Did you do it? Did you reclaim your father’s blessing, avenge Esau and poor old Ishaak?”

Eliphaz could not bear to look at her, for he feared that in his eyes she would know his shame. “Jakob is no more. He is no one,” he said softly.

Disturbed by her son’s unstable state, yet clearly satisfied by his answer, she stood silently for a moment, before her mind was overtaken by mindless chatter: “Very well...very good...yes, I think your father will be pleased by this news. He is still asleep, and we should not disturb him for he was upset deep into the night, and he deserves his rest after what happened yesterday. But once he wakes up, I think he will be pleased…”

She kept speaking like this, but Eliphaz could not bear to listen. He could not bear to look at her or look at anyone, for the shame of his failure resounded in his mind, as it had done for the entire journey back into Hebron. He was glad his father was still asleep, for if he were to look his father in the eye he surely would have been consumed by guilt and fallen into shambles.

He stirred his camel, and continued trotting.

“Eliphaz,” his mother cried after him. “Where are you going my son?”

“On a brief journey,” he called back. “To clear my head. Once it is cleared I will return, and tell my father of what I have done.”