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@shift-captain-seamus
Hello, all! I am Seamus Faoladh, the only werewolf Shift Captain in the legion...
Probably the only werewolf in the legion.
Here to help and answer wierd messages.
He/him preferred, though they/them is fun for a little variety and it/its is applicable to my werewolf form.
I AM married, but my husband and I are both okay with the other having fun on the side
I should be knot deep in someone bulging their tummy while we doze off together
WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS
What’s the lie your character says most often?
How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?
How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?
What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?
Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?
What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?
What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?
How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?
Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?
What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?
If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?
What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!
When do they fake a smile? How often?
How do they put out a candle?
What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?
What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?
What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?
Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?
What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?
Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?
What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?
What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?
What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?
Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?
What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?
How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?
What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?
What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?
How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?
When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?
When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?
If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?
How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?
How do they greet someone they like / love?
What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?
Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?
What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?
What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?
Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?
How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?
What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?
If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?
What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?
What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?
What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?
Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?
Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?
Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?
Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?
What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?
What’s a phrase they say a lot?
Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?
Who would / do they believe without question?
What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?
What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?
If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?
What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?
How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?
Leta sat down in the chair, and kicked her feet up. Finally, part of her job was done. She had gotten everyone in the same room, and now it was time to start planing things out. Ravnica was only build on a few thousand years of guild disagreement, how long could they possibly argue for?
“Our goal is pretty simple,” she said, “we get down there, we make sure none of the smugglers are going to get out, we leave.” She gave a small smile. Of course they would each have their own goals, but, did that matter? Ravnica was built on ulterior motives.
"Anything is simple if you skip the details, but it is good to cover the goals." They state. "I would like to add that we disarm the bomb, unfortunately, over preventing escape. The undercity does not need more destruction... Also, how many people will need help getting down? It is my understanding that there is a large drop into water." They muse for a bit. "At the very least, I should be able to keep attention off of us from the denizens of the undercity for our 'merry' band the way down."
I can cast a handful of protective spells that will allow those who need help to make it down safely.
*seamus thinks a moment*
Getting the ne'er do wells alive for proper tirals would be nice too.
"That might be a big ask, given that they nearly killed Leta the last time she ran into them. It's a nice idea, but I'm more worried about all of us making it out alive."
Kanta is in the process of putting together bags of gear for everyone, courtesy of the Izzet. They mostly consist of helpful tools, electric lights, and a couple bonus weapons he's been looking for a chance to test out.
Leta pauses, thinking about it "They've also been dying in both Boros and Azorius prisons well before they get to trial. So, way I see it, either way is a death sentence." Leta frowns. "Also, for anyone who is unaware, there is a coin empire vault they are attempting to open, we do not know what is in there, and frankly, I think everyone from Ravnica can agree, it should not stay here. I omitted that from my report to the guildpact, he thinks they're looking for ancient Ravnican artifacts." She continues "I expect this not to leave this team, because if it does, the entire city could be overturned. We don't want the guilds to have a new resource to fight over. So, secondary objective: We enter the vault, we find what is in there, and we dispose of it." She looks around, attempting to sense how everyone feels about this.
“Easily done, really. Shouldn’t be all too difficult to get it off-plane and destroyed to satisfaction.”
I’ve got my arms crossed, leaning back against a wall, gazing across our little tableau with a vague amusement. And with a few extra, non-techy weapons for Kanta to add to those bags.
“As long, of course, as we can all keep this secret secret. And I won’t need help getting down.” Punctuated by a brief flick of my wings.
Zarii leans back in her chair. "Do you know how many or how powerful these guys are? Also, *is* the plan to destroy the artifacts? Seems like a bit of a waste, but at the same time if it stops Biilzie from getting them I'm all for it." She glances at him. "No offense."
I’m giving Zarii a mild look that seems to say I might be taking a little offense and I can’t really see how that was meant to be inoffensive.
“I don’t think we know much about them, but any group that brings so many guilds together against them can’t be that small or weak.”
"That's true." Zarii notices Biilzie's look and suits uncomfortably for a moment before sighing. "Alright, you can have an artifact if we save them, but please don't choose a super-destructive one."
“If we find super destructive ones, we are destroying them.” Leta looks sternly at the both of them. “House Dimir can look into any of our minds, and then you’d have a massive target on your back. Not to mention the potential collateral damage. No. Anything too much of a threat gets destroyed then and there, and if it can’t be destroyed, then we put it somewhere that’s too dangerous for most people to go to.”
Leta takes a breath “to answer the more obvious question, the group has had easily a couple dozen members. Probably more, however, a majority will not be down there. Power wise, it’s hard to tell, I lost a fight to one of them, but that was after he got the jump on me, and I got disarmed. I would say they’re competent fighters, based on the handful I’ve seen.”
Zarii nods and cracks her knuckles. "Sounds good. But, uh, what would happen to the non-super destructive artifacts? If there are any that manipulate planar energy I could really use them."
Leta gives a sigh. “You’ll be fighting for with the Dominarian for that, then. He managed to convince the guild pact to come with us, somehow.”
“Frankly, as long as it is kept secret where it came from, I don’t care what happens with the non-destructive artifacts. Also, we have to keep in mind, there might not just be the vault down there. From the little research I’ve done, there has been… complications”
"Stuff other than normal undercity complications?"
It's the undercity of an ecumenopolis. Presumably there are layers upon layers of ancient estates and security measures from all guilds down there, as well as ghosts and monsters
*as he says this, Seamus checks through bags of gear, seemingly enough for everyone there, pulling out and putting back a veritable panopoly of charms, talismans, and supernatural wweaknesses like silver, holy symbols from several planes, and more esoteric things as well as straightforward anti-magic measures*
Plus, unless I am wildly misinformed, this is a relic of an interplanar empire from LONG before the mending. There are likely perils from mamy planes and magic that breaks the currently understood laws of mana-physics.
*he passes out the sacks and explains their contents*
I have a friend who obsessively collects weaponry, armor, and other defensive measures. These should help.
"Didn't they find one of these things on Thunder Junction, and it was filled with traps? I'm not the best at detecting traps, but I can definitely help with disarming or destroying them if needed."
Kanta pauses, looking at the assorted group. "In the spirit of interguild cooperation, I will say that I was told by my higher ups to secure anything I am able to get my hands on, the rest of you be damned. Now, I'm not going to follow that directive, because I care a lot more about all of us not dying. I would hope the rest of you feel the same, to some degree. Whatever we find down there, it's not going to be worth getting each other killed over it. We're a team until this job is over, and that means until we're all back home. We can worry about fighting over the contents after that."
"It would be foolish to fight over these artifacts before the problem is dealt with. You cannot count spoils before you've won," Tordubiak states, echoing the point.
"...Regardless, what are the complications to face?"
“Well, first of all is the drop into water, we discussed this already, secondly is the long march through a tunnel filled to the brim with traps. It’s only about 7 feet tall and 5 feet wide, so designed to force us to go single file, and eliminate flight as an avoidance method, finally we will come to the end of the tunnel, which was being guarded by 2 people when I scouted it. So whoever is in the lead at that point will need to be able to force their way out from 2 warriors who will want to keep up in that choke point. After that, we’re in the dark. Metaphorically, we will actually be in the light for the first time in some hours.”
Zarii looks uncomfortable at this last. "How dark are we talking? I won't be much use if I can't see."
Did I just… shudder, barely, almost imperceptibly, at the idea of a drop into water? No. I couldn’t’ve.
“Given…?” I snap my fingers, a candleflame erupting from my index and rapidly growing to cover my hand. “Not very until we need stealth.”
Leta shakes her head “these traps would require maintenance, otherwise they would deteriorate. To be on the safe side, we are not going to not use any light when can. I have some brew that will help with that, but it hurts like a motherfucker.” She pulls out a small vial filled with this black liquid “I need to brew more, but you drip this into your eyes, and you will have perfect dark vision”
"If there's any equipment we can get to avoid an cave dive in pitch darkness, especially with all out equipment, I will get it. I would love to avoid jumping into the void if at all possible. Better to avoid any possible injuries."
*Seamus checks his armor and weapons quickly* I will take point. There are few things not native to innistrad that deal with a charging werewolf well.
I also heal quickly, so the fight carries less of a risk of taking me off the board
Leta sat down in the chair, and kicked her feet up. Finally, part of her job was done. She had gotten everyone in the same room, and now it was time to start planing things out. Ravnica was only build on a few thousand years of guild disagreement, how long could they possibly argue for?
“Our goal is pretty simple,” she said, “we get down there, we make sure none of the smugglers are going to get out, we leave.” She gave a small smile. Of course they would each have their own goals, but, did that matter? Ravnica was built on ulterior motives.
"Anything is simple if you skip the details, but it is good to cover the goals." They state. "I would like to add that we disarm the bomb, unfortunately, over preventing escape. The undercity does not need more destruction... Also, how many people will need help getting down? It is my understanding that there is a large drop into water." They muse for a bit. "At the very least, I should be able to keep attention off of us from the denizens of the undercity for our 'merry' band the way down."
I can cast a handful of protective spells that will allow those who need help to make it down safely.
*seamus thinks a moment*
Getting the ne'er do wells alive for proper tirals would be nice too.
"That might be a big ask, given that they nearly killed Leta the last time she ran into them. It's a nice idea, but I'm more worried about all of us making it out alive."
Kanta is in the process of putting together bags of gear for everyone, courtesy of the Izzet. They mostly consist of helpful tools, electric lights, and a couple bonus weapons he's been looking for a chance to test out.
Leta pauses, thinking about it "They've also been dying in both Boros and Azorius prisons well before they get to trial. So, way I see it, either way is a death sentence." Leta frowns. "Also, for anyone who is unaware, there is a coin empire vault they are attempting to open, we do not know what is in there, and frankly, I think everyone from Ravnica can agree, it should not stay here. I omitted that from my report to the guildpact, he thinks they're looking for ancient Ravnican artifacts." She continues "I expect this not to leave this team, because if it does, the entire city could be overturned. We don't want the guilds to have a new resource to fight over. So, secondary objective: We enter the vault, we find what is in there, and we dispose of it." She looks around, attempting to sense how everyone feels about this.
“Easily done, really. Shouldn’t be all too difficult to get it off-plane and destroyed to satisfaction.”
I’ve got my arms crossed, leaning back against a wall, gazing across our little tableau with a vague amusement. And with a few extra, non-techy weapons for Kanta to add to those bags.
“As long, of course, as we can all keep this secret secret. And I won’t need help getting down.” Punctuated by a brief flick of my wings.
Zarii leans back in her chair. "Do you know how many or how powerful these guys are? Also, *is* the plan to destroy the artifacts? Seems like a bit of a waste, but at the same time if it stops Biilzie from getting them I'm all for it." She glances at him. "No offense."
I’m giving Zarii a mild look that seems to say I might be taking a little offense and I can’t really see how that was meant to be inoffensive.
“I don’t think we know much about them, but any group that brings so many guilds together against them can’t be that small or weak.”
"That's true." Zarii notices Biilzie's look and suits uncomfortably for a moment before sighing. "Alright, you can have an artifact if we save them, but please don't choose a super-destructive one."
“If we find super destructive ones, we are destroying them.” Leta looks sternly at the both of them. “House Dimir can look into any of our minds, and then you’d have a massive target on your back. Not to mention the potential collateral damage. No. Anything too much of a threat gets destroyed then and there, and if it can’t be destroyed, then we put it somewhere that’s too dangerous for most people to go to.”
Leta takes a breath “to answer the more obvious question, the group has had easily a couple dozen members. Probably more, however, a majority will not be down there. Power wise, it’s hard to tell, I lost a fight to one of them, but that was after he got the jump on me, and I got disarmed. I would say they’re competent fighters, based on the handful I’ve seen.”
Zarii nods and cracks her knuckles. "Sounds good. But, uh, what would happen to the non-super destructive artifacts? If there are any that manipulate planar energy I could really use them."
Leta gives a sigh. “You’ll be fighting for with the Dominarian for that, then. He managed to convince the guild pact to come with us, somehow.”
“Frankly, as long as it is kept secret where it came from, I don’t care what happens with the non-destructive artifacts. Also, we have to keep in mind, there might not just be the vault down there. From the little research I’ve done, there has been… complications”
"Stuff other than normal undercity complications?"
It's the undercity of an ecumenopolis. Presumably there are layers upon layers of ancient estates and security measures from all guilds down there, as well as ghosts and monsters
*as he says this, Seamus checks through bags of gear, seemingly enough for everyone there, pulling out and putting back a veritable panopoly of charms, talismans, and supernatural wweaknesses like silver, holy symbols from several planes, and more esoteric things as well as straightforward anti-magic measures*
Plus, unless I am wildly misinformed, this is a relic of an interplanar empire from LONG before the mending. There are likely perils from mamy planes and magic that breaks the currently understood laws of mana-physics.
*he passes out the sacks and explains their contents*
I have a friend who obsessively collects weaponry, armor, and other defensive measures. These should help.
Leta sat down in the chair, and kicked her feet up. Finally, part of her job was done. She had gotten everyone in the same room, and now it was time to start planing things out. Ravnica was only build on a few thousand years of guild disagreement, how long could they possibly argue for?
“Our goal is pretty simple,” she said, “we get down there, we make sure none of the smugglers are going to get out, we leave.” She gave a small smile. Of course they would each have their own goals, but, did that matter? Ravnica was built on ulterior motives.
"Anything is simple if you skip the details, but it is good to cover the goals." They state. "I would like to add that we disarm the bomb, unfortunately, over preventing escape. The undercity does not need more destruction... Also, how many people will need help getting down? It is my understanding that there is a large drop into water." They muse for a bit. "At the very least, I should be able to keep attention off of us from the denizens of the undercity for our 'merry' band the way down."
I can cast a handful of protective spells that will allow those who need help to make it down safely.
*seamus thinks a moment*
Getting the ne'er do wells alive for proper tirals would be nice too.
Newww Capenananana's alcogol is...so strong...only hhad two thimbles...thimbles himbles thimbles...
Halo makes everything stronger. As much as I hate the crime families, you gotta r3spect them for finding a way to make angelic whiskey
I've had enough of this research, it's starting to take a toll on me already, i'm gonna take a few weeks of work and just relax, maybe travel
Where are you gonna go?
I dunno yet, probably either ravnica, capenna or avishkar, maybe multiple of them, maybe kamigawa?
If you come to Capenna I’d be happy to show you around! Stop you from being harassed by brokers or mugged. It’s not as big as ravnica, but it is taller, and an amazing city.
oh yeah that sounds fun! :>
Innistrad is also fun, assuming you have a guide
and the huge husky made my heart start pounding
'Home.'
What does that word mean to each of you? You, who've had the opportunity to travel far in a changed Multiverse? Do you feel loyalty to the place or plane that birthed you? Or have you, would you, swap it out for a new life, with new possibilities?
Do you introduce yourself with where you're from? And have you ever looked homeward, and not wanted to go back?
To me, it's whereven my husband and son are
And Ravnica, planeswalker? What is it, without your family? Would it be easy to leave behind?
Yes. Staying with them would take priority. I can always find work similar to what i do in the Legion.
If they were to die, though? I suspect i'd become more tightly rooted here, bound by the connections formed and reinforced to carry me through grief
'Home.'
What does that word mean to each of you? You, who've had the opportunity to travel far in a changed Multiverse? Do you feel loyalty to the place or plane that birthed you? Or have you, would you, swap it out for a new life, with new possibilities?
Do you introduce yourself with where you're from? And have you ever looked homeward, and not wanted to go back?
To me, it's whereven my husband and son are
A week or so ago, a large structure fell through a planar fracture ('portentpath', I believe I have heard them called?) in the western part of Nixor Morass, composed of several tightly packed buildings and some streets, as if a chunk of a city had been carved out. It was still inhabited by a number of people - human, elves, vedalken without any etherium, and possibly others. I have bought rumours that the few survivors claimed to be from the city, or plane, of 'Ravnica'.
I did not meet any of them first-hand, as it seems most lacked the hardiness to survive their evidently unplanned displacement onto Grixis. But that is where I ultimately looted this networking device, and a number of other oddities. Do any of you Ravnicans know the meaning of a six-legged spiderlike symbol with a single eye at the center?
Hello, Innistradi here recently returned from a visit to Ravnica. The symbol is the House Dimir symbol, mainly used by librarians, couriers, and spies. Also unless they're called something else where you're from, it's an omenpath.
I'm sure someone could tell you about the things found in the structure.
Omenpath, yes, thank you. ...Why are they named that, I wonder? How are they related to omens?
Spies, I see. Perhaps these documents I found would be of significance back on their home plane, perhaps not, but I doubt they're of much worth here. They seem to be rather dry records.
There's also some sort of magical trinket that I can't manage to activate. It's dark, metallic, spiny... quite probably associated with House Dimir as well... and I honestly have no idea what it's meant to be other than a magic item.
They are named after the original omenpaths on kaldheim, a plane broken up into nine realms that were connected by a world tree. Each realm acted kind of like its own plane, and their omenpaths connected them. The Phyrexians made their own world tree to do the invasion by stealing part of theirs.
And I don’t know why they named them that. I assume it was a while ago.
Perhaps because the Omenpaths on Kaldheim are fairly random, and various divinations are the only way to track them? You must follow omens yo find that path, thus Omenpath
The Spark Catches
As my feet hit the flagstones of a new world, my golden mask slipped off.
And my memories rushed back, all at once, like a dam breaking.
My childhood.
BantAjaniNewPhyrexiaTherosXenagos.
HELIOD.
My name.
Elspeth.
When everything settled, the waters calmed, and order asserted itself I realized I was in a fetal position on the ground, rocking.
I took a deep breath, in curled my limbs, and clambered to my feet. I looked around and at myself, trying to figure out where I was. I still had my armour on. I was inside some sort of shrine or altar, standing in front of stairs leading up. So underground. That was strange. Usually when I walked to a new plane, I landed outside, near a town or village.
And usually there was some sort of emergency. Something requiring a hero. Or simply someone who could help them.
In front of me, between the stone altar and I was a silhouette of an angel, burned into the stone.
Stabbed into the ground in the center of it was a spear. The head looked like the Therosian letter omega, with two blades jutting out of the flat parts.
It was glowing with a soft, almost, ALMOST, angelic light.
I felt inexorably drawn to it. I approached it.
As I approached, I felt power born of faith and hope and love coursing through this place. I saw, as if a mirage, a man, cloaked in dark, weaving light into the form of a winged woman, an angel.
The woman resolved into a clear shape, pale skin, silver hair, eyes like quicksilver, some sort of form-fitting black leather robe. The spear I saw before her grasped in her hands.
Then the vision shifted.
That same woman, hair and feathers stained with blood, knelt on the floor.
The same man stood, sword drawn and pointed towards the woman, face turned away.
“Oh, but Avacyn. You CAN die,” he said
As I watched, the woman, <i>his creation</i> I realized, began to unravel into searing light.
As she died, she spoke, beseeching those she loved, was meant to protect, that worshipped her, that she <i>failed</i> to hold the light close, to keep fighting.
“I am Avacyn. I am to protect,” were her final words. I felt tears spilling down my cheeks.
The vision faded as I reached the spear.
It was glowing like a sun. And just as hot.
I drew back the hand I had extended.
I felt a question thrum through the power that converged in this place.
Who are you?
I hesitated, unsure of my answer. I had many names. Knight Errant, Sun’s Champion, Godslayer, Hero. None of them fit. They were descriptions. Not me.
“I am Elspeth!” I declared, to nothing. To everything. To myself.
What is your purpose?
Another question. This one was easy. Simple. My whole life showed the answer.
“I am to protect.”
It was right. I felt it in my soul, in my spark.
Then take up my spear.
The spear was still glowing, radiating power and heat and light. But now, it accepted me.
I drew the spear from the stone.
The power that converged on the shadow burned into the floor now flowed through me.
A ripple of silver fire passed through it, and me.
The spear’s head lengthened as the shaft contracted, now a hybrid of spear and greatsword. It’s black surface turned a dark silver, shot through with gold.
I grew taller. Wings spread from my shoulders. Under my armour, the clothing that had been worn by the woman in my visions appeared. My cloak, the one now worn by my mentor, Ajani, settled around my shoulders.
“I am Avacyn,” spoke the voice, “I am to protect.”
The image of the angel being born flashed through my head. Her saving people. Creating Wolfir. Defending the innocent.
“An infection settled in this world, and it twisted me, it’s protector. And, through me, the other angels. I did not protect.”
I saw her go mad. Slaughter the ones she saved. Destroy her good works.
“And for that, I was unmade,”
The final vision played in my head.
“My essence lingered here. I am a mere ghost of my former self. But I can still strive to protect,” she told me.
“And you need my help?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. I can see your life. Looking for a home, a place to belong. Your home is on the edge of light, protecting the innocent,” she said to me.
I knew that she was right. It was what I always came back to. What I spent my life doing.
“You are my Heiress, the inheritor of my remaining strength. The bearer of what remains of my essence,” she told
As she spoke, I heard the prayers. A whole continent of people clinging to whatever faith they could on face of a darkness unbound and massing it’s unending legions. Avacyn, save my child. Avacyn, power my ward. Avacyn, guide my mother to sleep.
Avacyn, Help Us.
She finished her speech on a triumphant, bellowing declaration, roaring with savage joy and boundless determination the I knew I had somehow instilled in her.
“You are a Hero, You are radiant. You are to Protect! You are Elspeth, Archangel of Hope!”
I realized that, since I had taken the spear, I had been walking up the stairs and out, into a courtyard. Around me knelt warriors and priests. In front of me hovered an angel, holding a scythe with a blade shaped like the head of a heron. She was smiling with pure joy. She nodded at me, a gesture I returned
On the horizon, the sun rose, burning away the mist.
I heard one prayer rise above the others, spoken in a deep, snarling growl.
“Avacyn, I stand between the innocent and a legion of dead. Please grant me the strength to return them to the Blessed Sleep.”
I focused on the one who offered the prayer, far off in Kessig, the shard of Avacyn granting me the knowledge of what that meant.
I leapt off of a balcony, wings snapping open and catching the air, speeding through the crisp, warm morning air to fulfill my purpose.
To protect.
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I completely forgot about the mtg short fiction i used to make…
Oddly prescient
A Light Reignited, Twofold
Rot.
Blood.
Undead moans.
The scent of ozone in the air.
These are the sensations that surrounded me as I defended a town caught inbetween the twin temper tantrums of the Cecani siblings.
I’d been visiting Innistrad, my home plane, because I’d felt something… shift, when I’d happened across this village, Faohdlah’s Fen. It was new, sprung up after the sealing of Em… the Titan. It was a haven for werewolves and wolfir that wished to live as part of a community. They’d been stuck in the crossfire of the necrowarfare for days and what people were left healthy were guarding the wounded and the healers.
The gates were on the verge of breaking.
I charged in, not a though in my head save for saving these people. Of protecting the innocent. Rage bubbled up inside, drew mana from the world around me for strength, and charged, shifting as I ran.
I stood in the thick of it, my giant sword swinging in great arcs, rending dead flesh. My claws, wreaths in flame, dealt with those two fast for the sword.
Legions of undead lay there, returned to the blessed sleep, but still more came. I was at my limit, about to collapse, having fought for hours, when She appeared.
The storming skies parted in a flare of sunlight and an angel, taller than any I’d seen, descended in a flap of wings and a cry of challenge.
She was sublime and radiant, like the sun and like a hearth fire, inspiring hope and courage and faith and a million other things
She wore gold and silver armour over a formfitting black dress that parted in two places at the waist, revealing legs wearing armour over black leather. Over it all she wore a white cloak edged in gold, with the hood down
Her hair was the colour of raven feathers, with a single, bright silver lock, her face was strong and yet also soft, like that of a kind, loving matriarch blended with that of a fierce warrior queen.
Her eyes were…
Offputting.
Familiar.
Like…
No…
My eyes dropped to her spear.
It was massive, and made of moonsilver.
Two blades jutted out of Avacyn’s collar atop the shaft. It was unmistakable, even if the proportions had changed, allowing for use like a greatsword or a spear.
It was the weapon of Avacyn. And her eyes. And her… outfit under the armour and the cloak.
She hefted the spear, calling down blinding, firey, columns of light on the undead. At the same time a column surrounded me, lifting me to my feet, restoring my strength, closing my wounds.
Tears stinging my eyes, I renewed my assault, crackling with joyous fire, felling undead left and right.
I heard a howl from behind me, and suddenly a storm of teeth and claws descended on the undead. The villagers were helping me!
With the boundless light of an angel, and the savage joy of the wolves helping me, we returned all of the dead to Blessed Sleep.
As the villagers burned corpses and searched corpses, the angel landed and strode over to me.
“You fought admirably. What is your name, Wojek?” She asked me.
THAT threw me for a loop. How did she… She must be a…
“Seamus, my lady. Private under Captain Maris!” I answered, still dazed.
She chucked at my confusion, and smiled. It was like the moon, soft and bright.
“Might I ask your name m'lady?” I enquired, truly curious.
“My name is Elspelth Tirel, Heir of Avacyn and Archangel of Hope. Will you help to save this world?”
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More old short fiction
Under The Darkened Moon
WARNING, MENTIONS OF CHILD DEATH, VIVID, GORY DESCRIPTIONS
As the howls died down, I saw her cock her head, as if listening to someone speak.
“Before we can begin our work, I must return to Thraben, leaving tomorrow morning. I will return with help to create a new order and to restore your farmland,” she declared, sounding… unsure, “But those of you that wish to accompany me, to ensure that I do not lie, that I speak truth, may.”
After that, she lowered to the ground, taking off her cloak and setting aside her spear, and began to help. With caring for the wounded, with cleaning up, with cooking.
It was a beautiful sight. Inspiring.
Where Avacyn had been like moon, brilliant and bright, but austere, Elspeth, her Heiress, was like a hearth flame, warm and bright and, welcoming.
As I helped dig a ditch for… wastes, covered in dirt and sweat, three people approached me, two ladies and a man.
They looked at me like I, personally, was responsible for the sun rising this morning, for their lives continuing.
They were wrong. This victory was all theirs, their faith, their sheer bloody-mindedness, their hard work is what saved them.
“We are going to take The Lady up on her offer, Sir Knight,” said the person in the lead, a tall, curvy, and solidly built lady with dark skin. Her hair was frizzy and black, bound back into a tight bun to prevent the dead from grabbing it, like most of the other ladies around whose hair wasn’t cut short. Her eyes displayed only respect and curiosity.
Her bearing was kind, friendly, and more than a bit stern, like that of a parent, or a teacher, or a nurse.
She was also covered in blood, her clothes torn up, chestplate scratched, wounds already healing, and the claw-severed head of a Skaab hanging at her hip.
More like a particularly matronly general, then.
I kept working, doing the work of two people, as I spoke.
“Alright, milady. You’ll have to speak with Lady Elspeth, though. I’m the one in the lead,” I told her, “But me, personally? I’ve got no problem with it. Also, stop the sir talk. Call me Seamus. Seamus Faodlah.”
“Alright! Call me Engel. Engel Kinder,” she said, thumping her, breast plate, thankfully free of that boob-cupping bullshite. Her two companions moved to stand beside her.
“I’m Brighid Wulver! Nice to meet you!” Exclaimed the other lady.
She was of average height, but she was built like a brick shithouse, covered in muscle and scars. Her hair was cut short, in an odd style that I’d never seen before. She was obviously the brawler type. As she stepped forwards, she stood close to Engel, looking comically short next to the other woman, and I noticed matching rings on their fingers.
“You two married?” I asked, tone exactly the same as if I were asking about the weather or the price of food. IE neutral. “Yes,” they answered, almost at once. “Aaaaanyways,” said Brighid.
“I’m Owen,” said the man, almost sounding embarrassed at the sound of his own voice.
He was tall, with strong, lean muscles. His hair was dirty blonde, eyes green, and jaw strong. He also wore glasses, and a sweater emblazoned with the multiversal symbol for medic, a red cross, on his shoulders. On his shoulder hung a bag with the same symbol on it. It looked heavy, and the blood spattered on it showed that it had been used as a bludgeon.
“Well, nice to meet you all, but I should get back to work. Lady Elspeth is that way,” I said, pointing.
They walked off, chattering to each other, mostly about how… unusual I was. I smiled and waved.
—
It was noon the next day dofore the villagers would let the five of us leave.
On the upside, one of the gifts bestowed upon me as they showered lady Elspeth and I with such things was a nice big pack, meant to withstand the change.
At the gates, the four of us lacking wings stripped, putting our clothes in our packs.
Then we shifted. We were going to run to Thraben. Lady Elspeth would keep watch above, providing direction.
We ran well into the night, through the ancient forest, the new moon casting no light. It was beautiful, and due to the power of Avacyn, we never flagged, having tome to drink in the sights and smells and sounds.
It was among those that we heard them hunt.
The Leeraug…
I let loose a howl of pure fury, feeling mana fill my being, ready to shape into magic.
The other three cowered
Lady Elspeth looked confused. “Ask the frrrrragmmment of Aveacyn.abount the Leeraug,” I told her, barely able to form words.
I let loose another howl, full of magic.
From the woods emerged more of my wolven brethren, werewolf, wolf, and nature spirit alike, all of them recognising my strength and that it was MY call that they obeyed. Strange, fey magic linked us all.
I didn’t even speak, just set off toward the things that took the shaper of werewolf.
I could feel silver fire flood my veins and those of my howlpack. Avacyn and Elspelth both approved of what I was about to do.
We encountered an orphanage.
We were too late to save the children.
Lady Elspeth entered, and I felt a wave of rage explode out before the orphanage exploded in bloody light.
Out stepped Elspeth, The Purifier, wings still soaked in blood and white streak dyed crimson, gaze still blank and pitiless, but now a being of vengeance, of penance for failing her duty, and she was holding in her arms a little girl.
Her legs were torn away at the knee, one arm simply gone, her face hanging open, and guts spilling out.
She was still dying.
Lady Elspeth spoke kind words to her, assuring that a better place was her destination, that she’d been good, that she would be loved and happy and she could be whatever she wanted, like a knight or a princess or an angel. The little girl laughed, and smiled weakly.
“Thank you miss. I should like to see this place. Will you come with me?”
Lady Elspeth smiled at her. “Of course, little one. Of course.”
“Thank you miss. But I should like to take a nap first. I’m really tired,” she said, smiling and closing her eyes.
Her life left her as she slipped into dreams of paradise, of heaven.
I knelt down, and started using my claws to dig. The rest of the pack joined in following my lead, and soon, we had a grave.
Lady Elspeth set the little one in the grave, and said a prayer in a language I didn’t know.
I filled it back in, and stuck a broken piece of the stone heath of the fireplace in the ground at her head.
There was a flash as Elspeth pointed her spear-sword, now dart onyx shot through with crimson, at the stone, and an inscription appeared. “Here lies an innocent soul, Alice. May she find peace.”
Elspeth stood, tears flowing down her now pale, rage painted face.
“My knights, let us scrub clean this corruption,” she said, all warmth replaced by rage.
We howled our furious agreement.
I charged, my pack surrounding the town and doing the same.
I came upon a thing, a twisted mass of fur and latticed flesh. A thing that had embraced corruption. It was long, thin, bony, and contorted. A creature of shadow and ambush.
I fell upon it, full of rage. I did to it what had been done to the girl.
It didn’t die.
Good.
I made it suffer more.
I stalked through the town, streaked with blood and pus and ichor, killing Leeraug as I went. I also granted the blessed sleep to the dying, my heart breaking with each mutilated child that I had to comfort. To kill. Letting them die slow would be cruel.
Images of my little Sean, mutilated like that little girl, of my gentle Aspen bent and broken and dismembered and defiled and eaten, of my gentle Mathias, mind broken and form twisted into another dark thing, all of these flashing through my mind, filling me with fear and rage and determination.
Two long, lithe, and strong weres crossed my path often. Engel and Brighid worked as a team, making up for each other’s weaknesses. They left a trail of death as they went. They were wreathed in stone and silver fire respectively, nature’s fury incarnate.
Owen was a massive wolf, like someone had twisted tree trunks into the shape of a werewolf and covered the whole thing with fur. He was wreathed in holy golden light, protecting all the children he could round up, his touch healing, reassuring, reinvigorating. His holy might was like an silver wall around the children, impassable, burning and maiming the Leeraug.
As I fought, I saw people, villagers, elders, teenagers, protecting their families, savage snarls slowly becoming snouts, fingers curling into claws. These wolves joined our hunt, driving out the black hearted invaders killing them, unraveling lattices of flesh, dismembering the rest.
Still, many of my pack died to the Leeraug, ambushed and torn apart.
They were avenged.
Lady Elspeth fought with absolute fury, her light harsh and burning, her words inspiring divine fury in the defenders. Truly an Avenging Angel, extracting a price of blood.
The light we shone burned away their shadows, exposing them, and destroying their powers of fear and stealth. They were all eradicated.
Three escaped, only for a strong, cunning werewolf to shred them. He gave me a nod of respect, and left. I had the respect of Ulrich. I was awed.
Eventually, the dawn broke over a nightmare ended, and a people saved, and with it, the end of the hunt.
I strode up to Engel. “Hey, could you talk to these people? Explain our purpose, and the situation? I’m going to find Our Lady,” I told her. Elspeth had touched down somewhere in the woods, but she hadn’t stopped powering our holy magic.
“Of course. You better speak to her. She looked rattled,” she said, smiling and giving me a nod.
I followed Elspeth’s scent to a large stream.
She was scrubbing at the blood, sometimes dislodging feathers and hair.
She was sobbing, so I sat down next to her. “My lady, what is wrong? Please, tell me,” I said to her, recognizing that her mind was drowning in the past as I spoke.
It was… jarring to see such a person, an unstoppable force, so… frail, so broken, when she inspired such hope.
She jerked out of it and looked at me. She looked so… helpless, full of despair, so I hugged her, until she broke away.
She wiped her eyes, calmed herself, and began to speak. “This plane, the Leeraug, they remind me of the plane I was born on, and many others. It was overrun with phyresis, and each day was a fresh horror. I did horrible things, helped the phyrexians just to… just to survive…” Her face was contorted in pain.
Phyrexians. Some, like Ezurad, weren’t half bad, but most of their strains were evil. Pure, undiluted evil. I’d heard the whispered horror-stories of Mirrodin, personal accounts of Dominaria during the war from oldwalkers. The utterly chilling stories Maris and even other Phyrexians have of Elesh Norn.
I tried to help “You don’t have to tell me if it hurts too much, we all have our secret pains,”
She looked in my face, steeling herself. “No, I need to let this out, to say it, or I never will,” she said, before diving headlong into the rest of it, “On Alara, after Conflux, the liches of Grixis assaulted Bant.”
She put a hand on my shoulder when she noticed my grimace at my memories of them. My quest to kill a lich. My phyrric victory. I chuckled softly. I was trying to comfort her, and here she was, comforting me.
“I faced the Phyrexians again on Mirrodin, alongside Venser and Koth to save Karn,” she said, as I nodded. I’d heard the stories.
“I went to Theros, defended the people there, championed Heliod,” she spat his name in the same way I did Emrakul, “journeyed into Nyx, Ajani at my side, to kill a god of a strength not seen in the multiverse since the Mending*, facing untold monsters along the way,” tearing up, beginning to shake, her pain apparent.
I embraced her, one person wracked by trauma to another.
“My lady, you don’t have to tell of this part. I’ve been to Theros, heard how the people speak of you, with more reverence than even that thrice blasted traitor, with love and respect,” And it was true. They practically worshipped her as the platonic ideal of a Hero. I’d heard her story told, many different ways in different regions, but all full of respect.
“I… Alright. You can quite obviously tell that I finished my mask. When I left Theros, it slipped off,” she said.
“But never have I seen such… utter, disgusting, wanton cruelty as I have seen here. The Phyrexians always had purpose, cold reason, their cruelty a byproduct, not the purpose,” she twinged at the memories “The Liches simply killed, trying to swell their armies, killing inventively, but not caring about cruelty cruelty,” That, I knew, from personal experience, “On Theros, hordes of monsters killed, but never went out of their way to make their deaths worse. They just killed,” I believed her on that. “Here, the things in the dark, the monsters and beasts, they kill for sport. When I joined with Avacyn, I knew about it all, but the true horror…” She looked distant, disconnected.
“In all those places, people fought back, resisted, were able to save themselves. Here, their weapons do nothing. The simply prolong doom,” She had begun to weep again, trembling.
“Look at me. Look me in the eyes,” I said, stern, determined. She looked up. “That is what you and the other angels are for. To protect. To give us strength to defend our own,” dragging her to her feet as I spoke, the blood and the bone paleness running off of her like water.
“You saw Owen, using your holy light to protect, to heal those children, Brighid using the very fury of the sun, Engel crtushing the beasts with the bones of the earth,” I slapped her spear, already lightening back to ggold-streaked silver, into her hand.
“You give us power and hope. You are Elspeth. You are Avacyn. It is your duty, your task, to help us, to inspire us, to show us that we can fight!” I bellowed, encouraging her.
As the last of The Purifier cleared away, returning to the dark corners of her soul, she nodded. “Thank you,” she said, hugging me. Her light shone, radiant as she returned to the village, the dawn at her back.
She was both the Archangel, and The Purifier. She was hope. She was vengeance. She was Elspeth.
*=I saw in a Q&A on the Wizards Website somewhere that said that Xenagos DID retain his spark
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Yet more
The Dawn Breaks
As I flew, the voice, Avacyn, told me of her world. Of the beauty and the horror. The light and the shadows it cast.
She told me of her creator, Sorin Markov. Of the strange otherworlder named Nahiri.
Of the vampires, created from an angel slaughtered. Of the Werewolves, and how their duelling natures twisted them.
The countryside sped by below, rolling plains giving way to ancient forests.
“What do we face?” I asked her, knowing that she was far more adept at interperiting the prayers that murmered in my mind like the background of a busy market.
Instead of words, images welled up.
Horrible, dark images.
Skaabs. Horrid, patchwork undead things. Corpses stitched together in a horrid imitation of life
And Ghouls. Restless corpses buried in unsanctified soil.
I felt uneasy for a moment, remembering Grixis.
Then light spilled through my mind, no doubt called forth by the angel.
That’s things were attacking people. I had the power to help. To protect. And, more importantly, to heal.
The skies gradually grew darker around me. I was flying into a storm.
“Rise above it. You are are hope. Mere clouds will never stop you,” Avacyn said, determined.
I could feel her. She was filled with regret, greif, and fury. Over her failure, over the fall of her comrades, over the state of Innistrad. But there was also hope, and joy. She had seen her friend, the name Sigardia sprung forth from my counterpart, leading the people, inspiring them. People still believed in good, and hope, and light, and mercy, even in the face of a rising tide of dark.
“We’re here,” she whispered.
I swooped down below the clouds, taking in the scene before me.
I hovered over the legion of dead, horrible monsters in massive numbers, ghoul and skaab fighting each other as much as the town’s lone defender.
A werewolf.
He stood, flame glowing within him and escaping from between his teeth like drool, blade in one hand, fire dancing around the other.
He was a sight terrible and majestic to behold, like a sublime force of nature
His fur was a dark ginger, and he, quite curiously, was still clothed. He wore a kilt along with armour emblazoned with the golden sun of the Boros legion, drenched to the bone with rain.
Another Planeswalker, then.
He gave off a savage fury and grim determination, howling his challenge to the undead horde, battalions of rotted flesh torn to shreds at his feet.
He fought like a flaming hurricane, fat drops of rain sizzling as they landed on him. Blade swinging in wide arcs, claws flashing with fire.
He was grinning. It was chilling, like death itself had descended to return the dead to rest.
Despite all that I sensed another protector, albeit one more wild and savage. Avacyn only confirmed this, telling me what she could remember of this man. It was an unusual amount. When she had made her offer at Gastaf, to change the Werewolves, make them protectors, he had been one of the first to accept, and become wolfir.
And, when the Cursemute had broken, he stayed in balance, channeling that wild nature to protect his home.
And despite all that, despite his savage power, and wild power, he was beginning to falter.
That Would. Not. Stand.
Heroes should triumph. They should be able to have rest, happiness, rest, home once their battles were over. Not death in some dark place, far from home.
Avacyn agreed.
We hefted our spear aloft, parting the clouds and letting light spill onto the battlefield. I felt the familiar feeling of mana shaping into magic as we called burning shafts of light down onto the undead horde.
A softer light fell upon the village, meant to give hope, to rejuvenate, and to heal. Not a minute later, as i prepared to dive into the horde, a howl went up. The village of werewolves and wolfir emptied from the gates, following the lead and orders of the planeswalker. I smiled, and dove into the fray, landing in their ranks.
My spear-sword slashed through the dead like they were wet tissue. Through it I channeled holy light, burning scores of dead with each beam of power.
I used my wings to throw up dust in great, thunderous flaps to obscure sight, to propel myself around and away from attacks in such a graceful manner that it was like dancing, and to fly up above the fray to call down more healing glow for the wolven warriors, and burning light to smite the corpses.
The wolves moved in packs, all lead by the planeswalker. They cut down the dead, shredding their limbs so they couldn’t rise again. When one of their number was hurt, another took their place until the next wave of healing light. Whenever one of their number fell, all it did was enrage those still fighting further.
The dead scattered before the combined fury of angel and wolf like chaff before the wind.
After the battle, I strode up to the planeswalker. When I saw his face, I almost cried. Despite thick stubble and a scar over one eye, I could tell that he couldn’t be older than 20, but had seen fathomless horrors.
He was rather solidly built and very tall, almost nine feet. His face was solid and square, but still handsome. His hair was short, and the same darker shade of ginger as his fur.
I asked for his name, mentioning his Wojek status. It threw him off guard and he blushed and stuttered, but did manage to give me his name, which was Seamus Alastair Faodlah. I did chuckle at his stunned state. Finally, he asked me my name, and I told him:
“I am Elspeth Tirel, Heiress of Avacyn and Archangel of Hope. Will you help me save this world?”
He fell to one knee and bowed his head.
“Of course. This is my home. I would be honored my lady,” he said, his deep and rough voice reverent.
When I spoke, Avacyn did too, approving of my actions.
“Then rise, Seamus The Wolfflame, first of my Wolf Knights, Hero of the Battle at Faodlah’s Rest,” I declared, raising my voice for all to hear.
“My lady… I thank you,” he said, hesitating as he rose, “but I have sworn an oath to the people of another plane, to uphold the law and protect the people. I cannot just abandon it,” he said, eyes downcast.
I considered this. Planeswalkers often form attachments to and are bound to duties on other planes. Finally, I placed my hand on his shoulder
“You do not have to,” I told him, before continuing, “Simply spread word of me to those you hold in high regard. Ask them to help my cause. As my Knight, I trust your judgement!”
He nodded, a toothy, joyous grin splitting his solid, square face, and stood at my side.
We walked to address the assembled lupine warriors, who had moved to the village square and were beginning celebration with the villagers that had remained within the walls. Seamus remained on the ground as I took to the air, hovering about ten feet of the ground.
Again, Avacyn spoke with me, giving my words power and a almost musical quality.
“Today you have fought with courage, honor, determination, and passion. These are all traits that I look for in heros. I am Elspeth Tirel, Heiress of Avacyn and Archangel of Hope. Will those of you that wish to shine a light in this darkening world join me, as my honorable Wolf Knights, and help save this shadowed world?”
The answering howls from the warriors were deafening.
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How much of this did i write?
I don't know if its a good idea to bring this debate here, but I'd love to get other folk's opinions.
Every couple of months, a debate always starts somewhere on campus about whether or not spirit summoning is necromancy.
The argument that it is necromancy starts with because you are pulling the dead back to the realm of the living, it is. Regardless of if it's the body or the spirit of the deceased, it is necromancy.
The argument against this rebukes with because you don't control the spirit or their actions and you normally don't use the corpse of the deceased as a vessel for the spirit, instead opting for an effigy or beloved object, it isn't necromancy. Necromancy is exclusively when you reanimate the body, not summon the spirit.
The rebuttal to this argument is that since you can use a body as a vessel and you can threaten the spirit with severing the spell or torturing them, it is the same as reanimating a corpse and controlling it. Just because the reanimated can complain, they say, doesn't mean they're free.
The rebuttal to the rebuttal is that those are actions one can take but are unnecessary. Is it necromancy if a healer resurrects a folk who's been dead only for a couple of moments? What if a pure manafolk, like an angel, is spirit summoned? Does that count?
And on and on this goes until a Silverquill student butts in and starts talking about linguistics and how the language we are using is loaded or something. Everyone gets bored and goes back to our duties. Until a couple of months later, where another two folk will inevitably bring it up again.
So what do you folk think? Obviously, I'm of the opinion that it's not, but I do think it's more similar than most.
I, the cruelest person, in the room shall answer with a question in kind.
what precisely does necromancy mean?
While I controversially seem to agree with the silverquill student I won't bore you with my full explanation.
(although spirit summoning feels like it isn't necromancy to me)
To be honest, that's the whole debate. Should spirit summoning be categorized as necromancy?
I do agree that it doesn't feel like necromancy, and that's what's most important when it comes to these kinds of definitions, at least to me.
So I have two ideas
1: necromancy is inherently black aligned weaving similar to other summoning spells in which case spirit summoning is just a white aligned summoning spell
2: all raising from death is necromancy as such
Spirit summoning
Zombie/skeleton summoning
Speaking to the dead
Revivification
And the like is all necromancy, I am also of the opinion that necromancy is too stigmatized a form of weaving so I wouldn't argue.
It's not necromancy, it's geist-trapping
