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Content warning (roughly in order of appearance): Gore, Body Horror, Drug Usage, Sucidal Ideation, Drug Overdose

Jundian Diplomacy

Kresh stood in the center of the Bloodhall, the other clan leaders who had answered his summons arrayed around him. Each had an advisor, the oldest shaman of their clan alongside them. Kresh knew these people, had fought with them, both as enemy and more recently, as ally. They knew him, the upstart warrior-champion, founder of the splinter clan, Tol Angata, and the only clan leader to have seized the opportunity of interacting with the planes beyond Alara. Kresh had even set foot in the snowy mountains of Kamigawa after destroying a mining camp by invaders from the same plane. He had begun trading with the Brazen Coalition, whose ships sailed by the edge of Jund on their way to pilfer the other shards. And, on the advice of the outsider, the Hunter known as Bromley, he had sent his most decorated warrior (other than himself) and nine others to travel the multiverse. Of the ten, nine returned, and that alone marked the expedition as a success to many. But his tenure was not just one of boldness, he, more than anyone else, had fallen under the sway of the deceitful Rakka Mar. He had mostly redeemed himself by slaying the traitor, but it still left his judgment questionable in the eyes of his peers. And those peers were an interesting bunch.

Javid Hera, semi-hereditary leader of Highclan Tol Hera, the man who said humanity should take the war to the dragons, do more than just Life Hunts, and that they should claim the highest peaks to prove this, sat closest to Kresh. He was the man Kresh had fought and defeated to earn the right to form Tol Angata. Kresh spared his life because he did not seek to run Tol Hera, and because he didn’t disagree with Javid’s intentions, only his methods. Anyone willing to fight dragons was worth keeping alive. At least that was Kresh’s rationale at the time. He now sat on a boulder in the cavern, his age showing with the whitening of his hair. He had not spoken a word since arriving, and just stared at Kresh, seemingly irritated.

Neyjuth the Survivor, leader of the ill-fated Tol Breot. Formed by Breot the Slayer, a legendary hunter and skilled warrior, it was only misfortune that accounted for the hard times the Riftclan had fallen upon. During the Conflux, half of the clan had been transported to Grixis, and half left behind in Jund. Those in Grixis all perished except Neyjuth. Many were struck with a pox, hunger had set upon them, but even with all of that, they might have survived long enough to find Jund again or even just something not corrupted by Grixis to eat. It was Thraximundar who spelled their unfortunate end, killing Breot before he had time to react, and slaughtering all of them. Except for Neyjuth, who, infected with the pox, had been hidden by her lover, whose dying body covered hers, the rotting pustules on her skin and the corpse of her beloved masking her living scent from Thraximundar. Half a day later, she began crawling. She found the rest of Tol Breot, and despite the ministrations of the shamans, the pox still claimed her left hand and eye. She appointed herself leader, bested a challenger, and has been looking for ways to save Tol Breot ever since, letting non-humans from other shards, a rhox and a cohort of elves, join the clan. She now stood against one of the sangrite walls, idly tapping the fingers of her right arm on the bone and wood shield she wore upon her left. Her eye was flicking around the room, sizing up everyone else as Kresh was doing now. Their eyes met, and she gave him a small nod, but kept the scowl she perpetually wore.

Vilkesh the Crasher, leader of Tol Durek, the Ripclan. She was the youngest of those assembled here, only twenty-something, as compared to Javid, who was over fifty, or the rest, Kresh included, who were somewhere in their thirties or forties. She had been amenable to allowing Tol Breot to hunt regularly in their territory, which Kresh was hopeful would help with his goals at this meeting. The Ripclan did often fight with the viashino though. Vilkesh was presently cleaning her nails with a dagger and sitting cross-legged on a hide mat she’d brought with her.

There had once been five major clans, but Clan Nel Toth had been destroyed several years ago by one of their own, Meren. Kresh was no great ally of theirs, but the loss still stung, and the threat Meren and her undead, especially the dragon that now flew at her command, was one all clans had to deal with. Also, while there were other minor clans, loose collections of humans, sometimes with an elf or two, they largely followed at least one of the main four clans.

Sighing, Kresh looked to Gruak. With two thuds of his staff upon the stone floor, Gruak got the attention of everyone in the room.

“Clan leaders of Jund! I have called you here to our most sacred site, reclaimed from the undead of Grixis by the efforts of our most valiant warriors, to discuss our peoples’ future and our place within the multiverse! We stand at a moment where our decisions now will determine how the clans of Tol endure, and if we endure at all! Since the Conflux, and even before, the continuation of our ways has been called into question by how we have fared during these harsh and changing times!"

"The practices of how we hunt dragons have been challenged,” Kresh said, inclining his head to Javid Hera.

“Large swaths of our clans have been killed in quantities greater than even the most ill-fated Life Hunts!” He roared, looking at Neyjuth as he did so.

“We have had to deal with outsiders, both humans and otherwise, and some have even joined our ranks,” Kresh said, maintaining eye contact with her.

“And all of us have had our homes invaded! Whether by Bantian crusaders, the undead hordes, or by those who replace flesh with metal, regardless of if they called themselves Esper or Phyrexian!” Kresh roared once more, raising his sword, Mage Slayer, aloft as he did so.

“And yet more troubling than that are those who embrace dragons as objects worthy of worship and reverence! We have cast them out of our clans, but they still roam the mountains, a collection of elves and humans. What we do about these things is important. But there is a larger issue looming, one that connects to all of these others; how will we handle and interact with those from beyond the clans, be they from another plane or simply another shard! That is the core of why I have called you here today. I have a basic plan I want to propose, and I would like your input and cooperation with the plan. I believe that united, we are stronger! United, if the Esper attack one of us, they attack all of us! United, when one clan prospers, we all prosper! United, if one clan falls on hard times, the rest can support them! United, we can present ourselves to the multiverse as a people to be respected, to be dealt with fairly, and to be feared on the battlefield!”

“And you’d be the one in charge of this alliance, right?” Javid Hera snorted, crossing his arms.

“I had thought about it, but Gruak convinced me that this plan would work better if we were all on equal footing. One clan, one vote. Ties would be broken by a shamanic council of all the clans. No leader of clan leaders, just a council of equals doing what is best for our people. The goal is cooperation, not tyranny. In order for me to truly believe that we are stronger together beyond just having more numbers, I must acknowledge that my vision is not always the best path forward,” Kresh replied.

“Then why should we believe that your vision, this alliance, is the best path forward now? If you don’t have faith in your vision, why should we?” Vilkesh challenged.

“I HAVE FAITH IN THIS!” Kresh roared, brandishing Mage Slayer. “The alliance is our best path forward. I can see that. I know that. What I don’t know is what the needs of your clans are. What I don’t know is what challenges we will be facing a year or two years from now. I believe that if we pool our resources, including our cunning and our knowledge as hunters, leaders, and warriors, we will be stronger!”

Vilkesh nodded back, sitting back down and trying to keep her face neutral.

“So, what would this be, in practice? These words sound nice, but what actual promises and material benefits would we be getting?” Neyjuth asked, unfazed by Kresh’s display.

“Well, the specifics are one of the things we would need to determine together. But, at minimum, a promise for one clan to aid another against outside opponents, sharing of martial and magical skills, and well, the most material benefits would just be easier to show you,” Kresh said, gesturing to Gruak, who retrieved a satchel from behind the altar Kresh stood in front of.

In many places in the multiverse, the satchel would be largely unremarkable. On Jund, it was something of an oddity. The tanning of gharial leather was unusual, because most Jundians used leather derived from the hide of an iguanar or thrinax. The large lizards were more abundant and easier to hunt compared to the gharial, which could dive into tar or water and disappear with their camouflage. The hide did have a more unique pattern, and was tougher, so it was more prized. More notable however, were the brass buckles and clasps.

Metalwork was largely foreign to Jundians. It was not from a lack of resources, there were ore deposits in the mountains, but due primarily to inefficiency in comparison to making tools and weapons from bone, stone, and wood. Iron, or more accurately, steel, would take days to refine from an ore, which would have taken days to mine, and then several hours work to actually make the weapon. Bronze could be worked, and in the years since the Conflux, the process had been refined with techniques from Naya. It still took several hours to forge into a usable edge or point, but was used for simple axes, daggers, and even spear points. Flint, bone, and wood, however, could be carved into shape within a few hours, and done so intermittently throughout the day or even while on the move. The biggest hurdle however, lay with the techniques shamans knew for the purpose of strengthening weapons. Bone, flint, and obsidian were brittle, but the shamans had spent centuries honing spell-work to reinforce them, and even add flexibility. Wood was soft, but green mana could easily be used to toughen it. Most notable were the shamanic techniques to improve bone as a weapon by evoking the strength of the creature slain into the material. With dragon bone, the effect made weapons superior to well-crafted steel or bronze. Bronze, being a bit newer, had less focus on strengthening and enchanting, and was harder to enchant using typical shamanic techniques due to being more processed. There was experimentation with layering the enchantments into the metal during forging, but due to the tradition of warriors having their weapons crafted from the greatest creatures they’d slain, it hadn’t caught on much beyond tools. Metal armor was also impractical in the sweltering heat, and largely useless against dragons or even a sufficiently large thrinax. Since no humanoids native to Jund used metal armor, the only materials their weapons had traditionally needed to pierce were the hides of dragons and lizards. And dragon bones or teeth could do both with ease. So could flint or obsidian, but those needed magical reinforcement just as much as wood, albeit of a different form.

Because of this, the satchel was clearly made by someone not using wholly Jundian techniques. The leather was in the style the clans made, but the buckles and clasps, made of small brass components, were not what Jundian humans would have used. They used toggles made from bone or horn.

The assembled clan leaders and shamans took note of this, and Javid was about to speak before Kresh pulled a spyglass wrapped in thoctar fur out of the satchel.

“This device is known as a spyglass. It is used by sailors and pirates to see better over vast distances, especially across large bodies of water. My clan has used it to great effect in observing the jungle from a mountain or vice versa. By trading waterproofed gharial leather to the pirates of the Brazen Coalition, we obtained two,” Kresh said, offering the spyglass to the others.

“In addition, we have obtained steel fire-starters, that one can strike upon a piece of flint to create sparks, allowing for the ignition of fires without a shaman or having dry fire-sticks,” Kresh said, drawing the flint and steel while the others used the spyglass to see across the cavern, their vision magnified.

Further items were brought out, metal knives, canvas sacks, and rope. The first two were not remarkable, many hunters and warriors had begun using metal weapons since the Conflux, and while Jund didn’t have canvas, it also wasn’t the most useful material for the environment. The last one, Manila rope, common for sailors, was of interest. Jundians had cords made from hide or plant fibers, and even vines they could use similarly to rope, but they didn’t grow the Abacá trees the Manila rope was derived from and rarely had the hours necessary to braid what rope they did use into strong coils.

“I can see a couple of ways this could be useful for hunting or climbing. Do they also have nets made of this stuff?” Vilkesh asked, seeing the potential in the rope.

“If they don’t, the benefit of having a friendly relationship with them is that we can ask,” Kresh said, smiling wide. “Now, these are some of the most useful goods we have obtained so far, but not the most interesting. Come, let me show you.”

The other clan leaders clustered around Kresh as he drew a communicator from the satchel, and Javid even gasped as he switched it on.

Shregresha trudged through the marshy lowlands near the border between Grixis and Jund. It was not a place she would go to voluntarily. It was miserable, muggy, and mosquito-ridden. At least the bugs weren’t banewasps, but that was a small comfort. Making the journey significantly more bearable was the fact that Turrak was there. It wasn’t just that she trusted them to watch her back or that he was basically her nephew, but because in this case, the… changes, they’d undergone since connecting with the elementals and the leylines, were very helpful. Not the more reptilian claws on his hands or feet, not the increased growth of his scaly patches, but the fact that their body temperature now rested comfortably a few degrees above average, so almost all of the bugs were attracted to him. They also could emanate electricity without breaking a sweat, so Turrak was a living bug zapper. It made the experience far more bearable, not being eaten alive by insects.

The two of them were hunting, but unlike most hunts, they were tracking a person. Meren, last of Clan Nel Toth, to be precise. And, based on the trail, they weren’t the only ones. Meren traveled with a retinue of undead creatures, yes, including a dragon, but overlapping with those tracks was another pattern, a newer pattern, judging by the nature of the indentations. It was a pattern Shregresha had seen before. A pattern laid by a person she didn’t want to tell Turrak they were also now chasing down, even though she knew she should. A person whose presence now made their pursuit of Meren a race.

As they made camp for the night, Shregresha tensed before turning to Turrak. “Kid, sit down. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Turrak found a comfortable perch on a fallen tree, their solid red eyes full of concern.

“The second pair of tracks we found, I recognized them. I know who left them. Xecau.”

The concern in Turrak’s eyes was replaced with crackling lightning.

“I… I… thought he was dead. I thought he would’ve died in exile by now,” Turrak spat.

“I wish. He was always good at hanging on. Scavenging, hunting weak prey, whatever he needed to make it, even if it was foul,” Shregresha snarled. “Almost wish he had violated his exile. Almost more than how much I never want to see him again!”

“What do you think he’s doing? Why would he be going after Meren?” Turrak asked.

“I can think of three reasons. One, he’s going to kill or capture her to try to ingratiate himself into some other clan. Two, he’s going to try to ally with her, they are both exiles from the Clans. Three, she slighted or attacked him and it’s simply revenge,” Shregresha said, hoping it was just one of those. “Whatever the reason, we need to either get to Meren first or overtake and dispatch him. Getting to her first is likely impossible because we don’t know exactly where she’s going, so I guess that we have to hustle and get to him.”

“I’ll commune with some elementals, try to figure out exactly where Meren might be headed and also how far out Xecau is from her,” Turrak said, getting out their incense and assorted ritual offerings and sitting down by the fire, crossing his legs.

Bargaining with the elementals of the tarry swamps was different than bargaining with those of dense jungle and rocky peaks. They cared little for mortal respect, and although not opposed to fear, liked death more. Protection from outsiders was not something they needed the same way; no one of other shards sought to gouge into a bog the way they did a mountain or harvest muck like lumber. They were the elementals most shamans bargained with the least for a reason, and Turrak had little experience making such pacts.

A few minutes later, Turrak stood up, shaking and haggard.

“Whoa, what happened?” Shregresha said, rushing to help them steady their balance.

“I got the answers, but the cost was more than I would’ve liked. Two days of my natural lifespan, one for each question,” he answered, leaning on Shregresha.

“Here, eat some of this, regain your strength, and get some sleep. We’re setting out at first light, and you’ll be leading with the information you have,” Shregresha said, pulling some tukatounge roots out of her pack and handing it to Turrak.

After finishing off the nutrient rich roots, which required a lot of chewing, some color returned to Turrak’s face. “Alright, gonna try to get some rest,” they said, making their way to their tent.

Shregresha stayed up until the fire burned itself out, sharpening each and every one of her blades to a balanced edge.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Shregresha and Turrak made it to where Meren was supposedly heading: the border of Grixis. The tracks lined up with that, and in the distance, they heard shouting and the clash of weapons.

“Think it’s Meren fighting Xecau?” Shregresha asked.

“Hope it’s Meren killing the bastard,” Turrak replied, before summoning up a roiling earth-mote and speeding towards the sound of battle on it.

Shregresha took a deep breath, then crushed some sangrite in her hand. She’d been told by every one of Tol Angata’s shamans that she needed to cut back on her usage. Her new white hair and wrinkles were evident enough of the impact her stunt on Kamigawa had on her body, so this was a smaller crystal than she would’ve liked.

Still, it was enough to propel her towards fight fast enough to catch up with Turrak.

Just on the other side of the hill, which rose from the landscape of Grixis like a boil on skin, Xecau and one of Meren’s undead, a hulking leonin corpse fought a losing battle with a bloodstained body. And, judging from the ghastly killer wielding a two-handed greatsword in one hand and a flaming mace in the other, as well as the shattered corpse of a dreg reaver, and the fact that Meren’s dragon lay decapitated alongside the former steed, it was Thraximundar, He who Paints the Earth Red. A free agent rather than a pawn of one of the liches or demons, he was obsessed with slaughter. Any living being (and many unliving) which came across his path were invariably annihilated. Well, most of them. Some had managed to escape, mostly mages and planeswalkers, but still. It was said he drew power from each of his kills. If true, it was no wonder that he hadn’t been brought to heel. His death toll was comparable to dragons that had lived for centuries.

Turrak knew this, and knew from the accounts of others that the undying killer was resistant to fire and lightning, so his normal tactics wouldn’t work as effectively. So, for the second time in two days, they made a bargain with the elementals of the tar pits. This one was less costly to himself, he promised Thraximundar and made it clear what destroying the marauding assassin would do for their reputation. Eternal gratitude from the humans of Jund, regular sacrifices, the works. The price Turrak personally paid was a week’s worth of life-force, a relative bargain for being able to summon up the boiling, caustic blob that now streaked towards Thraximundar.

Xecau, quick as ever, sprang back as the sizzling tar elemental collided with Thraximundar and the surrounding area. Meren’s leonin zombie wasn’t so nimble, and was subsumed in the roiling elemental’s acidic body. Thraximundar himself howled in rage. It didn’t exactly feel pain, but being restricted by the sticky tar and watching his skin be eaten away wasn’t pleasant. Thraximundar thrashed with flaming mace and greatsword in hand, but the ever-churning tar managed to snuff the flames and reform from the cuts.

Xecau pivoted towards Meren, bronze blade held forward in a guard position, and advanced slowly. The young necromancer wore a large dagger on her hip, but hadn’t drawn it so far. Xecau though, hadn’t survived for a decade and a half in exile by taking stupid risks, and decided to play it safe. That decision likely saved his life, not because Meren drew her blade and lunged for him, but because Shregresha leapt at him from the hillside. Having his sword out in front allowed him to parry her dragon-jaw blade, which would have crashed through his ribs otherwise. It didn’t stop her short saber from connecting, but his outstretched sword arm made the angle of the strike awkward, and she had to sacrifice having the full force of her body behind it to still draw blood, her wrist twisting so the tip tore a gash into his side.

This was almost certainly a miscalculation on Shregresha’s part. Meren was more dangerous than Xecau by nearly any measure, and had massacred an entire Clan. Shregresha hated Xecau with the fury of a hundred volcanoes. There was no choice in her mind.

Meren stood and watched the two Jundians who had, to her, swept in and saved her from each of the other killers, rather than attack her. She didn’t know what to do with that information. On one hand, she wanted to kill the Jundians and make Thraximundar another one of her soldiers. On the other hand, she didn’t like backstabbing people who had just potentially saved her life. So, she could try killing them all now, wait and see who survives and kill the survivors, help the two Jundians, or run.

Thraximundar managed to force its way out of the elemental by twisting, slashing, and bashing until the tar was spattered around and the elemental had to retreat to re-form. Thraximundar, rather than simply going for the closest target, his normal pattern of attack, snarled and charged Turrak.

Turrak tried to call upon the earth and have spikes come up to impale the charging zombie. On Jund or Kamigawa, or any area they had acclimated too, this wouldn’t be a problem. However, this was Grixis, and they weren’t used to working with the land of Grixis. The ground, on the surface, appeared to be a corpse’s skin, with swollen lumps dotting the landscape in places, and it ranged in color from gray to pink to brown. It wasn’t skin… technically, although it did contain a higher-than-average percentage of decomposed flesh. It was a membrane made of dirt, gravel, and sand held together by tar and dried blood which behaved disturbingly like skin. Underneath the surface, stones that formed shapes reminiscent of bones and teeth were packed within more of that off-gray dirt, and miles further down, magma the color of blood seeped through a network of tunnels that forked like veins, coming to the surface and oozing out like pus from an open sore.

Turrak didn’t know any of this. He was used to geologic layers that made at least some sense, formed by layers of lava and erosion, not ones warped from hundreds of years of demonic ichor and necrotic energy seeping into the ground. So, they struggled to call up the spikes, and only managed get one up in time to impale Thraximundar in the chest. The master of massacre responded by howling and smashing his flaming mace into the stone, which, rather than being the sturdy igneous rock of Jund, was the brittle, bone-colored stone of Grixis, and shattered into a pile of shards. Thraximundar stepped forward, and nearly toppled over because of the gaping hole in its abdomen. Snarling, he raised his hand and a hunk of flesh tore itself out of the corpse of one of Meren’s former reanimated soldiers. The lump of meat shot itself into the hole in Thraximundar’s chest and began slowly merging itself alongside the rotted muscle that made up the marauder.

Xecau had been fighting long enough to know that most clashes of weapons were over in a matter of seconds, with one of the combatants having a decisive edge or making fatal misstep. The few exceptions were when two people of moderate skill were evenly matched or when two people of similar talent knew each other’s style in and out and crossed blades. It was the second scenario he found himself in, and he knew he was outmatched. Shregresha was faster, stronger, and caught him off-guard. His single bronze blade had more reach than either of hers, but she had gotten within that reach in the first pounce, and as he retreated, now bleeding from a dozen tiny cuts where she’d nicked him, she was able to close the distance before he could make a feasible threat with his sword. He was fighting a purely defensive battle and slowly losing. Her heavy dragon’s jaw blade jarred his shoulder with each parry or deflection he made, and her steel saber darted around his guard, not hard enough to cause a fatal blow, but drawing blood each strike. It was only muscle memory that kept him alive, his body knowing the pattern of her movements better than his mind. Every sparring match they’d had before his exile fifteen years ago were the only things keeping him alive, and only by a hair. If something didn’t change soon, he’d find his skull smashed to bits and become just another heap of carrion in the wastes of Grixis.

Shregresha snarled as she slashed at Xecau, the murderous coward somehow evading the worst of each strike. She would kill him. For what he did. His blood would stain the jaw of the dragon he once worshiped. As he had once tried to feed the monster, its maw would spill his blood. A fitting end for a miserable creature such as him. She would leave his body here to rot. Once she had sliced it to pieces. As much as he deserved his body to be defiled by a necromancer, she would rather him stay dead and gone. A vicious grin flickered across her face as her shorter saber caught his at an angle and she forced it down, going for the kill with her other sword.

“I still love you!” Xecau blurted out, fear masking desperation.

Shregresha’s blade stopped as it thudded into his rib cage, splitting skin and breaking bone, but not punching into his chest and impaling his heart. Surprise danced over her face, and she was reminded of the good times they’d shared. And the fury in her heart flared as the sweet moments made the betrayal all the more bitter. She raised her sword up a bit, preparing to plunge the jaw bone into his vile heart, but, as she glanced upward, she saw Turrak, retreating from Thraximundar, their lightning only just managing to slow the fell zombie.

Howling in frustration, she charged towards Thraximundar, stepping on Xecau’s balls as she left him lying on the ground, potentially at Meren’s mercy.

Thraximundar’s mind was little more than killing instinct, but he still had some capability to learn and a few emotions had stuck around. And it had learned he hated mages. This one that now backed away from him made him angrier than most. They had seriously injured him and deprived him of several kills that were rightfully its! All life existed so that he could end it, and mages resisted that fate longer than they had any right to! And killing them wasn’t even fun like when he got to cross weapons and draw blood before the final blow! Still, this one seemed to be tiring. He would savor the kill. Use its mace, they had tried to burn him, it would burn back.

He stepped forward, but only by sixth sense did he manage to twist and avoid the blade that would’ve severed his crumbling spine. Even so, Shregresha’s sword still sliced off a large cut of its shoulder muscle, and chipped the clavicle, one of the few original bones still inside the body. Shrieking, Thraximundar turned to face this new threat, this new impetuous mortal to kill. It was only due to his undead nature that the gut wound Shregresha dealt him as he moved didn’t have him double over and collapse in pain.

However, his counterattack drove her back. The heavy greatsword would normally take two hands to wield effectively, but Thraximundar swung it around with just one as if it weighed nothing at all. One strike with it nearly decapitated Shregresha, and she fell flat on her ass stepping back to avoid it. Only decades of combat experience allowed her to parry the mace from a sitting position, and only the sangrite in her system gave the parry enough force to push Thraximundar back a half step.

Turrak unleashed a current of lightning, momentarily paralyzing Thraximundar, giving Shregresha enough time to get back to her feet. Thraximundar spun around, lunging for Turrak, and Shregresha made him pay for it. Thraximundar roared with hatred as his left Achilles tendon snapped like a brittle rubber-band, Shregresha’s dragon-bone sword cleaving it apart. Falling to one knee, he pivoted on its good leg, swiping again, this time looking to cleave Shregresha in half with his greatsword. It took both her blades moving in unison to block the strike, and the impact still jarred her wrists. As Thraximundar pressed against Shregresha’s defensive stance, she disengaged, letting his own momentum and weight send him crashing onto his face. When he released his grip on the massive blade and attempted to push himself up, Shregresha brought her sword down on his rotten neck, dragon’s jaw biting through once-living spine. In her experience, decapitation made most zombies fall slack or no longer be worth the trouble animating without attached sensory organs.

She saw Turrak, still catching his breath but otherwise unharmed, and spun around to look for Xecau and Meren. Xecau was still lying in a heap, motionless, and Meren… Where was Meren? Shregresha glanced side to side, and suddenly saw Meren standing in front of her, having been hidden behind the curve of the hill. Shregresha tensed and readied to pounce, beginning to stow her swords, looking to grapple Meren. Meren raised her hand and it glowed with sickly green light.

“Shregresha! Watch out!” Turrak shouted.

Shregresha stepped to the side, and as she moved, saw in her periphery Thraximundar’s headless body had crept up behind her, and now had its sword raised, ready to cleave her head in two. Well, it would have been, if she was still in the same place. In fact, it hadn’t moved since she had. Not one to look a gift iguanar in the mouth, Shregresha dismembered the corpse where it stood, hacking the arms off with one strike each, then slicing off the legs as high up as she could as the body pitched over.

She turned back to see why Meren hadn’t stabbed her in the gut when she had the chance, and saw that the necromancer’s hand was still outstretched, green energy now fading.

“You… you saved my life? Why?” Shregresha asked, brows creased.

“You saved mine. We’re even now,” Meren said, turning towards her dragon.

It was in that moment, as she spoke, Shregresha noticed how young Meren was. Meren looked to be around eighteen or nineteen, a bit younger than Turrak, a bit older than Durkrag. In a different life, maybe she’d have met them at inter-clan events. If she hadn’t killed her entire clan. If she hadn’t sworn to topple all the cairns of Jund. If whatever had driven her to that point had never occurred. Did Clan Nel Toth do something to her? Or was she always harboring that darkness? By the standards of the clans, Meren was urgenslar, generation slayer, thrice over. But to Shregresha, she looked like almost like any other teenager. Shregresha couldn’t square the version of Meren who was the terror of Jund with the young woman now in front of her. She knew logically they were the same, but it still didn’t add up on some gut level. Why would Meren have saved her life just to kill her later? Why not let Thraximundar finish her off?

Those questions would have to momentarily go unanswered, as at that exact moment, Shregresha’s communicator beeped. She unclipped it from her belt, and brought it to her ear.

“Kresh? I’m kinda in the middle of the mission right now- Why’s it so dark? … You’re doing a video call… I’m holding it up to my ear, give me moment.”

Shregresha brought the communicator to her face and saw Kresh, with the other three clan leaders and the four elder shamans all clustered around Kresh’s communicator. Well, technically, it was a Kamigawan communicator looted from the mining camp that Kresh had factory reset, rather than a custom-made Dokuchi one like Shregresha used, but that functionally made it Kresh’s. Ironically, Kresh’s model had a much larger screen than Shregresha’s more travel-sized one.

“Look, we just caught up with Meren, dispatched Thraximundar, and hold on, I have to go kill the father of my son and figure out how to detain Meren,” Shregresha said, exasperated. “Turrak, you try to stall Meren, I’m going to kill Xecau.”

Shregresha clipped the communicator to the hem of her top, screen and camera facing outward, giving the council a view of the carnage of the battlefield, and trotted over to Xecau, who now lay in a small pool of his own blood, motionless. Shregresha checked his pulse, only to find nothing.

“Fuck…” she breathed. “Didn’t know someone could bleed to death from their balls.”

Meanwhile, Turrak called out to Meren. “Wait! I don’t want to fight you, but I will if you don’t stop!”

Meren, currently in the process of cannibalizing some of the energy in her zombified retinue to use for reattaching Skaal Kesh, her dragon’s head and reanimating him, whipped around and summoned a ball of green fire into her hand.

“I’m not looking to fight you two. You saved my life, but that only goes so far. Let me leave in peace, or you will pay in blood,” Meren snarled.

“I also don’t want to fight, but I also can’t let you leave. You’re responsible for killing an entire clan and at least a dozen other people, and you need to answer for that,” Turrak said, voice steady, but body beginning to glow red with electricity, the tar elemental now back at his side.

“So you just want to kill me? And I’m just supposed to let that happen?” Meren shouted. “You’re just like them!”

“No!” Shregresha yelled. “We want to understand your side of things. You’ve committed an atrocity, but you were never fully taught our ways, so we will show you leniency and let you explain yourself before casting judgment. Kresh the Thousand-Scarred sent us to bring you to the council of clans, but I think we may have a simpler solution. This is a communication device. Through it, the clan leaders will be able to hear your story, and all you have to do is stick around and tell it.”

“This is an outrage!” Javid Hera shouted. “The necromancer should die! I don’t know why we’re entertaining anything otherwise!”

“Because killing first and asking questions never can only get us so far,” Kresh said, his countenance impassive like a cliff. “We need to change somewhat to preserve what really matters. If our children are to survive, it becomes easier if we aren’t picking fights with everyone who we disagree with. Glory in combat can be won without having to start unnecessary conflict. Meren killed all of Clan Nel Toth. If it was because of something other than her nature, then knowing what will help protect us going forward.”

“How about we put it to a vote? Test the idea of equal cooperation on something difficult to see if it holds up?” Neyjuth suggested, staring hard at Kresh.

“Alright. Those not in favor of hearing Meren out?”

Javid’s hand went up.

“And those in favor?”

Kresh’s and Neyjuth’s hands went up.

“Vilkesh, why did you not raise your hand for either one?” Kresh asked.

“Because I don’t know! And us making this decision on our own doesn’t feel right! Meren was cast out by the shamans of Clan Nel Toth. Do our shamans demand vengeance? If so, we should honor that before anything else,” Vilkesh explained.

“That makes sense. What do the assembled shamans have to say?” Kresh asked.

“I think we should hear her out,” Turrak said, speaking first because he was the youngest shaman present.

“It’s worth hearing her out just to learn if Nel Toth made a mistake,” said the shaman of Tol Breot.

“We don’t need to hear her out. I doubt there’s anything she could say that would change the punishment her actions deserve,” said the shaman of Tol Hera.

“We should let her speak her piece. I agree, it likely won’t change what we do, but she should have the right to say it once before she dies,” said the shaman of Tol Durek.

“The elementals do not seek vengeance for their sibling she snuffed out. Yet, they fear her still. I am less concerned with why she killed Clan Nel Toth, assuming they slighted her, and more worried about the fact she has openly stated she wishes to kill all of us. It is worth hearing her side, maybe we can convince her not to ‘topple all the cairns of Jund’. If not, well, we were going to kill her anyways,” Gruak Enagarr, elder shaman of Tol Angata said.

“That’s good enough for me,” Vilkesh said, “I say we hear her out.”

“Then it’s 3 for, 1 against,” Kresh announced. “Javid Hera, will you abide by the decision of this council?”

“Sure. Don’t see the point, but I trust yours to do their duty once this is over,” he answered.

“You… you know I heard all of that?” Meren said, deeply confused and still adjusting to the knowledge of the communicator.

“It’s not like anything we say is going to make you swear to kill us; you’ve already done that,” Kresh snorted. “So, doesn’t really matter what we say, does it?”

“Why would I want to sit around and wait for your judgment?” Meren asked, still surreptitiously manipulating the mana needed to stitch Skaal Kesh’s head back to his body.

“You said you didn’t want to fight,” Turrak spoke, “And if you really mean that, well, this is your only chance at it.”

Meren grunted, crossed her arms, then said “You want to know why I killed Clan Nel Toth? Because they tried to kill me! I was undergoing the rite to be a shaman, and I killed the elemental by accident, rather than convincing it I was worthy of a cure. They wanted to kill me! The elder shaman, Jorshu, said that they should just leave me there, let the Dreamfire Draught do its work and kill me! It didn’t. I found my way to Grixis, and there I learned to hone my gifts. The ones they feared! I made them all pay with those gifts. And I swore vengeance against all of you because each of you would do the same! You make children swallow poison and leave them to die! If I don’t deserve to live, then neither do any of you!”

The assembled clan leaders began talking among themselves, with Kresh thinking to mute the communicator before the conversation got too heated. After a few minutes of discussion, he unmuted, ready to give the council’s decision.

“Wait, before you make your final decision, I have to mention something,” Shregresha said. “She saved my life from Thraximundar. I had decapitated him, but its body was still able to move and nearly cleaved me in half before she used her necromancy to immobilize him. And, her reason was because she viewed my previous actions in the fight as saving her life, and didn’t want to be indebted to me. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it seems to point to a sense of honor and decency in her.”

Kresh sighed, and then huddled back up with the other clan leaders. After a short discussion, he turned back to the communicator and spoke.

“Meren, last of Clan Nel Toth, for your deeds and vows, we, the Council of Clans, hereby banish you from the shard of Jund, on the pain of death. If you ever set foot inside our territory, your life will be forfeit. Outside of our territory, members of the various clans are not charged with having to hunt or kill you. How they interact with you will be at their discretion. Normally, we would sentence someone who has done what you have to death. However, considering the circumstances and your actions saving the life of Shregresha the Scale-Breaker, we think that exile is sufficient. I hope you acknowledge the conflict between us is over. You have annihilated those who left you to die, and we have cast you, now someone capable of living on her own, out of our lands due to you swearing vengeance against us for actions none of us participated in. The vote for this was three to one, but Javid Hera, the lone dissenter, is willing to abide by this ruling. Shregresha and Turrak, let us know if Meren doesn’t accept this.”

With the judgment delivered, Kresh switched off the communicator, and turned back to face the assembled clan leaders. “This is what we can gain together. The ability to communicate across vast distances, to formally discuss and handle our enemies in ways that hopefully lead to less loss of our people, our families. Tol together!”

“Tol together,” Neyjuth responded.

“Tol together!” Vilkesh said, raising her knife aloft as she did so.

“Tol together,” Javid said, standing up and walking over to where Kresh had been speaking. “Now, if we are working together, then I say we should carve out some practices towards dragons and more pressingly, those who worship them. I think we should plan some attacks against the most dangerous cults, and since we are allied, then pooling our warriors should help these matters. We can assemble a full raiding party out of four clans without leaving any individual clan unprotected. Who’s with me?”

“I,” chorused the other clan leaders.

Back in the wastes of Grixis, Shregresha watched Meren warily. The necromancer hadn’t moved since the council gave their decision, and Shregresha didn’t know what to do. Leaving was off the table, she needed to make sure Meren didn’t head for Jund, but saying something was dangerous, as Meren seemed likely to lash out at the first thing which caught her attention. In the midst of contemplation, she realized that Xecau’s body was still there, un-dismembered. She should probably solve that, make it that much harder for some Grixian necromancer or Meren to reanimate him. Then, she’d have Turrak incinerate the pieces.

Turning to go, Shregresha saw four kathri, the vulture aven of Grixis, swoop down from one of the ashy clouds that choked the sky and grab Xecau’s body, carrying him off to wherever they roosted. Shregresha sighed. It was a fitting enough end, but she still would’ve rather done the deed herself.

This broke the fugue state Meren was in, and she went to go mount Skaal Kesh, when Turrak called out, “Where are you going?”

“To Jund. I’m going to show those clan leaders what I think of their ruling,” Meren said.

“Please, don’t,” Turrak implored. “There’s a whole multiverse out there, entire worlds for you to traverse and find your place in. If you go back to Jund, that just means more bloodshed. More fighting, more death, more anger, more vengeance. What of the children? You say that as shamans, we feed children poison and leave them to die. Would you rather kill those children yourself, or simply slaughter their parents and leave them to die? Instead, you can explore, find yourself, find a reason to live rather than kill until everyone else is dead or you are.”

“I… Does the rest of the multiverse hate and fear necromancers and the undead like Alara does?” Meren asked hesitantly.

“Uhhh…” Turrak stammered sheepishly.

“Say, where’s Baptiste these days?” Shregresha asked Turrak.

“Last I knew, he’d moved to Tarkir, it’s marginally more hospitable than Innistrad. And there’s a… group? Kingdom? Nation? I’m not sure, called the Sultai that he’s with and unliving peacefully because they’re chill about the undead” he answered.

“Ok, so you’re going to want to find a plane called Tarkir, go to the Sultai, ask for Baptiste, and he can contact me on the communicator and I can help sort the situation out. Also, I recommend finding a communicator, they’re very useful. The Esper make some, but if you don’t trust them, so do various groups on Avishkar, Ravnica, Capenna, Kamigawa, and probably somewhere else I’m forgetting,” Shregresha said.

“And these Sultai will be cool with me showing up with a retinue of reanimated animals and people?” Meren asked, arching her brow.

“Yeah, more than anywhere else that isn’t gonna try to use you for their own ends. Just… don’t reanimate any dragons there and explain that dragons on Jund aren’t thinking. Should do it,” Turrak said. “Oh, and take this, it’ll make navigating easier.”

Meren took Turrak’s omenpath atlas gingerly, then immediately stuffed it into Skaal Kesh’s saddlebags, eyes wide with disbelief.

“I… guess I’ll try to find my way there. Thank you? Thank you,” Meren said, shuffling her feet awkwardly.

“Safe travels. If we meet again, let it be outside of Jund,” Shregresha remarked.