Zayac - "Chapter 1″
Ok so I’ve gotten to a stopping point with Zayac, it's only about 2300 words but that’s more than my chapters usually are so??
It consists of the last 2 things I’ve posted for him, plus a longer third part. I’ll probably continue editing it and repost it in a cleaner/better form in the future, but I’m excited and I want to share it now so here ya go:
It was a perfectly clear afternoon, early in the Ravnican summer. Not even a wisp of cloud or smog crossed the pristine blue sky, and nothing more than the occasional breeze swept through the great city’s streets. Creatures of all shapes and sizes milled about in the streets, from the tall elves and vedalken striding from one piece of business to another, to the small goblins zipping about at their feet, occasionally collecting a shiny bauble from an unsuspecting passerby. Street vendors hawked their wares while Boros legionnaires patrolled in groups of two or three. Azorius couriers raced back and forth, permanently flustered, desperately trying to avoid the Orzhov sedan chairs and accompanying thrulls. All in all, a normal day in Ravnica.
High above the city streets and unsuspecting citizens, Zayac took a deep breath, seeking the barely perceptible smell of ozone. There. He smiled, thinking of all the poor people down there who had no idea what was coming. Of course, he thought as he felt the slight breeze swell, they weren’t storm mages so one couldn’t expect them to know. In fact, he doubted they even felt the wind he did. He was, after all, at the top of the tallest building in the district.
The Orzhov cathedral upon which he stood was massive, well over 600 feet tall. The weather up here was usually a little more volatile than at street level, but today was extra special. Today, a storm was brewing.
Zayac stood up on his perch, a small circle no more than 2 feet wide at the top of the cathedral’s main spire. The wind ruffled his short brown hair and curved around his lean six foot frame. He glanced behind him, in the direction of the Izzet guildhall. Already clouds were forming over the aerie of the Dracogenius, spreading outwards with incredible speed. As the clouds approached, a powerful wind picked up railed against the spire. Zayac turned away from the gathering storm, absentmindedly running his hands over his forearms. He wore a pair of armguards fitted with what appeared to be little bottles of lightning. His face broke into a wide grin. Magic storms were the best kind.
The sky above him darkened as clouds filled the sky, and his skin tingled. Behind him, he heard the rumble of thunder. His smile shrank a little, and became grim. The smell of ozone was now overpowering, and Zayac tensed.
There! Right next to him a lightning bolt flashed across the sky. The young storm mage spread his arms in a gesture of defiance, took a deep breath, and stepped off the tower.
Wind whipped past his face as he fell, lighting lighting up the now dark sky. He the ground raced towards him, and let out a loud whoop. He spun around in the air to face the clouds and drew on the energy stored in his bracers. He guided the energy upwards into the sky, using it to coax out the vast power of the storm. A bright flash above him signaled his success, and a bolt of electricity struck him directly in the chest.
Or rather, it struck the strategically placed harness on his chest. He heaved himself back over as he heard a click come from the strange contraption on his back. His whole body was jerked upwards as a pair of metal wings extended behind him, crackling with his recently collected lightning. He opened his mouth and laughed, but the sound was carried away by the wind.
Zayac once again drew in energy, this time from a pair of energy containers on his back. As he released it, white hot lightning shot from his wings, propelling him forward.
He quickly gained control of his movement, and sped across the sky under the dark storm clouds. He zigzagged past blue lightning shooting down from above, going over rooftops and under arches and spiraling around towers. People looked up, but he couldn’t be bothered with what they thought. He was far too caught up in the pure freedom.
After executing a particularly sharp turn and narrowly avoid some pedestrians and a brick wall, Zayac shot straight up. Above and beyond the normal street buildings, the taller towers, even the great cathedral from which he’d begun his flight. He slowed his flight, and turned in place, taking in the view of the storm and the city he called home. Yes, he thought, another average day in the great city of Ravnica.
Zayac yanked open the door of the foundry, barreling inside as though the entire Boros Legion was on his tail. As the door slammed behind him, he dashed towards the fire burning in one of the old forges. Outside the rain pounded against the metal walls, but the former Izzet building was well insulated and the only sound to be heard inside was the squeak of wet rubber soles on the floor as Zayac hurried towards the source of light and warmth.
Upon reaching his destination, the young storm mage stripped to his underclothes, tossed his soaking wet outfit down next to him, and closed his eyes as the he felt the heat wash away the chill of the rain. “Taja, you are a goddess.”
“Buddy you make everyone within a hundred feet of you seem divine.” Zayac turned towards the source of the voice and recieved a faceful of blanket. “Especially when you stand around in your skivvies.”
“I can’t believe you’d say that!” Zayac said in mock outrage, unable to suppress a smile as he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.
There was a fluttering sound as a small faerie settled a few feet from his face. “I’m not the one who lets himself get struck by lightning just so he can fly.” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her eyes shining with mirth.
“Hey, it's not like anyone else was using it.”
Taja rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no one except the entire Izzet League.”
Zayac laughed. “Ok, no one that matters was using it.”
“You really should be more careful though,” Taja said, taking a more serious tone. “The guild are getting better at working together; if the Izzet decide they’ve had enough of you, they could send the Azorius or Boros after you.”
Zayac smirked. “The guilds cooperating. Never thought I’d live to see it. Guess that Guildpact is really something.”
“Well they aren’t all buddy buddy yet; word on the street is that the Izzet had something big stolen; not sure what, but I heard the Dimir were involved, and the League is trying to be real hush hush about it.” Taja settled on a pipe junction, leaning against the vertical section. “Truth be told that’s the most I’ve heard since you’ve been gone though, it's been pretty quiet.”
Zayac turned back to the fire. He’d spent the last few months on Tarkir, flying with Kolaghan’s brood. Of course, Taja didn’t know; she had no idea what a Planeswalker was. She never asked where he went though, and he never asked how she knew what she knew. It was an understanding they’d reached early on. “What of the Orzhov?” he asked in a soft voice.
A look of concern flashed across Taja’s face. “They raised their taxes again. Low tier.” She watched Zayac’s jaw clench. “It hasn’t gone unnoticed; the Azorius are moving to stop them.”
Zayac laughed derisively. “The Azorius won’t get anywhere. The damn Syndicate’ll player their red tape like a harp. What about the Guildpact? Or the Boros? Is the enforcement enforcing?”
Taja shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know for sure. The Guildpact is dealing with other things I imagine, and the Boros can’t move in force without his approval.”
Zayac snorted. “They wouldn’t move even if they could; they don’t care.” The young man readjusted his blanket. “Looks like I’ve got some work to do.”
Three large men in black cloaks walked down Slate Street. Each carried are large sack emblazoned with the symbol of the Orzhov Syndicate. The jingle of recently collected taxes accompanied the sound of their boots on the street. It was nearing evening and the tax collectors were at the end of their route. They were eager to turn in their hauls and get home, so they decided to take a back alley to the local church.
They were only a short ways in when a figure dropped to the ground in front of them, their form concealed by the shadows of the alley. “Those sacks look heavy,” it said, “Would you like some help?”
Without hesitation, the man in the center drew a long dagger as his two comrades spread out and drew their own knives. “Move aside pal, we’re on official guild business.”
“Oh is that so? My deepest apologies.” The voice dripped sarcasm. “I thought you were busy extorting the citizens of this fair city. Unless that’s the business of you Guild, of course. Then I suppose you would be the fellas I’m looking for.”
The thugs shifted uncomfortably. Slate Street was a rough district; the only people who had this much confidence were either fools or dangerous. “Listen bud, the church is expecting these payments. You really wanna get in their way?” When in doubt, the threat of a powerful organization was always a good choice.
“As a matter of fact,” Zayac said, grinning viciously as we wreathed his fists in white lightning, “I do.”
The men recoiled from the bright light, and Zayac lunged. He released a blast of energy from his feet, propelling him towards his opponents at breakneck speed. His right fist connected with the jaw of the man in the center, hurling him backwards in an explosion of blood and lightning. Zayac shifted the energy in his feet, deftly maneuvering his horizontal body into a spin. His heel hit the man on the right with a sharp crack, and his broken body joined the first.
Excess energy arced from his hands and feet as Zayac threw himself into a vertical flip. The third collector desperately tried to raise his hands, but it was too late. Zayac’s heel drove him into the ground with the force of a giant’s warhammer.
It had only taken a few seconds, and the young lightning mage’s feet hadn’t once touched the ground. He used one of the cloaks to wipe off his boots and gauntlets, then grabbed the sacks of money. He briefly considered taking them, but knew it wouldn’t help. If the Orzhov didn’t get the taxes, they’d force the people to give more. He spat in disgust as he arranged the bags in a pile. Using a torn piece of cloak and one of the pools of blood, he painted a symbol on each one; a crude set of four wings, resembling those of an angel.
In truth it was the symbol of the raiders of Kolaghan. He’d spent much of his time away from Ravnica among the bloodthirsty berserkers, where he’d learned to fight and fly. Tarkir was a harsh world, but he prefered the openness of its danger to the underhanded plots and backstabbing schemes that plagued the more “civilized” Ravnica.
He searched the thugs, and discovered they each had small pouches full of trinkets. Spoils taken off the books. Zayac took these, resolving to find as many of the owners as he could. That, at least, he could do.
His business concluded, Zayac left the bloody scene behind. It was the fourth collection squad he’d hit in the week since he’d returned from Tarkir. Each had been left in dark alleys, fresh, bloody wings adorning the bags of coin. In truth, Zayac didn’t know what he expected to come from it. He wanted some reaction; preferably one of fear. If they were afraid, the Syndicate might slip up, and give him an opening to do some real damage.
It was midnight when Zayac reached the abandoned foundry. He walked inside without much thought; it had been a long week, and he was tired. He was closing the door when a word from Taja stopped him.
“Wait.”
“What?” Zayac said, annoyed. Taja looked past him, out the door, a finger to her lips.
“Damn.” She turned on him, a look of alarm plastered on her face. “You idiot! You were followed!”
Zayac whipped around just in time to catch a small gray something move behind a corner. An Orzhov thrull. His mouth dropped open and his brow furrowed in frustration. He turned back to see Taja flitting back and forth, hastily packing her things and removing all signs of habitation. “Well,” she said, turning to look at him, “Don’t just stand there gaping like a Simic experiment, move! We’ve got to move now, before we’re caught!”
“Wha- Where to?” He asked, moving towards his small pile of belongings.
“Don’t worry, I’ve planned for this. I’ve had a few backup places to go in case you ever did something stupid.” She made no attempt to hide her exasperation. “Don’t give me that look, we both knew it was inevitable. I just wish it hadn’t been in the middle of the damn night.”
Zayac took a breath to speak, but thought better of it. She was right, he did tend to get in trouble. He gathered up his spare set of clothes, bowl, utensils, pillow, and blanket, and stuffed them in a burlap sack. He was used to having to move quickly; life on the street had been inconsistent at best, and didn't leave much room for personal possessions.
It took less than two minutes for the pair to collect their things and slip out the back door of the old building. “This way,” Taja hissed. Zayac followed without hesitation, and they disappeared into the darkness.