Hey, I was bored and just felt like writing one night, this is what I came up with. (So far, if people seem interested in more.)
During my copy/paste to this forum, some punctuation problems occurred, so you may see ? in strange places. if so, just point it out and I will correct it.
UPDATE: Chapters 1, 2, 3 and 4 complete. Chapter 5 in the works. Jeez, looks like I'm gonna be writing a damn book here.
A Lavamancer's Skill
Intro
A hazy flame surrounded him - A hooded man of dark, tanned skin; of tribal tattoos bearing his heritage of the Pardic Mountains. In his hand, a globe of intense flame whispered and crackled of ember, of power.
Jerik turned and cursed into the uncaring night. Once again, he had let his emotions blind him from his objective. And what an objective he had. It seemed once that he would have savored this moment, the fate of the free world weighing on his capable shoulders. But he knew the grim reality. He would almost certainly fail in this endeavor, and he would be the first to die. Surely not the last, however.
He cursed his ego. He cursed his pride. He had accepted this mission because he thought he would be the salvation of the world. And now, he thought bitterly to himself, ?Just surviving myself would be as grand a feat?.
*********
Chapter 1 - Lavamancer
He could still recall the night it all began. Sitting admist an open fire, sharing tales of epic battles and last stands with his fellow Lavamancers and their on-and-off again guests, the Dwarves, they had laughed and feasted as was customary of their kind. Unaware of the wily, malevolent being watching them from beyond the shadows, from nowhere, yet everywhere, they continued into the darkening night.
His vision fixated on Bragg Ironballs, the stout, proud Dwarf who had been with them that night. The man had drank down perhaps a little too much Pyrewine, and was now going through the rowdy motions of intoxication.
"ARRHH, I tell you! Those slimy squid never stood a chance! I bashed one in with my...my..MY AXE! Yes! Then another slimesack was trying its magic on me. I bolted it where it stood!!"
As if in agreement, an angry bolt of lightning sounded off in the distance. Jerik smiled and allowed himself to look away for a second. It was doubtful the Dwarf had such magical prowess, for calling down the lightning required at least a few seconds of concentration, and magic was not many a Dwarf?s forte.
The Lavamancers, on the other hand, were quite skilled in the mountain magic. Jerik himself was a mage of some renown, having single-handedly defeated, at the age of 14, a metamorphosed Krosan Beast, rampaging toward their encampment. He had captured the memory of the beast in his mind, in the space where mages stored their spells and creature summons. After that, he received much praise, and was trained by the very best: Matoc, the Elder of the Flame.
Jerik had held much promise, and was heralded by some as to become the next Elder. But his determination and dedication had waned as the years passed. The Krosan Beast's wild, instinctive drive for survival had opened a new world for Jerik that day. He began to see all that the path of the Druid had to offer.
He was now 19. A year ago, the Elder had sent him out from his tutelage, telling him that he was ready to become a great servant of the flame. They both knew what he had really meant. Jerik had been rejected. A new apprentice now strained where he once did. He didn't really mind. He knew there was more to the world than the mountains. There was more than just the red mana.
He had tried to summon the Krosan Beast once, but had failed somewhat, achieving only it's small, timid form. Still, the experience had provided a freshness to him. He enjoyed the feeling of the forest's primal energy flowing through him, at his bidding.
He still practiced hard at the tribal magic. Just a few days ago, they had fought off a squad of scouting Avens. Sure, the birdmen had meant no harm at first, but they were in Pardic territory! A quick firebolt from a lavamancer had begun the battle, the blazing charge desiccating two Aven. During the battle, Jerik had summoned not one, but two firecats into being. Raging felines of flame, their natural hunger for fowl proved remarkable. The battle was over in a matter of minutes, the lone remaining Aven barely managing to pivot it's smoked wings away from the slaughter. They had let it go. Someone had to live to tell the story on the other end.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he stared deeply in the hazy flame of the fire. Perhaps he had consumed too much wine as well, for he swore he felt something stare back?
As the raucous Dwarf continued his tale, Jerik wished that he would have such tales to tell. Of slaying Cephalid spies, of conquering Order strongholds. Anything but the mild, closed existence he lived in the mountains. There were occasional incidents of course, but not many. The battles that he had seen, had been quick and one-sided, not a true challenge worthy of his dedication.
He got up to go. Perhaps he would practice some more druidic magic in the morning. That always refreshed him. At least if he strayed from the mountain fire, he would not stray to the heretic magic, the blue or white manas.
"HOLD IT BOY! WHERE DO YA THINK YUR GOING??" The Dwarf yelled from behind him, clearly miffed Jerik did not show interest his tale.
"To sleep, Sir Dwarf." Jerik replied coolly, turning levelly to face the short, bearded man.
"PLANT YAR ARSE DOWN, AND LET AN OLD DWARF FINISH HIS TALE!"
Jerik knew Bragg was just playing around, but he felt in no mood for games. "Another time, perhaps."
The Dwarf's stereotypical hammer began to glow, and Jerik poised himself to fight, a fiery aura surrounding him. From his memory, he called forth a small spell, a Lava Dart. It would not harm his challenger much, but would perhaps stun and disorient him enough for Jerik to get away without further incident.
The other spectators made no attempt at levity, nor diplomacy. They loved a good fight. Jerik saw a few Lavamancers shift uncomfortably, reading to defend their honor should the battle escalate.
"Ha! A cautious boy!" The Dwarf suddenly laughed, as he deflated slightly and his weapon stopped glowing. "As you said, another time, perhaps."
Jerik tensed further a moment, sensing a trap. He felt none however, and turned off his mana reserves. He nodded to the Dwarf, and turned once again, warily slipping off into the darkness. Behind him, he heard the disappointed groans of Dwarf and Lavamancer alike.
Once he was clear of the camp, he breathed more easily. Half of him had almost wanted to fight. But he knew better. If he had accepted every challenge he met from a Dwarf, he would be dead by now, or at least missing a few body parts.
It had grown dark now, and he could see little save for the faint, glowing aura that existed on all Lavamancers. He conjured a small flame from his hand to light the way.
Unsure of what he was doing, or where he was going, he was content to just wander for a while in the wilderness. Half hoping to encounter another wild beast, he began to whistle uneasily. He still felt something odd about tonight. As if his whole world were inside a glass bauble, watched by another. He shrugged it off; intuition was certainly not a common Lavamancer trait.
A small burst of light suddenly caught his attention. Something had seemingly appeared at his feet. He looked around, then slowly, warily, bent down to pick it up. It was an Ember-bauble. A small, glass, childhood toy that was said to grant wishes if you cracked it open while naming your heart's desire.
His breath caught. This whole incident seemed staged. Tonight, of all nights, when he was feeling particularly low, he had randomly found a toy said to grant wishes, out in the wilderness where he seldom ventured.
A pressure seemed to exert itself around him, but he paid no heed, gazing deep into the flaming trinket.
Slowly, hesitantly, he crumpled the bauble, the broken glass searing away before it could hurt him. The fire inside it now floated on its own vocation, inches from his hand.
"I...I wish to become a hero." He paused, growing more sure of himself. "I wish to become the savior of nations. To lead my people toward an age of glory unrivaled."
He paused again. Nothing. The small, flaming sphere began to fade into nothing.
He growled, angry with himself that he would get caught up in children?s fairy tales. He straightened himself, and began to walk again.
He never took another step. From all around him, the pressure increased greatly, as if to crush him. He cried out, unwillingly pushed to the ground in a daze of bright energy.
Even as he crumpled down, he drew his mana toward him, something was watching him. He gritted his teeth, and pushed his head toward the force, looking up into the bright maelstrom of energy.
And then he saw her. A being of radiance. Of power untold. From the energy, smoldering, immortal eyes turned downwards to observe him coolly. He felt his will to fight sap itself as he gaped, wide mouthed, helpless in her aura. Recalling the legends of the past, he finally grasped who, or what hovered before him.
Short of breath, he could only whisper one word "Planeswalker..."
For a moment, only the sizzling crackle of energy could be heard in the wilderness. The being seemed to study him leisurely, as Jerik numbly waited for its reply.
"Greetings, Lavamancer." Its booming voice echoed into the night, yet seemed to be only a figment of Jerik's imagination. "My name is Marit-Lage, and as you said, I am a planeswalker."
Jerik waited nervously, anticipating why it had decided to appear before him. Perhaps it would take him away to be used as a pawn in its own battles. Battles beyond mortal comprehension, he had once been told. Battles fought by master Walkers, who cast spells as readily as a mortal drew breath.
It suddenly occurred to him that the being could very well be there to grant his wish. The wish he had whispered into the dying flames of the Ember-bauble. But at what price? These beings were worst than Djinns with their favors, toying with mortal men as those men toyed with ants. The outcome of great wars and world-changing catastrophes were but moves in a game only they played, a game only they understood.
He remembered the elder's tales of the Phyrexian War. A terrible conflict that left scars in the land to this very day. A war that had decimated nations, sunk continents, and nearly eradicated all life on the plane.
A war fought by planeswalkers.
The being seemed to read his thoughts. "We are not as terrible as you imagine, Lavamancer." It paused and seemed to chuckle, a strange gesture for a disembodied, floating pair of eyes. "Nearly as terrible, perhaps. But we are not quite the monsters you would imagine us to be."
It paused, regret filling its eyes. "We simply do what we must to survive, and I know not a mortal who would not do the same." Pausing again, the eyes fixated long and hard on Jerik. "I was like you, long ago, when I was mortal. Of all the choices in the world, I wanted power, I wanted glory. Ironic...Now I have all the power and glory I could ever wish for, and yet none of the choices..."
Jerik paused, considering his response. "But if you have this unlimited power, great one, why would you not do as you wish with it."
The answer came swiftly. "Because I am as locked in my actions as a puppet is in its! One mistake, one moment of blissful ignorance, and my enemies would have their will. Worlds would be erased and planes destroyed...or worse. It is the burden of such power, and should you become Like I one day, you would understand."
Jerik relaxed a little. Just a little. He sat up, the crushing weight around him having disappeared. This planeswalker seemed to be a "good" one. It spoke of defending worlds, not destroying them.
Once again, the being answered the question as it was beginning to form in the back of Jerik's mind. "You are wrong mortal. Good and Evil are but subjective. I have destroyed as many worlds as I have saved. And I will tell you now, I have saved more than I care to ever remember..."
Marit-Lage paused again. It eyes strained toward an unseen foe. "I do not have much time here..my allies call to me."
"I will tell you why I have appeared to you, Jerik of the Pardic Mountains. I request your aid."
Feeling helpless, Jerik could only nod. Perhaps this would be the adventure he had wished for, the glory he sought. But after the planeswalker's words, he was not so sure he wanted it. Still, he knew for his own well-being, he could not refuse. "I will do my best to serve you, great one. What is your wish?"
"Recently, my allies and I have discovered a marvelous plane made entirely of artifice. Our enemies have also been made aware of this plane, for somewhere on it lies an artifact of immense power. One that will turn the tides of a greater war. An artifact that single-handedly can revive ruined, rotting worlds and turn them back into what they once were, by draining the essences of other worlds. It is called the Gazarsgo's Plow, to some, the "Crucible of Worlds". This weapon will allow us to restore the worlds we have ceded to our foes, while simultaneously purging their sources of energy, their domains."
Jerik paused. Something still bothered him. Risking being flashfried, he boldly asked "Why should I help you with this? Why should I help you win your war?"
The Walker paused, and despite himself, Jerik cringed. Its eyes flared, but it replied levelly "I understand your concern, Lavamancer. For all you know, this weapon for which you shall help us attain will destroy your world. Understand however, that Otaria, as all of Dominaria, is under my protection. I have many mortal allies on this plane, and it has many, rich mana reserves from which I draw strength."
Marit-Lage paused for emphasis. "Also understand that should this weapon fall into the hands of our enemies, you will rot in the Nine Hells. As will I. As will everything you have ever held dear on this earth."
Finally understanding the brevity of its words, Jerik nodded slowly. It looked like he would have his wish after all. He would be a savior of nations. A savior of worlds. The weight of more than one world would rest on his shoulders this day.
The Walker interrupted his thoughts. "I trust you are available to leave immediately."
Jerik paused. Perhaps he should contact his kin...no...they would not believe him. "Yes." He replied. "I still have a couple more questions though."
"Continue."
"Why me? Why did you choose me of all the people you could have chosen? And why can't you go yourself? Surely you have every means available to you that I do to accomplish this task. If this weapon is really so important, why don?t you go yourself?"
"Logical questions. Firstly, understand that the plane I spoke of, Mirrodin, is warded from planeswalkers directly, by magic presumably cast by another Walker. The only way we were able to discover the plane was through scouting and some luck."
"As for why you? You are somewhat...unique. Do not let this statement sway your opinion of yourself. You are still very much mortal, and possess the same flaws that all mortals do. However, you are adept at your red magic, and I have seen your ability to channel foreign mana well enough. You are also logical, as indicated by your questions...and that is a very distinct trait for one born among the mountains. I observed you for a few days, and decided you were the best one for this mission." The planeswalker paused again. "There is one more reason I chose you..."
Suddenly, the empty space around them contorted into a temporal distortion. From the rippling Aether, a creature struggled forth.
Jerik backed up quickly, unsure of what was going on. He drew forth the strongest magic he could summon. If this planeswalker was playing games with him, he would go down fighting.
The creature finally fully materialized. It was a metallic creature: large, probably 12 feet tall, towering even above the planeswalker. It had what seemed to be a belly, and resembled a humanoid except for its distinct lack of facial feature. Its pale blue skin shone eerily in the planeswalker's glowing energy.
The creature made no attempt to move, towering above the trees; it turned its head awkwardly to glance at its master.
Marit-Lage herself now finally took form. There was a blindly flash, and when Jerik could see again, he saw a bronzed, flaming woman floating before him. Her eyes glowed with the same dominating, immortal presence it had before, and her hair seemed to be made of fire itself. Magical energy crackled from within her clenched fists, spreading throughout the rest of her body. It seemed "it" was a she. He had not been able to tell before from the sound of her voice.
"What is this?" Jerik growled angrily, his hands half raised to shield his eyes from the glare.
"This is your test, human. This is a creature you will encounter on Mirrodin many times. It is called a Myr Enforcer..."
Turning to the creature, Marit-Lage pointed a flaming finger at Jerik and simply said, "Kill."
Instantly, the titanic creature fixated its gaze on Jerik. Without hesitation, the machine raised a gigantic fist in the air and sent it flying down to where the small Lavamancer stood.
Jerik grunted as he leaped aside, clumps of earth flying around him. He glanced up to survey his situation. Luckily, it seemed the Enforcer’s monstrous size was tempered by its slow recovery, as the beast was just beginning to straighten itself from its attack. Jerik scrambled to his feet, drawing in the mountain magic so prevalent around him. He had no time to think of the ramifications of this “test”, he only had time to survive.
Marit-Lage had hovered to a safe distance away, watching idly as Jerik struggled for his life. As his quick gaze met hers, she calmly, but quickly, stated the obvious: “Should you survive this conflict, your role will be secured.”
He had no time to reply. The Enforcer began rampaging toward him, seemingly wanting to close the distance between them, so that escape was impossible. Jerik turned and ran away from it, fighting his way through the thick bush as his foe casually tore trees away in pursuit. In his mind, he quickly went through all the possibilities. He could not possibly fight the thing in hand to hand. And he could not hope to defeat Marit-Lage, therefore returning the machine back to the recesses of her mind. He would have to destroy it with magic. He turned his head back to see where it was.
The Enforcer nearly ended his life right there. With a deafening thud, its leg, fully as tall as Jerik himself, hammered him in the chest, sending the man flying through the trees.
Jerik groaned as he tumbled through the underbrush. Struggling to stay conscious, he tried to ignore the unbearable pain on his chest. Somehow, it seemed that the machine was even stronger that it looked. After a few disorienting seconds, he finally crashed against a broad tree, slumping to the ground.
The Enforcer, now quite a few feet away, had stopped and was observing him.
“It thinks I’m dead…” He realized, his face obscured by his hood.
Without moving, Jerik willed the mana to him, preparing for a spell that would destroy the beast. He thought of one: Demolish. A destructive spell that would shatter any machine made by man.
The machine suddenly straightened to life. Perhaps it realized that he was alive. Perhaps it was drawn to the mana he summoned. Or perhaps it realized what he intended. It began rampaging toward him again with fervor, leveling trees as it charged.
It was now or never. Jerik gritted his teeth and rose unsteadily to his feet. He brough the spell into being, draining his reserves as it appeared before him, glowing a reddish hue. With grim determination, Jerik fired the spell toward the Enforcer, now nearly upon him.
In the millisecond before the blazing magic struck, Jerik realized his mistake. He instinctively crouched to the ground, turning away just as there was a blinding flash, and the sound of exploding metal echoed across the mountain. He winced…
Strangely enough, he felt no pain. Perhaps he had been lucky enough to avoid the shrapnel.
Waiting another three seconds, he cautiously reared his head to survey the carnage.
What he saw startled him. He was no longer in the bush, nor the mountains he called home. Perhaps he wasn’t even on Dominaria anymore. Instead, he was standing nowhere. At least it appeared that way. All around him, his surroundings were nothing more than a bright, white glare. He looked down to see the same white glare.
His head spun around, searching for the planeswalker who was surely behind this. He saw nothing.
“Planeswalker?” He shouted, still perturbed at the nerve of her “test”.
“I am here.” Came the response.
“Where are you?” He retorted, somewhat unnerved by his helplessness and inability to visualize anything.
“I am traveling the Blind Eternities. You cannot see my physical form because I have wrapped you in…how would you describe it…? A box.” Sounding somewhat amused, the being continued. “ These are the roads taken by planeswalkers. Any mortal who would travel them without protection risks being torn into nothing. Erased into the Aether…”
“The battle…?” Jerik prodded.
“You passed your test. The resulting shrapnel would have wounded you too deeply to continue on, so I intervened. We shall arrive at the Aether gate to Mirrodin shortly. Until then, I need to teach you a few things…”
”Like what? I hope you don’t have another “test” planned at the end of this.” As he spoke, Jerik suddenly realized that the pain of his chest wound was gone. She had willed it away.
“Quite the contrary. Instead of using your hard-earned spells, this time, I will teach you some.”
She paused. “Your magic is somewhat…inefficient when it comes to destroying artifice…Mainly due to the fact that machines are a rarity where you dwell. And as such, you have not learned to fight them as well as you could.”
“I will teach you several spells in the next few minutes. You will have not time to master them all. I will simply teach you the core of each spell. You can hone them when you arrive.”
“As for your mission, I offer you this…”
A silver necklace appeared in front of him. Hanging on the end of it was a talisman of some sort, sparkling with mana. The outer edges of it were rimmed in steel. In the center, a small white spark glowed, surrounded by black obsidian.
“This will be your compass,” She paused as Jerik picked it up and studied it. “Inside that talisman, lies a tracking device which will lead you to what I seek…what we seek…”
“I’ll figure it out later,” He grumbled, slipping the object into his robe.
From outside the Aether bubble, Marit-Lage smiled slyly. “Very well…then let us begin your…lessons.”
For the next few minutes, the Walker mentally instructed Jerik on various spells, showing him how to form them in his mind, and how to use them to the deadliest effect. He understood them with surprising ease, even the nature spell, Oxidize, which he had initially thought would be difficult to learn.
Finally, after learning perhaps five spells over the course of a few minutes, Jerik paused and became aware that it had suddenly grown quiet, both in his “box” and in his mind. Marit-Lage had stopped her instructions. The white glare seemed to dull and even flickered for a second.
“What is it?” He called out into the nothingness.
“A battle…” A strained voice replied. “Our enemies have launched another attack. I am needed. Elsewhere.”
“Wait! You haven’t even told me where to begin once I get there!”
“I MUST GO…” the planeswalker roared back. She seemed unable to control her tone of voice, as the last word came out warped.
“GOOOOOOO…” the echo faded across the rapidly dimming expanse.
Darkness. Jerik felt it grow cold, and darkness entered his box. It grew dark fast, and Jerik was soon blind in the shadow, save for his own, faint, fiery aura.
He felt helpless, unable to control his own fate. Perhaps she would leave him here, wherever they were, trapped forever.
With a wisp of mana reserved within him, he conjured a small flame and surveyed what was happening. His bubble had grown transparent, and he looked outside.
What he saw would haunt his dreams forever.
He saw a war. Not a mortal war, but an immortal one. Beings of power so immense that he could sense them from within his bubble. Coalescing energies fought on a surreal plane. It seemed to be space, with planets and stars twinkling in the darkness, but he was sure it really wasn’t. From thin air, armies of creatures would appear, usually struck down before they advanced far. Vibrant colors crackled in the air as spell after spell was spent. He saw Marit-Lage among them, temporarily taking her human form.
He was shocked as a bolt of lightning suddenly struck her in the chest, and she seemed to shatter into a million pieces before his eyes.
His worries were quickly allayed as the pieces reformed into a fiery mass of energy, firing back raw power at its assailant.
He heard a voice inside his bubble again. “You will arrive on Mirrodin in moments…I cannot help you anymore from there. Just know one thing. Jerik, you cannot fail. You have been entrusted with this task, and you will succeed…”
Jerik’s eyes narrowed, and he grew determined. He had seen their power. He would not allow these enemy planeswalkers to destroy Dominaria.
“One more thing, Jerik…” The voice grew softer, taking a more feminine tone. “You have an ally on Mirrodin, one who works for us. He cannot help you capture the Crucible, but he will serve as your guide.”
“How do I find him?” Jerik called out.
Silence.
He called out much louder “How do I find him!!”
“He will come to you…” the reply came at last. “But be warned…though this plane harbors it's own perils, your greatest foe is the one who knows what you seek. Our enemies have most certainly sent forth their own champion…”
Jerik swallowed loudly. There would be competition.
“Be wary, Lavamancer. Your enemies are many, shrouded in the darkness, waiting for you to step into the light. Be wary, for you know not what truly lurks behind the shadow…”
Jerik felt a strong pressure all around him.
“Not this again…” He groaned.
He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. After a blinding eternity, it subsided. Jerik slowly opened his eyes.
He stood before a landscape unlike any he had ever seen. Metal. Metal was everywhere. He appeared to be on a mountain, or at least a parody of one. Natural dirt in the mountain blended seamlessly with the metal jutting from it. He took a couple steps and looked over the edge.
A harsh glare caught his eye, and he raised his arm to shield himself. Averting his eyes lower, he saw what caused the glare. Polished metal was everywhere. The plane was made of it, as the Walker had said. He saw distant fields of razor sharp metallic blades, perhaps a metal version of grass. He saw the coastline, where metallic bits of coral reef floated above the surface of the slippery water. It seemed not water at all, but some sort of fluidic substance. He saw the forests, and they were truly twisted, semi-metallic, winding spires of sharp, half-organic leaves and branches.
He chuckled. “I wonder how the druids here can stand this place…”
Finally he turned behind him, seeing the last unnatural environment. It was a marsh…shambling, ruined towers smoked green gas into the air, and the green sludge of the swamp seemed to shift before Jerik’s keen eyesight. Dread filled his being as he watched this place. A place of great evil, no doubt.
He took a deep breath and stood unmoving, unsure of what to do next.
A long silence passed before he made any attempt to move.
Where to begin?
“I’ll need a guide.” He thought. The guide Marit-Lage had spoke of was nowhere to be seen…
Slowly, cautiously, he began to descend the mountain. As he half slid, half walked, he realized how surreal his surroundings were.
Curious, he paused for a brief moment, summoning crackling flame in his strained hands. He put a hand to the ground and focused on the fire in his palm. The crackling intensified, and to his relief, some of the metallic ground exposed to his hand began to melt into molten metal.
“As long as it burns…” He thought, satisfied.
He continued sloping his way down the mountain, the incline fairly shallow. After perhaps an hour, he settled down to take a break. He was thirsty, but he saw no sources of fresh water around. Perhaps there was none at all on this plane, a disturbing thought.
He dropped wearily behind the shade of a large, metallic rock. The sun was at its midday brightest, and he could hardly afford to lose his energy now. A vicious glare resounded in many directions, so he simply shut his eyes and pulled up his hood. He rested for a few minutes in peace.
Screeching in the distance awoke him from his reverie, and he looked up to find its source. He saw a shape in the sky, vaguely that of a bird, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t see any better because of the intense brightness, so he was just content to let it pass.
He then heard another sound. A scraping noise coming from nearby. His eyes glowed a fiery, light flame as he tensed, pausing to catch the direction of the noise. It seemed to be to his left, coming from just over a dead end, a cliff.
He conjured a small fireball in his right hand as he stood up, eyes focused toward the noise.
He took a few silent steps toward the cliff, fearing a trap. Arriving at the edge, he peered out and around, and saw nothing. The noise had stopped.
His brow furrowed, and he turned back slowly. Suddenly, the noise began again behind him. It sounded like something was being scratched against the metallic rock. He turned abruptly, then realized the noise was coming from slightly below the edge of the cliff.
He stooped low, and peered over the edge. A green-skinned creature lay dangling over the edge. It feebily clawed upwards at the dirt with its free hand, the source of the noise. The other hand held it precariously from the long plunge downwards. Upon seeing him, the creature peered suspiciously at him for a couple moments, then extended its hand upwards, beckoning him to take it.
Jerik sighed. Perhaps this pathetic creature would be the first of his eventual allies. He reached over, grasped its hand, and pulled its light frame up to level ground.
The creature took a few seconds to recover, hunched over and panting. While it recovered, Jerik took a closer look at it. It appeared to be a Goblin. Goblins were only folklore in Otaria, and Jerik had never seen one before, but he recognized their description to match this creature’s. It was clad in rusty metal armor, with green skin all around and slightly pointed ears. From what he could tell in its hunched position, it appeared to be about 5 feet tall, to Jerik’s 6 feet.
The creature soon rose to its feet. It was then that Jerik noticed metallic parts attached to its skin. Small bits and shards of metal seemed to just blend naturally into its flesh.
“Tanks…” The creature started saying. (It appeared to be a He.)
Jerik hardly noticed. The metallic skin fascinated him. He reached out to touch it, and the Goblin quickly pulled back.
“Whats you doing?” The creature asked suspiciously.
“What’s on your skin?” Jerik asked inquisitively. “How did this metal get attached to your skin?”
The Goblin straightened slightly and gazed at him as if he were simple. “Metal always on skin…just like yours.”
The Goblin’s gaze dropped to Jerik’s bare knees expectantly. Jerik looked down as well, half-expecting to see something. The Goblin stared for a moment, and then cocked an eyebrow.
“You don’t have metal?” He asked, as his eyes shifted to Jerik’s arms, which were bare from him having pulled up the sleeves of his cloak to vent the heat.
“Ah I don’t get it, maybe a human thing!”
“There’s humans here?” Jerik must have sounded too surprised, for the Goblin caught his train of thought.
“You not from around here…that’s why!” The Goblin exclaimed, looking pleased with himself. “Ya, there’s humans here. They call themselves “Vulshok”. They haf that metal on them too I think.”
“These Vulshok, what do they do?” Jerik pried. If they were sorcerers or clerics of sorts, he wanted nothing to do with them.
“They haf lotsa weapons! And they like to shoot fire! Once, Krog see’d them attacking other humans.”
Jerik mentally brightened. This wasn’t looking too bad after all. “I assume your name is Krog? Well, Krog, my name is Jerik, and I would like for you to show me these Vulshok.”
“No way, Vulshoks don’t like Goblins!” The Goblin backed off a couple steps from Jerik, expecting retaliation.
Jerik was actually about to conjure something to keep the Goblin in line when Krog turned around to walk away, head in the air. “Tanks for the save though!”
“Whoooooo!” The Goblin screeched as he tumbled down the same cliff he had just climbed up from.
Jerik smiled, amused. He walked over to the ledge and started at the creature in the same way he had before.
The Goblin again tried to uselessly reach higher ground with his free hand, but it was too short. “Halp?”
“Not this time…I think I’ll go find those Vulshok myself…” Jerik smiled cruelly, pretending to walk away.
“Wait, wait! I show you the Vulshok camp if you help me!” The Goblin tried to bargain.
Jerik turned back and rolled his eyes. “Oh…” He paused for show. “I guess it would be faster that way…”
He reached over and pulled the creature up for the second time.
The Goblin knelt low as soon as he was on solid ground again, panting heavily. Jerik decided this was a good time to tip his hand and ensure the Goblin’s loyalty.
Channeling the foreign metals of the mountain, he drove the red mana through his being, somewhat relieved that mana functioned the same on this plane.
He conjured a relatively large fireball, and held it, blazing and crackling before the Goblin.
Krog looked up dumbly, then gasped, recoiling so much that he nearly plunged over the edge of the mountain for the third time.
“You a wizard!” He exclaimed with wide eyes.
“Yes I am, and if you’re lucky, you just might learn a few things while you travel with me…” He channeled some flame into the blazing globe, and it flared noticeably. “For better or for worse…”
The Goblin paused for a second to comprehend what he had said, then gulped and nodded quickly. He got up and dusted himself off, his rusty armor dulled even more.
“Vulshok camp that way…” Krog pointed a scabby finger toward a mountain range off in the distance.
“Good…” Jerik said to himself. He dissipated the fireball, and heard the Goblin beside him breathe lighter instantly.
The Goblin started to trek downwards, carefully judging the inclines of various slopes and other obstacles as he went. Jerik followed, half-hearted. His mind was on something else…
That mana, it had felt…metallic, if that was even possible. He felt as though rusted traces of it were still flowing through his veins.
Krog was surprisingly, or perhaps not-so-much, talkative, and inquired about many things.
“Where do you come from huh? Can you show me how to make the fire? Ooh! A Chrome Beetle! You hungry?”
Jerik kept up in both pace and reply as best he could. The Goblin moved fast, that was for sure. He knew these mountains well.
Finally, after another hour or so, they were very near the base of the mountain, both quite exhausted. It was beginning to dim in the skies, and it was only now that Jerik realized that there was a sun or some constellation in orbit providing them light.
“How long before it becomes too dark to see?” He asked.
“Soon. When the glare of the Glimmer fades.” The Goblin’s gaze turned skyward.
“How long before we should stop and rest?” Jerik inquired more specifically, realizing their language barrier.
The Goblin paused to think. “I tink once we get down to the ground, we gotta find place to sleep and hide.”
Jerik’s features tensed. “Hide?”
The Goblin paused again, trying to find the appropriate words. “Big monsters come at night, they do scary stuff. Clanlord says they called Levelers. I see’d them in the shadow before; they big, sharp, monsters.”
“Are these Levelers…made of metal?” Jerik asked, unable to explain the intuitive dread that chilled his being.
“I tink so, they make big clanking sounds. I never saw them because of the dark, but Clanlord says one of them ate my cousin Nubb.”
With a shudder, Jerik suppressed the chill, and cleared his thoughts. He saw, conveniently, a small cavern nearby.
He pointed to it, “How about we stay there?”
“Yes, yes!” Exclaimed the Goblin, just noticing it. “I sleeped there two rotations ago. It safe and warm. Levelers too big to fit in there.”
They headed toward the cave as Jerik took in his new surroundings. They were in a mountain range, an expanse of metallically dull red and brown. This seemed to be the base, ground level.
“Come, wizard!” Krog called ahead of him.
“Jerik, call me Jerik.”
The Goblin seemed to pay him no heed as he skittered around the cave. It was about 20 meters long, and maybe 10 meters wide. Even inside, the cave shone a metallic sheen. Jerik took a deep breath as he gazed one more time at the muddy-blue sky, then headed inside.
During my copy/paste to this forum, some punctuation problems occurred, so you may see ? in strange places. if so, just point it out and I will correct it.
UPDATE: Chapters 1, 2, 3 and 4 complete. Chapter 5 in the works. Jeez, looks like I'm gonna be writing a damn book here.
A hazy flame surrounded him - A hooded man of dark, tanned skin; of tribal tattoos bearing his heritage of the Pardic Mountains. In his hand, a globe of intense flame whispered and crackled of ember, of power.
Jerik turned and cursed into the uncaring night. Once again, he had let his emotions blind him from his objective. And what an objective he had. It seemed once that he would have savored this moment, the fate of the free world weighing on his capable shoulders. But he knew the grim reality. He would almost certainly fail in this endeavor, and he would be the first to die. Surely not the last, however.
He cursed his ego. He cursed his pride. He had accepted this mission because he thought he would be the salvation of the world. And now, he thought bitterly to himself, ?Just surviving myself would be as grand a feat?.
He could still recall the night it all began. Sitting admist an open fire, sharing tales of epic battles and last stands with his fellow Lavamancers and their on-and-off again guests, the Dwarves, they had laughed and feasted as was customary of their kind. Unaware of the wily, malevolent being watching them from beyond the shadows, from nowhere, yet everywhere, they continued into the darkening night.
His vision fixated on Bragg Ironballs, the stout, proud Dwarf who had been with them that night. The man had drank down perhaps a little too much Pyrewine, and was now going through the rowdy motions of intoxication.
"ARRHH, I tell you! Those slimy squid never stood a chance! I bashed one in with my...my..MY AXE! Yes! Then another slimesack was trying its magic on me. I bolted it where it stood!!"
As if in agreement, an angry bolt of lightning sounded off in the distance. Jerik smiled and allowed himself to look away for a second. It was doubtful the Dwarf had such magical prowess, for calling down the lightning required at least a few seconds of concentration, and magic was not many a Dwarf?s forte.
The Lavamancers, on the other hand, were quite skilled in the mountain magic. Jerik himself was a mage of some renown, having single-handedly defeated, at the age of 14, a metamorphosed Krosan Beast, rampaging toward their encampment. He had captured the memory of the beast in his mind, in the space where mages stored their spells and creature summons. After that, he received much praise, and was trained by the very best: Matoc, the Elder of the Flame.
Jerik had held much promise, and was heralded by some as to become the next Elder. But his determination and dedication had waned as the years passed. The Krosan Beast's wild, instinctive drive for survival had opened a new world for Jerik that day. He began to see all that the path of the Druid had to offer.
He was now 19. A year ago, the Elder had sent him out from his tutelage, telling him that he was ready to become a great servant of the flame. They both knew what he had really meant. Jerik had been rejected. A new apprentice now strained where he once did. He didn't really mind. He knew there was more to the world than the mountains. There was more than just the red mana.
He had tried to summon the Krosan Beast once, but had failed somewhat, achieving only it's small, timid form. Still, the experience had provided a freshness to him. He enjoyed the feeling of the forest's primal energy flowing through him, at his bidding.
He still practiced hard at the tribal magic. Just a few days ago, they had fought off a squad of scouting Avens. Sure, the birdmen had meant no harm at first, but they were in Pardic territory! A quick firebolt from a lavamancer had begun the battle, the blazing charge desiccating two Aven. During the battle, Jerik had summoned not one, but two firecats into being. Raging felines of flame, their natural hunger for fowl proved remarkable. The battle was over in a matter of minutes, the lone remaining Aven barely managing to pivot it's smoked wings away from the slaughter. They had let it go. Someone had to live to tell the story on the other end.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he stared deeply in the hazy flame of the fire. Perhaps he had consumed too much wine as well, for he swore he felt something stare back?
As the raucous Dwarf continued his tale, Jerik wished that he would have such tales to tell. Of slaying Cephalid spies, of conquering Order strongholds. Anything but the mild, closed existence he lived in the mountains. There were occasional incidents of course, but not many. The battles that he had seen, had been quick and one-sided, not a true challenge worthy of his dedication.
He got up to go. Perhaps he would practice some more druidic magic in the morning. That always refreshed him. At least if he strayed from the mountain fire, he would not stray to the heretic magic, the blue or white manas.
"HOLD IT BOY! WHERE DO YA THINK YUR GOING??" The Dwarf yelled from behind him, clearly miffed Jerik did not show interest his tale.
"To sleep, Sir Dwarf." Jerik replied coolly, turning levelly to face the short, bearded man.
"PLANT YAR ARSE DOWN, AND LET AN OLD DWARF FINISH HIS TALE!"
Jerik knew Bragg was just playing around, but he felt in no mood for games. "Another time, perhaps."
The Dwarf's stereotypical hammer began to glow, and Jerik poised himself to fight, a fiery aura surrounding him. From his memory, he called forth a small spell, a Lava Dart. It would not harm his challenger much, but would perhaps stun and disorient him enough for Jerik to get away without further incident.
The other spectators made no attempt at levity, nor diplomacy. They loved a good fight. Jerik saw a few Lavamancers shift uncomfortably, reading to defend their honor should the battle escalate.
"Ha! A cautious boy!" The Dwarf suddenly laughed, as he deflated slightly and his weapon stopped glowing. "As you said, another time, perhaps."
Jerik tensed further a moment, sensing a trap. He felt none however, and turned off his mana reserves. He nodded to the Dwarf, and turned once again, warily slipping off into the darkness. Behind him, he heard the disappointed groans of Dwarf and Lavamancer alike.
Once he was clear of the camp, he breathed more easily. Half of him had almost wanted to fight. But he knew better. If he had accepted every challenge he met from a Dwarf, he would be dead by now, or at least missing a few body parts.
It had grown dark now, and he could see little save for the faint, glowing aura that existed on all Lavamancers. He conjured a small flame from his hand to light the way.
Unsure of what he was doing, or where he was going, he was content to just wander for a while in the wilderness. Half hoping to encounter another wild beast, he began to whistle uneasily. He still felt something odd about tonight. As if his whole world were inside a glass bauble, watched by another. He shrugged it off; intuition was certainly not a common Lavamancer trait.
A small burst of light suddenly caught his attention. Something had seemingly appeared at his feet. He looked around, then slowly, warily, bent down to pick it up. It was an Ember-bauble. A small, glass, childhood toy that was said to grant wishes if you cracked it open while naming your heart's desire.
His breath caught. This whole incident seemed staged. Tonight, of all nights, when he was feeling particularly low, he had randomly found a toy said to grant wishes, out in the wilderness where he seldom ventured.
A pressure seemed to exert itself around him, but he paid no heed, gazing deep into the flaming trinket.
Slowly, hesitantly, he crumpled the bauble, the broken glass searing away before it could hurt him. The fire inside it now floated on its own vocation, inches from his hand.
"I...I wish to become a hero." He paused, growing more sure of himself. "I wish to become the savior of nations. To lead my people toward an age of glory unrivaled."
He paused again. Nothing. The small, flaming sphere began to fade into nothing.
He growled, angry with himself that he would get caught up in children?s fairy tales. He straightened himself, and began to walk again.
He never took another step. From all around him, the pressure increased greatly, as if to crush him. He cried out, unwillingly pushed to the ground in a daze of bright energy.
Even as he crumpled down, he drew his mana toward him, something was watching him. He gritted his teeth, and pushed his head toward the force, looking up into the bright maelstrom of energy.
And then he saw her. A being of radiance. Of power untold. From the energy, smoldering, immortal eyes turned downwards to observe him coolly. He felt his will to fight sap itself as he gaped, wide mouthed, helpless in her aura. Recalling the legends of the past, he finally grasped who, or what hovered before him.
Short of breath, he could only whisper one word "Planeswalker..."
Let me know what ya'll think!
For a moment, only the sizzling crackle of energy could be heard in the wilderness. The being seemed to study him leisurely, as Jerik numbly waited for its reply.
"Greetings, Lavamancer." Its booming voice echoed into the night, yet seemed to be only a figment of Jerik's imagination. "My name is Marit-Lage, and as you said, I am a planeswalker."
Jerik waited nervously, anticipating why it had decided to appear before him. Perhaps it would take him away to be used as a pawn in its own battles. Battles beyond mortal comprehension, he had once been told. Battles fought by master Walkers, who cast spells as readily as a mortal drew breath.
It suddenly occurred to him that the being could very well be there to grant his wish. The wish he had whispered into the dying flames of the Ember-bauble. But at what price? These beings were worst than Djinns with their favors, toying with mortal men as those men toyed with ants. The outcome of great wars and world-changing catastrophes were but moves in a game only they played, a game only they understood.
He remembered the elder's tales of the Phyrexian War. A terrible conflict that left scars in the land to this very day. A war that had decimated nations, sunk continents, and nearly eradicated all life on the plane.
A war fought by planeswalkers.
The being seemed to read his thoughts. "We are not as terrible as you imagine, Lavamancer." It paused and seemed to chuckle, a strange gesture for a disembodied, floating pair of eyes. "Nearly as terrible, perhaps. But we are not quite the monsters you would imagine us to be."
It paused, regret filling its eyes. "We simply do what we must to survive, and I know not a mortal who would not do the same." Pausing again, the eyes fixated long and hard on Jerik. "I was like you, long ago, when I was mortal. Of all the choices in the world, I wanted power, I wanted glory. Ironic...Now I have all the power and glory I could ever wish for, and yet none of the choices..."
Jerik paused, considering his response. "But if you have this unlimited power, great one, why would you not do as you wish with it."
The answer came swiftly. "Because I am as locked in my actions as a puppet is in its! One mistake, one moment of blissful ignorance, and my enemies would have their will. Worlds would be erased and planes destroyed...or worse. It is the burden of such power, and should you become Like I one day, you would understand."
Jerik relaxed a little. Just a little. He sat up, the crushing weight around him having disappeared. This planeswalker seemed to be a "good" one. It spoke of defending worlds, not destroying them.
Once again, the being answered the question as it was beginning to form in the back of Jerik's mind. "You are wrong mortal. Good and Evil are but subjective. I have destroyed as many worlds as I have saved. And I will tell you now, I have saved more than I care to ever remember..."
Marit-Lage paused again. It eyes strained toward an unseen foe. "I do not have much time here..my allies call to me."
"I will tell you why I have appeared to you, Jerik of the Pardic Mountains. I request your aid."
Feeling helpless, Jerik could only nod. Perhaps this would be the adventure he had wished for, the glory he sought. But after the planeswalker's words, he was not so sure he wanted it. Still, he knew for his own well-being, he could not refuse. "I will do my best to serve you, great one. What is your wish?"
"Recently, my allies and I have discovered a marvelous plane made entirely of artifice. Our enemies have also been made aware of this plane, for somewhere on it lies an artifact of immense power. One that will turn the tides of a greater war. An artifact that single-handedly can revive ruined, rotting worlds and turn them back into what they once were, by draining the essences of other worlds. It is called the Gazarsgo's Plow, to some, the "Crucible of Worlds". This weapon will allow us to restore the worlds we have ceded to our foes, while simultaneously purging their sources of energy, their domains."
Jerik paused. Something still bothered him. Risking being flashfried, he boldly asked "Why should I help you with this? Why should I help you win your war?"
The Walker paused, and despite himself, Jerik cringed. Its eyes flared, but it replied levelly "I understand your concern, Lavamancer. For all you know, this weapon for which you shall help us attain will destroy your world. Understand however, that Otaria, as all of Dominaria, is under my protection. I have many mortal allies on this plane, and it has many, rich mana reserves from which I draw strength."
Marit-Lage paused for emphasis. "Also understand that should this weapon fall into the hands of our enemies, you will rot in the Nine Hells. As will I. As will everything you have ever held dear on this earth."
Finally understanding the brevity of its words, Jerik nodded slowly. It looked like he would have his wish after all. He would be a savior of nations. A savior of worlds. The weight of more than one world would rest on his shoulders this day.
The Walker interrupted his thoughts. "I trust you are available to leave immediately."
Jerik paused. Perhaps he should contact his kin...no...they would not believe him. "Yes." He replied. "I still have a couple more questions though."
"Continue."
"Why me? Why did you choose me of all the people you could have chosen? And why can't you go yourself? Surely you have every means available to you that I do to accomplish this task. If this weapon is really so important, why don?t you go yourself?"
"Logical questions. Firstly, understand that the plane I spoke of, Mirrodin, is warded from planeswalkers directly, by magic presumably cast by another Walker. The only way we were able to discover the plane was through scouting and some luck."
"As for why you? You are somewhat...unique. Do not let this statement sway your opinion of yourself. You are still very much mortal, and possess the same flaws that all mortals do. However, you are adept at your red magic, and I have seen your ability to channel foreign mana well enough. You are also logical, as indicated by your questions...and that is a very distinct trait for one born among the mountains. I observed you for a few days, and decided you were the best one for this mission." The planeswalker paused again. "There is one more reason I chose you..."
Suddenly, the empty space around them contorted into a temporal distortion. From the rippling Aether, a creature struggled forth.
Jerik backed up quickly, unsure of what was going on. He drew forth the strongest magic he could summon. If this planeswalker was playing games with him, he would go down fighting.
The creature finally fully materialized. It was a metallic creature: large, probably 12 feet tall, towering even above the planeswalker. It had what seemed to be a belly, and resembled a humanoid except for its distinct lack of facial feature. Its pale blue skin shone eerily in the planeswalker's glowing energy.
The creature made no attempt to move, towering above the trees; it turned its head awkwardly to glance at its master.
Marit-Lage herself now finally took form. There was a blindly flash, and when Jerik could see again, he saw a bronzed, flaming woman floating before him. Her eyes glowed with the same dominating, immortal presence it had before, and her hair seemed to be made of fire itself. Magical energy crackled from within her clenched fists, spreading throughout the rest of her body. It seemed "it" was a she. He had not been able to tell before from the sound of her voice.
"What is this?" Jerik growled angrily, his hands half raised to shield his eyes from the glare.
"This is your test, human. This is a creature you will encounter on Mirrodin many times. It is called a Myr Enforcer..."
Turning to the creature, Marit-Lage pointed a flaming finger at Jerik and simply said, "Kill."
Instantly, the titanic creature fixated its gaze on Jerik. Without hesitation, the machine raised a gigantic fist in the air and sent it flying down to where the small Lavamancer stood.
Jerik grunted as he leaped aside, clumps of earth flying around him. He glanced up to survey his situation. Luckily, it seemed the Enforcer’s monstrous size was tempered by its slow recovery, as the beast was just beginning to straighten itself from its attack. Jerik scrambled to his feet, drawing in the mountain magic so prevalent around him. He had no time to think of the ramifications of this “test”, he only had time to survive.
Marit-Lage had hovered to a safe distance away, watching idly as Jerik struggled for his life. As his quick gaze met hers, she calmly, but quickly, stated the obvious: “Should you survive this conflict, your role will be secured.”
He had no time to reply. The Enforcer began rampaging toward him, seemingly wanting to close the distance between them, so that escape was impossible. Jerik turned and ran away from it, fighting his way through the thick bush as his foe casually tore trees away in pursuit. In his mind, he quickly went through all the possibilities. He could not possibly fight the thing in hand to hand. And he could not hope to defeat Marit-Lage, therefore returning the machine back to the recesses of her mind. He would have to destroy it with magic. He turned his head back to see where it was.
The Enforcer nearly ended his life right there. With a deafening thud, its leg, fully as tall as Jerik himself, hammered him in the chest, sending the man flying through the trees.
Jerik groaned as he tumbled through the underbrush. Struggling to stay conscious, he tried to ignore the unbearable pain on his chest. Somehow, it seemed that the machine was even stronger that it looked. After a few disorienting seconds, he finally crashed against a broad tree, slumping to the ground.
The Enforcer, now quite a few feet away, had stopped and was observing him.
“It thinks I’m dead…” He realized, his face obscured by his hood.
Without moving, Jerik willed the mana to him, preparing for a spell that would destroy the beast. He thought of one: Demolish. A destructive spell that would shatter any machine made by man.
The machine suddenly straightened to life. Perhaps it realized that he was alive. Perhaps it was drawn to the mana he summoned. Or perhaps it realized what he intended. It began rampaging toward him again with fervor, leveling trees as it charged.
It was now or never. Jerik gritted his teeth and rose unsteadily to his feet. He brough the spell into being, draining his reserves as it appeared before him, glowing a reddish hue. With grim determination, Jerik fired the spell toward the Enforcer, now nearly upon him.
In the millisecond before the blazing magic struck, Jerik realized his mistake. He instinctively crouched to the ground, turning away just as there was a blinding flash, and the sound of exploding metal echoed across the mountain. He winced…
Strangely enough, he felt no pain. Perhaps he had been lucky enough to avoid the shrapnel.
Waiting another three seconds, he cautiously reared his head to survey the carnage.
What he saw startled him. He was no longer in the bush, nor the mountains he called home. Perhaps he wasn’t even on Dominaria anymore. Instead, he was standing nowhere. At least it appeared that way. All around him, his surroundings were nothing more than a bright, white glare. He looked down to see the same white glare.
His head spun around, searching for the planeswalker who was surely behind this. He saw nothing.
“Planeswalker?” He shouted, still perturbed at the nerve of her “test”.
“I am here.” Came the response.
“Where are you?” He retorted, somewhat unnerved by his helplessness and inability to visualize anything.
“I am traveling the Blind Eternities. You cannot see my physical form because I have wrapped you in…how would you describe it…? A box.” Sounding somewhat amused, the being continued. “ These are the roads taken by planeswalkers. Any mortal who would travel them without protection risks being torn into nothing. Erased into the Aether…”
“The battle…?” Jerik prodded.
“You passed your test. The resulting shrapnel would have wounded you too deeply to continue on, so I intervened. We shall arrive at the Aether gate to Mirrodin shortly. Until then, I need to teach you a few things…”
”Like what? I hope you don’t have another “test” planned at the end of this.” As he spoke, Jerik suddenly realized that the pain of his chest wound was gone. She had willed it away.
“Quite the contrary. Instead of using your hard-earned spells, this time, I will teach you some.”
She paused. “Your magic is somewhat…inefficient when it comes to destroying artifice…Mainly due to the fact that machines are a rarity where you dwell. And as such, you have not learned to fight them as well as you could.”
“I will teach you several spells in the next few minutes. You will have not time to master them all. I will simply teach you the core of each spell. You can hone them when you arrive.”
“As for your mission, I offer you this…”
A silver necklace appeared in front of him. Hanging on the end of it was a talisman of some sort, sparkling with mana. The outer edges of it were rimmed in steel. In the center, a small white spark glowed, surrounded by black obsidian.
“This will be your compass,” She paused as Jerik picked it up and studied it. “Inside that talisman, lies a tracking device which will lead you to what I seek…what we seek…”
“I’ll figure it out later,” He grumbled, slipping the object into his robe.
From outside the Aether bubble, Marit-Lage smiled slyly. “Very well…then let us begin your…lessons.”
For the next few minutes, the Walker mentally instructed Jerik on various spells, showing him how to form them in his mind, and how to use them to the deadliest effect. He understood them with surprising ease, even the nature spell, Oxidize, which he had initially thought would be difficult to learn.
Finally, after learning perhaps five spells over the course of a few minutes, Jerik paused and became aware that it had suddenly grown quiet, both in his “box” and in his mind. Marit-Lage had stopped her instructions. The white glare seemed to dull and even flickered for a second.
“What is it?” He called out into the nothingness.
“A battle…” A strained voice replied. “Our enemies have launched another attack. I am needed. Elsewhere.”
“Wait! You haven’t even told me where to begin once I get there!”
“I MUST GO…” the planeswalker roared back. She seemed unable to control her tone of voice, as the last word came out warped.
“GOOOOOOO…” the echo faded across the rapidly dimming expanse.
Darkness. Jerik felt it grow cold, and darkness entered his box. It grew dark fast, and Jerik was soon blind in the shadow, save for his own, faint, fiery aura.
He felt helpless, unable to control his own fate. Perhaps she would leave him here, wherever they were, trapped forever.
With a wisp of mana reserved within him, he conjured a small flame and surveyed what was happening. His bubble had grown transparent, and he looked outside.
What he saw would haunt his dreams forever.
He saw a war. Not a mortal war, but an immortal one. Beings of power so immense that he could sense them from within his bubble. Coalescing energies fought on a surreal plane. It seemed to be space, with planets and stars twinkling in the darkness, but he was sure it really wasn’t. From thin air, armies of creatures would appear, usually struck down before they advanced far. Vibrant colors crackled in the air as spell after spell was spent. He saw Marit-Lage among them, temporarily taking her human form.
He was shocked as a bolt of lightning suddenly struck her in the chest, and she seemed to shatter into a million pieces before his eyes.
His worries were quickly allayed as the pieces reformed into a fiery mass of energy, firing back raw power at its assailant.
He heard a voice inside his bubble again. “You will arrive on Mirrodin in moments…I cannot help you anymore from there. Just know one thing. Jerik, you cannot fail. You have been entrusted with this task, and you will succeed…”
Jerik’s eyes narrowed, and he grew determined. He had seen their power. He would not allow these enemy planeswalkers to destroy Dominaria.
“One more thing, Jerik…” The voice grew softer, taking a more feminine tone. “You have an ally on Mirrodin, one who works for us. He cannot help you capture the Crucible, but he will serve as your guide.”
“How do I find him?” Jerik called out.
Silence.
He called out much louder “How do I find him!!”
“He will come to you…” the reply came at last. “But be warned…though this plane harbors it's own perils, your greatest foe is the one who knows what you seek. Our enemies have most certainly sent forth their own champion…”
Jerik swallowed loudly. There would be competition.
“Be wary, Lavamancer. Your enemies are many, shrouded in the darkness, waiting for you to step into the light. Be wary, for you know not what truly lurks behind the shadow…”
Jerik felt a strong pressure all around him.
“Not this again…” He groaned.
He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. After a blinding eternity, it subsided. Jerik slowly opened his eyes.
He stood before a landscape unlike any he had ever seen. Metal. Metal was everywhere. He appeared to be on a mountain, or at least a parody of one. Natural dirt in the mountain blended seamlessly with the metal jutting from it. He took a couple steps and looked over the edge.
A harsh glare caught his eye, and he raised his arm to shield himself. Averting his eyes lower, he saw what caused the glare. Polished metal was everywhere. The plane was made of it, as the Walker had said. He saw distant fields of razor sharp metallic blades, perhaps a metal version of grass. He saw the coastline, where metallic bits of coral reef floated above the surface of the slippery water. It seemed not water at all, but some sort of fluidic substance. He saw the forests, and they were truly twisted, semi-metallic, winding spires of sharp, half-organic leaves and branches.
He chuckled. “I wonder how the druids here can stand this place…”
Finally he turned behind him, seeing the last unnatural environment. It was a marsh…shambling, ruined towers smoked green gas into the air, and the green sludge of the swamp seemed to shift before Jerik’s keen eyesight. Dread filled his being as he watched this place. A place of great evil, no doubt.
He took a deep breath and stood unmoving, unsure of what to do next.
At last, he sighed.
He was here.
Mirrodin…
Loved it
write more plz
A long silence passed before he made any attempt to move.
Where to begin?
“I’ll need a guide.” He thought. The guide Marit-Lage had spoke of was nowhere to be seen…
Slowly, cautiously, he began to descend the mountain. As he half slid, half walked, he realized how surreal his surroundings were.
Curious, he paused for a brief moment, summoning crackling flame in his strained hands. He put a hand to the ground and focused on the fire in his palm. The crackling intensified, and to his relief, some of the metallic ground exposed to his hand began to melt into molten metal.
“As long as it burns…” He thought, satisfied.
He continued sloping his way down the mountain, the incline fairly shallow. After perhaps an hour, he settled down to take a break. He was thirsty, but he saw no sources of fresh water around. Perhaps there was none at all on this plane, a disturbing thought.
He dropped wearily behind the shade of a large, metallic rock. The sun was at its midday brightest, and he could hardly afford to lose his energy now. A vicious glare resounded in many directions, so he simply shut his eyes and pulled up his hood. He rested for a few minutes in peace.
Screeching in the distance awoke him from his reverie, and he looked up to find its source. He saw a shape in the sky, vaguely that of a bird, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t see any better because of the intense brightness, so he was just content to let it pass.
He then heard another sound. A scraping noise coming from nearby. His eyes glowed a fiery, light flame as he tensed, pausing to catch the direction of the noise. It seemed to be to his left, coming from just over a dead end, a cliff.
He conjured a small fireball in his right hand as he stood up, eyes focused toward the noise.
He took a few silent steps toward the cliff, fearing a trap. Arriving at the edge, he peered out and around, and saw nothing. The noise had stopped.
His brow furrowed, and he turned back slowly. Suddenly, the noise began again behind him. It sounded like something was being scratched against the metallic rock. He turned abruptly, then realized the noise was coming from slightly below the edge of the cliff.
He stooped low, and peered over the edge. A green-skinned creature lay dangling over the edge. It feebily clawed upwards at the dirt with its free hand, the source of the noise. The other hand held it precariously from the long plunge downwards. Upon seeing him, the creature peered suspiciously at him for a couple moments, then extended its hand upwards, beckoning him to take it.
Jerik sighed. Perhaps this pathetic creature would be the first of his eventual allies. He reached over, grasped its hand, and pulled its light frame up to level ground.
The creature took a few seconds to recover, hunched over and panting. While it recovered, Jerik took a closer look at it. It appeared to be a Goblin. Goblins were only folklore in Otaria, and Jerik had never seen one before, but he recognized their description to match this creature’s. It was clad in rusty metal armor, with green skin all around and slightly pointed ears. From what he could tell in its hunched position, it appeared to be about 5 feet tall, to Jerik’s 6 feet.
The creature soon rose to its feet. It was then that Jerik noticed metallic parts attached to its skin. Small bits and shards of metal seemed to just blend naturally into its flesh.
“Tanks…” The creature started saying. (It appeared to be a He.)
Jerik hardly noticed. The metallic skin fascinated him. He reached out to touch it, and the Goblin quickly pulled back.
“Whats you doing?” The creature asked suspiciously.
“What’s on your skin?” Jerik asked inquisitively. “How did this metal get attached to your skin?”
The Goblin straightened slightly and gazed at him as if he were simple. “Metal always on skin…just like yours.”
The Goblin’s gaze dropped to Jerik’s bare knees expectantly. Jerik looked down as well, half-expecting to see something. The Goblin stared for a moment, and then cocked an eyebrow.
“You don’t have metal?” He asked, as his eyes shifted to Jerik’s arms, which were bare from him having pulled up the sleeves of his cloak to vent the heat.
“Ah I don’t get it, maybe a human thing!”
“There’s humans here?” Jerik must have sounded too surprised, for the Goblin caught his train of thought.
“You not from around here…that’s why!” The Goblin exclaimed, looking pleased with himself. “Ya, there’s humans here. They call themselves “Vulshok”. They haf that metal on them too I think.”
“These Vulshok, what do they do?” Jerik pried. If they were sorcerers or clerics of sorts, he wanted nothing to do with them.
“They haf lotsa weapons! And they like to shoot fire! Once, Krog see’d them attacking other humans.”
Jerik mentally brightened. This wasn’t looking too bad after all. “I assume your name is Krog? Well, Krog, my name is Jerik, and I would like for you to show me these Vulshok.”
“No way, Vulshoks don’t like Goblins!” The Goblin backed off a couple steps from Jerik, expecting retaliation.
Jerik was actually about to conjure something to keep the Goblin in line when Krog turned around to walk away, head in the air. “Tanks for the save though!”
“Whoooooo!” The Goblin screeched as he tumbled down the same cliff he had just climbed up from.
Jerik smiled, amused. He walked over to the ledge and started at the creature in the same way he had before.
The Goblin again tried to uselessly reach higher ground with his free hand, but it was too short. “Halp?”
“Not this time…I think I’ll go find those Vulshok myself…” Jerik smiled cruelly, pretending to walk away.
“Wait, wait! I show you the Vulshok camp if you help me!” The Goblin tried to bargain.
Jerik turned back and rolled his eyes. “Oh…” He paused for show. “I guess it would be faster that way…”
He reached over and pulled the creature up for the second time.
The Goblin knelt low as soon as he was on solid ground again, panting heavily. Jerik decided this was a good time to tip his hand and ensure the Goblin’s loyalty.
Channeling the foreign metals of the mountain, he drove the red mana through his being, somewhat relieved that mana functioned the same on this plane.
He conjured a relatively large fireball, and held it, blazing and crackling before the Goblin.
Krog looked up dumbly, then gasped, recoiling so much that he nearly plunged over the edge of the mountain for the third time.
“You a wizard!” He exclaimed with wide eyes.
“Yes I am, and if you’re lucky, you just might learn a few things while you travel with me…” He channeled some flame into the blazing globe, and it flared noticeably. “For better or for worse…”
The Goblin paused for a second to comprehend what he had said, then gulped and nodded quickly. He got up and dusted himself off, his rusty armor dulled even more.
“Vulshok camp that way…” Krog pointed a scabby finger toward a mountain range off in the distance.
“Good…” Jerik said to himself. He dissipated the fireball, and heard the Goblin beside him breathe lighter instantly.
The Goblin started to trek downwards, carefully judging the inclines of various slopes and other obstacles as he went. Jerik followed, half-hearted. His mind was on something else…
That mana, it had felt…metallic, if that was even possible. He felt as though rusted traces of it were still flowing through his veins.
Krog was surprisingly, or perhaps not-so-much, talkative, and inquired about many things.
“Where do you come from huh? Can you show me how to make the fire? Ooh! A Chrome Beetle! You hungry?”
Jerik kept up in both pace and reply as best he could. The Goblin moved fast, that was for sure. He knew these mountains well.
Finally, after another hour or so, they were very near the base of the mountain, both quite exhausted. It was beginning to dim in the skies, and it was only now that Jerik realized that there was a sun or some constellation in orbit providing them light.
“How long before it becomes too dark to see?” He asked.
“Soon. When the glare of the Glimmer fades.” The Goblin’s gaze turned skyward.
“How long before we should stop and rest?” Jerik inquired more specifically, realizing their language barrier.
The Goblin paused to think. “I tink once we get down to the ground, we gotta find place to sleep and hide.”
Jerik’s features tensed. “Hide?”
The Goblin paused again, trying to find the appropriate words. “Big monsters come at night, they do scary stuff. Clanlord says they called Levelers. I see’d them in the shadow before; they big, sharp, monsters.”
“Are these Levelers…made of metal?” Jerik asked, unable to explain the intuitive dread that chilled his being.
“I tink so, they make big clanking sounds. I never saw them because of the dark, but Clanlord says one of them ate my cousin Nubb.”
With a shudder, Jerik suppressed the chill, and cleared his thoughts. He saw, conveniently, a small cavern nearby.
He pointed to it, “How about we stay there?”
“Yes, yes!” Exclaimed the Goblin, just noticing it. “I sleeped there two rotations ago. It safe and warm. Levelers too big to fit in there.”
They headed toward the cave as Jerik took in his new surroundings. They were in a mountain range, an expanse of metallically dull red and brown. This seemed to be the base, ground level.
“Come, wizard!” Krog called ahead of him.
“Jerik, call me Jerik.”
The Goblin seemed to pay him no heed as he skittered around the cave. It was about 20 meters long, and maybe 10 meters wide. Even inside, the cave shone a metallic sheen. Jerik took a deep breath as he gazed one more time at the muddy-blue sky, then headed inside.
If I may, could I use that as the logo thingy for my story?
Thanks for posting the story
T1
T1
Bonus Most pt.2
I wanted you for nothing more then hating you for what you were!
By Taking Back Sunday