Hello everyone! here is the first chapter of my Magic fan-fic. It's about my totally awesome custom planeswalker Natiya, who hails from Innistrad. If you like it, I'll post new chapters as I write them. Any critiques, especially of the Vorthosy aspects, are welcomed. I apologize before-hand for any typos. Enjoy!
Present day
Adalwin smashed his axe through the ghoul's neck, slicing clean through the fetid flesh. The zombie crumpled, limbs twitching as its toothless mouth silently gaped at the sky.
The weary cathar pulled back, blocking an uncoordinated lunge from next zombie with his shield. I, Adalwin thought, am much too old for this. Most of the priests were, in this backwater little town, nestled in the foothills of the Geier Reach. The little group stood in a rough circle, guarding the entrance to the little chapel built against the back of the cobbled courtyard. Their torches cast a flickering light over their attackers, a horde of ghouls at least 300 strong, spread out through the village. They outnumbered the defenders ten to one, who consisted of six aging cathers and any of the townsfolk still strong enough to hold a weapon.
The unhallowed mob surged forward, shambling on misshapen and rotten limbs. They were slow, making them easy targets, but for each one that fell, three more filled its place. To his right, Frida screamed, the bent harpoon of an undead fisherman finding her stomach. Gisala, their last remaining healer, stooped to drag her away, as Eadric moved over to fill her place in the line. The circle tightened a little with the loss of a member.
Adalwin brought his axe down again, crushing the skull of the zombie in front of him. Flecks of rotten brain splattered his clothes and shield. He withdrew the axe, the ornate silver head dripping with putrid grime. The runes that lined the blade had once strengthened the blade with holy wards of Avacyn herself. Only now Avacyn, their once protector, had become their deadly tormentor, revoking the protections she once granted. The axe was just a fancy lump of metal. A sharp one, luckily, that could still cleave through the flesh of necromantic abominations.
Yes, Avacyn hand abandoned them. Her angels rained death and fire from the skies, slaughtering all humans with unchained zeal Even now, as he fought alongside the last of his citizens, surrounded by enemies, he struggled to accept it. If Avacyn had turned on them, then what hope did they have left?
None.
The answer came unbidden into his mind. Avacyn was the protector of humanity. What could they possibly do without her to protect them from the countless evils of the world? She herself had become the worst of them. Now she left her people to the whims of every petty necromancer and ghoulcaller who decided to turn their way.
An uncomfortable weight settled on Adalwin's shoulders. They were going to die. All his priests, friends, family, everyone in the village would perish soon, consumed by a mass of undead.
Adalwin kept fighting. There was no hope for them now, but in reality, there never had been. They lived in a world of monsters. Even when Avacyn protected them, they would still die eventually, be it at the hands of a monster, or simple old age. The end of life was inevitable, it just came a little faster now.
No! Adalwin refused to give in. If he was to die tonight, then he would die with a weapon in his hand, defending those he loved. He would not despair!
The spear caught him by surprise, flashing past his shield and straight into his shoulder. Adalwin gasped and collapsed, blood welling around the grimy blade.
"Adalwin!" Gisala shouted, from where she was tending Frida's wound. The elderly woman forced her stiff bones up and jogged over him, pulling him back as Hrolf, the blacksmith, moved over to fill the gap he left in the line.
Gisala held up a holy rune and chanted a short healing spell. Nothing happened. She cursed and tossed the useless charm aside. She ripped the arm off her coat and pressed it against the wound.
Adalwin grunted as she applied steady pressure to staunch the blood. He barely felt the wound, strangely. It felt dull, distant. But his breathing…yes, breathing was hard. He grunted again, rattling another breath. Yes, he would die tonight, soon it would seem.
Cries of alarm rouse from the far side of the circle. Adalwin rolled his head in that direction, and caught a glimpse of a towering skaab, a dozen feet tall, with six arms and three legs. It lumbered towards the line, squishing limbs of ghouls beneath its deformed feet.
"Dear Avacyn, protector of all, Holy One who grants us protection…" Adalwin muttered the prayer out of habit, though it wouldn't do anything. Someone screamed as the monster hurled her through the air.
Gisala cursed, blood having already soaked through the improvised bandage. She ripped off the other sleeve and held it against the bleeding shoulder. Too much blood. He was bleeding out.
Goodbye my friends, he thought, vision fading, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.
Above him, a single point of light steadily grew brighter as he slipped away. The star shone with brilliant golden light, sweet and rich, enveloping the wings tucked down against its back…A spirit, to guide him to the endless oblivion of the Blessed Sleep. It grew larger, flames trailing as it raced towards the ground.
"Angel!" someone shouted. The villagers turned towards the new threat.
Adalwin groaned, a measure of lucidity returning to him. Yes, that was indeed an angel, plummeting straight towards them.
It struck like a falling star.
A blast of golden energy exploded outward, hurling the zombies back but leaving the humans untouched. The blinding glare of the impact resolved into a glowing figure, kneeling in the center of the courtyard. Her wings were transparent, outlined in golden, ethereal light and folded against her back. She held a hammer, made of the same golden luminescence, pressed against the ground before her. A red-hot swirl of metal blossomed between the flagstones, apparently forced there by the impact. Wisps of smoke curled up from its red-hot surface.
She stood up, wings and hammer evaporating in wisps of light. The townsfolk took a collective step back.
"Quickly now!" she cried, her voice effortlessly echoing across the whole village, "Stand together, for those you love! Fight for them!"
The cathars and townsfolk gasped as the weapons in their hands burst to life, golden light pouring from the holy symbols wrought on them. The glow was matched by a flare of energy from runes carved into the metal formation.
A short distance away, the skaab bellowed, lurching to its feet. It shook its head and charged. The stranger turned to it, eyes hardening.
"Be gone," she spat. The outline of a golden sword materialized in her hand, five feet long and leaking light. A helix of lightning leaped from the weapon and impaled the skaab, annihilating it in a singular flash of energy.
The defenders stood awestruck as she strode forward, swirling light raising off of her like an aura of luminous mist. "I am not your enemy!" she shouted, surveying the frightened villagers, "I am here to help you. Forward now! Destroy these monsters before they do the same to you!"
Hrolf the blacksmith glanced at his companions, then raised his hammer, aglow with renewed glyphs. He roared as he charged the undead horde. His blow struck one in the chest. A blast of golden energy shattered the ghoul's ribcage and sent it tumbling through the air.
The remaining defenders chorused in triumph and raised their weapons. Their charge sliced through the mob as they formed up behind Hrolf.
The woman watched them for a moment, then turned to Frida, who was bleeding out on the cobbles. She held out a hand and poured the warm glow into the injured body. Gisala rushed forward, checking the Frida's pulse. "Thank Avacyn above," she muttered. When the stranger stood up, her golden aura noticeably dimmed.
She crossed to Adalwin, whose vision was starting to fade. He barely noticed her raise her hand and muttered an incoherent string of words. The remains of her aura slipped down her arm and into his bleeding shoulder.
Adalwin gasped as a surge of warmth flooded his body. He felt the shoulder reknit, muscle and sinew reconnecting as his lung inflated. Adalwin inhaled, the chill air easily filling his chest.
Adalwin laid there for a moment, the warmth fading as his strength returned. "What - how did you…I-"
"Easy now," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. She had a narrow face, and piercing eyes that seemed to see everything. A trio of long, thin scars ran down the right side of her scalp, all the way to her chin. Her hand bore a similar disfigurement. Her long dark hair was tied back behind her shoulders, and reached all the way down her back.
Adalwin swallowed and gathered his thoughts. "What - who are you? An angel? You do not - the madness…"
"Hush. You have lost a lot of blood," she replied. Her voice was rich and husky. "My name is Natiya, and I am most definitely not an angel. For now, just know that I am a friend." She glanced at the villagers, who were once more struggling to hold back the mass of zombies, their initial momentum expended. "Rest now. I am needed."
The woman, Natiya, stood, ethereal hammer and sword appearing in her hands. She dashed towards the zombies, glowing wings coalescing on her back. She beat her wings once, twice, soaring in the air before crashing down in the zombies' midst. She spun, effortlessly slicing through the abominations.
Adalwin closed his eyes, muttering a prayer of thanks to anyone who still cared. Their savior had come.
Five years ago
The sunrise flittered through the window of Natiya's room, painting the wall a beautiful crimson. Natiya lay in bed, smiling at the sight. The sun was a very rare occurrence here, in a high inland valley on the edge of the Somberwald. The last time she had seen an actual sunrise was…she couldn't even remember. It had been so long.
Natiya watched the sun slowly inch up the edge of the sky, until it slipped behind the perpetual blanket of clouds that was the sky of Stensia. She sighed, then reluctantly climbed out of bed, quickly washing and dressing. The New Moon days were long and quiet, but that was no excuse for dawdling. More daylight meant more time to work.
One week, she thought, One week until I'm fifteen, and I travel to Thraben to study with the Halls of Learning. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that. She had already accepted that she would be leaving home, leaving the single valley she had spent her entire life in. From there though, things weren't so certain. She had proven good with runes and script, and she knew Mother hoped she would be accepted into the church as a runechanter. If that didn't work out, one of Father's old friends had agreed to take her in and train her as a bookbinder. She would have a life in Thraben, a huge city she had only heard of in stories and books. The prospect was frightening and exciting.
Natiya threw on her coat, a hand-me-down from her father, as she exited her tiny room. The garment reached down to her mid-calves, though it hung lose on her lanky frame. It was the only coat her family owned that would fit her height. The aged leather and patched wool lining still kept her warm in the frosty mountain air, and that was what mattered.
The rest of her family was already gone, her older brother and sister, and her father gone to the fields to tend the flocks, and her mother off to the parish chapel to collect renewed wards. Once again, Natiya was the last one up. She would hear words for that later.
She snatched up her sword, pack, and walking staff as she walked out the door. She shook her head as she walked. Father had insisted she carry the weapon with her since she was ten, another part of her preparation to join the church. Why did he want her to leave so badly? Leave the only home she had ever known, and travel to a strange city, filled with more people than she had ever seen in her entire life. Why did he regret coming to Stensia so much? He said he had done it to get away from the hardships of working as an inquisitor. Yet, more than once, she had caught him holding his old sword and staring off into the distance, a wistful expression on his face.
Her reflection stared back at her as she crossed the village moat. So why you? Why was her father so eager to send her away, to join the church he had left? Truth be told, the prospect of leaving her home excited her as much as it frightened. She felt a longing in her heart of late, to get away from this vampire-cursed valley and see the world, with all it beauty and danger. Thraben, she thought, They say it over looks the ocean, with so much water, it stretches all the way to the horizon…
Natiya's path wound along the slope behind the village, before plunging into the drooping conifers of the Somberwald. Vampires tended to stay out of the forest, but Natiya cut off a branch anyway, whittling it with her knife as she walked. She let the hike consume her. She always felt more at ease here in the forest, away form people and their expectations. Just her and the mountain. Her tangled questions slipped to the back corner of her mind, forgotten for now.
Her route took her up the valley, into the highland cirques between the peaks. Her first set of snares had caught a raccoon and a hare. She quickly dressed the carcasses, then stashed them in a hidden nook to retrieve on her way back. Hopefully, she had caught enough hares to make herself a new fur cap. Her old one was wearing out.
The forest was quiet, peaceful even. No werewolves this close to the vampire manors, and even the geists around here were reclusive. She caught a glimpse of dryad every few days or so, but they tolerated her presence, so long as she didn't harm the forest.
The sun slowly slid across the sky, perpetually veiled by the purple-gray overcast. The clouds cast a twilight pall over the forest, trees and hollows shaded in the gloom.
The rest of Natiya's traps had caught a badger, two more hares, and an incredibly fat rat. She discarded the rat, and tied everything else to her pack. A good haul today.
Afternoon faded into evening as she returned down the valley. A few times, the sun seemed close to breaking through the clouds, but it never did. This morning's sunrise was a fluke, then.
The sun had just sunk behind the western mountains, by Natiya's reckoning, when she paused to survey the forest. How many times had she walked this path? She had spent years traversing these woods, yet it never felt like home. Neither did the small cabin her family lived in.
I don't belong here, Natiya thought, I never did. The realization was sobering. She would be leaving for Thraben in a week, and she realized she actually wanted to go. She wanted to leave this little, devil blasted valley more than anything in her entire life.
Natiya started forward, a warm satisfaction blooming in her chest. No more second-guessing. She knew what she was going to do now. As she walked, a weight lifted from her shoulders.
Something was wrong.
Natiya stopped again. Something definitely wasn't right. She closed her eyes, concentrating. It was…
Smoke.
Natiya's heart lept in her chest. Something was burning. Her worst fear sprang to mind. Devils tearing at her village, burning it to the ground.
But no, that was wrong. The wind was blowing down-mountain, meaning the smoke was coming from further up the slope.
Natiya set her pack down and start running up the mountain. Darkness settled over the valley as she jogged. It was dangerous to be out at night, but nobody started a fire in the Somberwald. She needed to find the source.
She stumbled to a halt when she saw a light in the distance. She could hear voices now, low and chanting. She caught her breath, the started forward at a slower pace, weaving through the inky gloom with practiced stealth.
A shrill, echoing screech rang out, followed by a chorus of similar calls. Natiya paused. She could now make out a group of figures dancing around the light of a bonfire.
There was also something else, a scent mingled with the smoke of the fire and must of the forest. Sweet and spicy, yet strangely salty.
She had never smelled it before, yet recognized it immediately.
Angel's blood.
Present day
The sunrise painted the village with crimson light, peaking through the clouds from further down the valley. Here, at the edge of the Geier Reach, the thick layer of clouds smothered the rest of Stensia wasn't as perpetual. Natiya reckoned the sun came out on at least half of the days of the year. Building the village here was a smart decision. It's proximity to the vampires kept the werewolves away, yet it was far enough from the bloodsuckers to avoid their notice.
The town's residents were cleaning the remains of last night's battle, carrying the rotting remains of the undead to the graf beyond the village edge. Most of the village was still intact, with only a few buildings destroyed. The zombies had been too focused on killing its inhabitants to do much damage.
Natiya strolled around the courtyard, idly fingering the red armband sewn onto her sleve. She stopped at the place the skaab was standing when she annihilated it with her lightning helix. The only remains were a handful of silver-etched brass plates that had bound the monstrous thing together. Now where did a ghoulcaller acquire a finely crafted skaab?
The answer to that was obvious - Skaabs came from Skaberen. Who though, and where?
Natiya's musings were interrupted by the approach of the old cathar who had lead the townsfolks' defense. Adalwin was his name. He walked slowly, with a tired gait.
"Fiendslayer Natiya, I do not know how to thank you. If you had not intervened last night, we would have perished," the priest said.
Natiya smiled. Fiendslayer was a new one. "There is no need to thank me, mayor Adalwin. I only do what I can."
"Some form of thanks is in order nonetheless." Adalwin stood there and smiled, fidgeting a bit. He obviously had more to say. Natiya turned and started strolling towards the chapel, gesturing for him to follow. He stepped in beside her, looking a little uneasy. Shadows! Did she really tower over him that much? She had forgotten what it was like to be around Stensia's short, sturdy inhabitants.
"If you don't mind my asking…who exactly are you?" he said after a moment. Natiya grimaced. That question was inevitable, of course.
"My name is Natiya Mocna," she replied, "I was born in a village in Stesnia, not terribly far from here, in fact. I learned to wield magic from a young age, and I use it to do what good I can."
"Yes, but what more than that?" he asked. Natiya remained silent, letting him continue. "Your magic, I have never seen anything like it before. You summoned the form of an angel, but did not succumb to their madness. Which order do you belong to? Alabaster? Goldnight? You wear a uniform cut in the style of an archmage, but it's fashioned from a strange cloth I have never seen before. And your scars, they are far too precise to have come from a lycanthrope. You seem…I just don't know what to make of you, sir."
Natiya gave him a sidelong stare. "Not many do, mayor Adalwin."
He bit his lip, then resumed, curiosity winning out. "And what of the wards? They failed yesterday, gone completely. You restored them, but with gold light instead of silver. How? Has Avacyn returned to us?"
"No. Avacyn is gone, vanquished by a fool who imagines himself to be the lord of this world." Natiya shook her head. What else had that idiot vampire done by killing the mad angel? Those tremors…
"I restored your defenses with that," she said, pausing outside the chapel door and pointing at the metallic pattern she had set in the stones with her magic, "It channels the emotions of those who live here, their love, their desperation, their desire to protect those they hold dear. The wards won't work very far from the village borders, and only for those who consider this place their home. It's a little trick I learned some time back, on my travels."
"Huh," Adalwin grunted, digesting the load of information. The enchantment was a hybrid in fact, of three distinct types of magic. No need to confuse him further with the details though.
"You are very perceptive, Mayor," Natiya said, stepping into the chapel, "You keep your wits about you." The air inside was rank with the smell of too many bodies. Thin light flittered through shuttered windows, making the space gray and dismal. The forms of huddled bodies lay on the pews. Someone coughed in the corner.
"What happened here?" she wondered aloud.
"Sickness," Adalwin said, stepping up behind her, "Grind's Fever. Took two thirds of us."
Natiya grimaced. Grind's Fever wasn't usually fatal, but it rendered its victims bed ridden, unable to move for days.
"It came yesterday, all at once," the village's healer said, striding down the isle with a slight limp. What was her name again? "Right after the wards failed. I've done what I can, which isn't much without a purifying rite."
Natiya nodded. She didn't say anything about how reliant the townsfolk were on their wards and magic. It was an unhealthy habit, as these recent circumstances proved.
"And what of your children?" Natiya asked after a moment.
"In the cellar," the healer replied, "As far away from those unholy monsters as we could manage." Gisala. That was her name.
"Thank you," Natiya said. Gisala nodded and moved off to tend to one of her patients. She, as well the rest of the villagers, deferred to Natiya with respect, even if some of them were uncertain what to make of her.
Naitya left the gloomy chapel, back into the wan light of the morning. "Speak Mayor. You fidget when you have something to say."
The cathar barked a sardonic laugh. "You would pretend to know me after a few hours?"
"You do not have something more to say to me then?"
Adalwin huffed, before deciding to continue. "Me and the others, we were wondering what your intentions are. Where do you intend to go, now that you have saved us? We would welcome you if you decided to stay."
"I am sorry, but I cannot. I have already done for you what I can. I have other matters that need my attention." She wouldn't stay, even if she didn't. "The ghoulcaller who attacked you, I've been tracking her across Stensia for nearly a week now. Her name is Rinelda Smit. She comes from the Farbogs. I'm not entirely certainly why she ventured this far towards Kessig. I do know why she attacked your village though."
"And why is that?"
"Bodies. Her army was in bad condition, even for zombies. She turned towards your village the day the wards failed. She realized that you would be easy pickings without your defenses. The perfect opportunity to replenish her ranks."
"Well, you made short work of her ghouls, but she wasn't present herself. You intend to pursue her then?"
Natiya nodded. "Yes."
"When will you leave?"
"Within the hour," Natiya said. "She has a head start. I need to catch up. There are troubling times ahead. Stay vigilant, and keep your weapons ready. I suspect you'll need them soon."
Vorthos Cartography - Check out my completed maps of Zendikar and Innistrad!
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
Vorthos Cartography - Check out my completed maps of Zendikar and Innistrad!
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
Vorthos Cartography - Check out my completed maps of Zendikar and Innistrad!
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
Vorthos Cartography - Check out my completed maps of Zendikar and Innistrad!
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
I would be interested in reading more of this if you end up writting more chapters. The descriptions were solid and evocative - but there were a few parts where it seemed youbwere trying too hard. The story itself seems interesting but I will wait to see more before saying anything else. As a last thought you could do with less commas. Most of your sentences could do with one when you use two or three.
I would be interested in reading more of this if you end up writting more chapters. The descriptions were solid and evocative - but there were a few parts where it seemed youbwere trying too hard. The story itself seems interesting but I will wait to see more before saying anything else. As a last thought you could do with less commas. Most of your sentences could do with one when you use two or three.
Thanks for your thoughts. This was a rough draft that I shouldn't have posted. It needs a good, solid revision, both for this chapter, and my outline I have. I wrote it before we had a full EnM timeline, and so it needs some additional tweaking. I do intend on writing the rest, it will just be a while so I can make sure I do it right.
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Vorthos Cartography - Check out my completed maps of Zendikar and Innistrad!
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
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Adalwin smashed his axe through the ghoul's neck, slicing clean through the fetid flesh. The zombie crumpled, limbs twitching as its toothless mouth silently gaped at the sky.
The weary cathar pulled back, blocking an uncoordinated lunge from next zombie with his shield. I, Adalwin thought, am much too old for this. Most of the priests were, in this backwater little town, nestled in the foothills of the Geier Reach. The little group stood in a rough circle, guarding the entrance to the little chapel built against the back of the cobbled courtyard. Their torches cast a flickering light over their attackers, a horde of ghouls at least 300 strong, spread out through the village. They outnumbered the defenders ten to one, who consisted of six aging cathers and any of the townsfolk still strong enough to hold a weapon.
The unhallowed mob surged forward, shambling on misshapen and rotten limbs. They were slow, making them easy targets, but for each one that fell, three more filled its place. To his right, Frida screamed, the bent harpoon of an undead fisherman finding her stomach. Gisala, their last remaining healer, stooped to drag her away, as Eadric moved over to fill her place in the line. The circle tightened a little with the loss of a member.
Adalwin brought his axe down again, crushing the skull of the zombie in front of him. Flecks of rotten brain splattered his clothes and shield. He withdrew the axe, the ornate silver head dripping with putrid grime. The runes that lined the blade had once strengthened the blade with holy wards of Avacyn herself. Only now Avacyn, their once protector, had become their deadly tormentor, revoking the protections she once granted. The axe was just a fancy lump of metal. A sharp one, luckily, that could still cleave through the flesh of necromantic abominations.
Yes, Avacyn hand abandoned them. Her angels rained death and fire from the skies, slaughtering all humans with unchained zeal Even now, as he fought alongside the last of his citizens, surrounded by enemies, he struggled to accept it. If Avacyn had turned on them, then what hope did they have left?
None.
The answer came unbidden into his mind. Avacyn was the protector of humanity. What could they possibly do without her to protect them from the countless evils of the world? She herself had become the worst of them. Now she left her people to the whims of every petty necromancer and ghoulcaller who decided to turn their way.
An uncomfortable weight settled on Adalwin's shoulders. They were going to die. All his priests, friends, family, everyone in the village would perish soon, consumed by a mass of undead.
Adalwin kept fighting. There was no hope for them now, but in reality, there never had been. They lived in a world of monsters. Even when Avacyn protected them, they would still die eventually, be it at the hands of a monster, or simple old age. The end of life was inevitable, it just came a little faster now.
No! Adalwin refused to give in. If he was to die tonight, then he would die with a weapon in his hand, defending those he loved. He would not despair!
The spear caught him by surprise, flashing past his shield and straight into his shoulder. Adalwin gasped and collapsed, blood welling around the grimy blade.
"Adalwin!" Gisala shouted, from where she was tending Frida's wound. The elderly woman forced her stiff bones up and jogged over him, pulling him back as Hrolf, the blacksmith, moved over to fill the gap he left in the line.
Gisala held up a holy rune and chanted a short healing spell. Nothing happened. She cursed and tossed the useless charm aside. She ripped the arm off her coat and pressed it against the wound.
Adalwin grunted as she applied steady pressure to staunch the blood. He barely felt the wound, strangely. It felt dull, distant. But his breathing…yes, breathing was hard. He grunted again, rattling another breath. Yes, he would die tonight, soon it would seem.
Cries of alarm rouse from the far side of the circle. Adalwin rolled his head in that direction, and caught a glimpse of a towering skaab, a dozen feet tall, with six arms and three legs. It lumbered towards the line, squishing limbs of ghouls beneath its deformed feet.
"Dear Avacyn, protector of all, Holy One who grants us protection…" Adalwin muttered the prayer out of habit, though it wouldn't do anything. Someone screamed as the monster hurled her through the air.
Gisala cursed, blood having already soaked through the improvised bandage. She ripped off the other sleeve and held it against the bleeding shoulder. Too much blood. He was bleeding out.
Goodbye my friends, he thought, vision fading, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.
Above him, a single point of light steadily grew brighter as he slipped away. The star shone with brilliant golden light, sweet and rich, enveloping the wings tucked down against its back…A spirit, to guide him to the endless oblivion of the Blessed Sleep. It grew larger, flames trailing as it raced towards the ground.
"Angel!" someone shouted. The villagers turned towards the new threat.
Adalwin groaned, a measure of lucidity returning to him. Yes, that was indeed an angel, plummeting straight towards them.
It struck like a falling star.
A blast of golden energy exploded outward, hurling the zombies back but leaving the humans untouched. The blinding glare of the impact resolved into a glowing figure, kneeling in the center of the courtyard. Her wings were transparent, outlined in golden, ethereal light and folded against her back. She held a hammer, made of the same golden luminescence, pressed against the ground before her. A red-hot swirl of metal blossomed between the flagstones, apparently forced there by the impact. Wisps of smoke curled up from its red-hot surface.
She stood up, wings and hammer evaporating in wisps of light. The townsfolk took a collective step back.
"Quickly now!" she cried, her voice effortlessly echoing across the whole village, "Stand together, for those you love! Fight for them!"
The cathars and townsfolk gasped as the weapons in their hands burst to life, golden light pouring from the holy symbols wrought on them. The glow was matched by a flare of energy from runes carved into the metal formation.
A short distance away, the skaab bellowed, lurching to its feet. It shook its head and charged. The stranger turned to it, eyes hardening.
"Be gone," she spat. The outline of a golden sword materialized in her hand, five feet long and leaking light. A helix of lightning leaped from the weapon and impaled the skaab, annihilating it in a singular flash of energy.
The defenders stood awestruck as she strode forward, swirling light raising off of her like an aura of luminous mist. "I am not your enemy!" she shouted, surveying the frightened villagers, "I am here to help you. Forward now! Destroy these monsters before they do the same to you!"
Hrolf the blacksmith glanced at his companions, then raised his hammer, aglow with renewed glyphs. He roared as he charged the undead horde. His blow struck one in the chest. A blast of golden energy shattered the ghoul's ribcage and sent it tumbling through the air.
The remaining defenders chorused in triumph and raised their weapons. Their charge sliced through the mob as they formed up behind Hrolf.
The woman watched them for a moment, then turned to Frida, who was bleeding out on the cobbles. She held out a hand and poured the warm glow into the injured body. Gisala rushed forward, checking the Frida's pulse. "Thank Avacyn above," she muttered. When the stranger stood up, her golden aura noticeably dimmed.
She crossed to Adalwin, whose vision was starting to fade. He barely noticed her raise her hand and muttered an incoherent string of words. The remains of her aura slipped down her arm and into his bleeding shoulder.
Adalwin gasped as a surge of warmth flooded his body. He felt the shoulder reknit, muscle and sinew reconnecting as his lung inflated. Adalwin inhaled, the chill air easily filling his chest.
Adalwin laid there for a moment, the warmth fading as his strength returned. "What - how did you…I-"
"Easy now," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. She had a narrow face, and piercing eyes that seemed to see everything. A trio of long, thin scars ran down the right side of her scalp, all the way to her chin. Her hand bore a similar disfigurement. Her long dark hair was tied back behind her shoulders, and reached all the way down her back.
Adalwin swallowed and gathered his thoughts. "What - who are you? An angel? You do not - the madness…"
"Hush. You have lost a lot of blood," she replied. Her voice was rich and husky. "My name is Natiya, and I am most definitely not an angel. For now, just know that I am a friend." She glanced at the villagers, who were once more struggling to hold back the mass of zombies, their initial momentum expended. "Rest now. I am needed."
The woman, Natiya, stood, ethereal hammer and sword appearing in her hands. She dashed towards the zombies, glowing wings coalescing on her back. She beat her wings once, twice, soaring in the air before crashing down in the zombies' midst. She spun, effortlessly slicing through the abominations.
Adalwin closed his eyes, muttering a prayer of thanks to anyone who still cared. Their savior had come.
Five years ago
The sunrise flittered through the window of Natiya's room, painting the wall a beautiful crimson. Natiya lay in bed, smiling at the sight. The sun was a very rare occurrence here, in a high inland valley on the edge of the Somberwald. The last time she had seen an actual sunrise was…she couldn't even remember. It had been so long.
Natiya watched the sun slowly inch up the edge of the sky, until it slipped behind the perpetual blanket of clouds that was the sky of Stensia. She sighed, then reluctantly climbed out of bed, quickly washing and dressing. The New Moon days were long and quiet, but that was no excuse for dawdling. More daylight meant more time to work.
One week, she thought, One week until I'm fifteen, and I travel to Thraben to study with the Halls of Learning. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that. She had already accepted that she would be leaving home, leaving the single valley she had spent her entire life in. From there though, things weren't so certain. She had proven good with runes and script, and she knew Mother hoped she would be accepted into the church as a runechanter. If that didn't work out, one of Father's old friends had agreed to take her in and train her as a bookbinder. She would have a life in Thraben, a huge city she had only heard of in stories and books. The prospect was frightening and exciting.
Natiya threw on her coat, a hand-me-down from her father, as she exited her tiny room. The garment reached down to her mid-calves, though it hung lose on her lanky frame. It was the only coat her family owned that would fit her height. The aged leather and patched wool lining still kept her warm in the frosty mountain air, and that was what mattered.
The rest of her family was already gone, her older brother and sister, and her father gone to the fields to tend the flocks, and her mother off to the parish chapel to collect renewed wards. Once again, Natiya was the last one up. She would hear words for that later.
She snatched up her sword, pack, and walking staff as she walked out the door. She shook her head as she walked. Father had insisted she carry the weapon with her since she was ten, another part of her preparation to join the church. Why did he want her to leave so badly? Leave the only home she had ever known, and travel to a strange city, filled with more people than she had ever seen in her entire life. Why did he regret coming to Stensia so much? He said he had done it to get away from the hardships of working as an inquisitor. Yet, more than once, she had caught him holding his old sword and staring off into the distance, a wistful expression on his face.
Her reflection stared back at her as she crossed the village moat. So why you? Why was her father so eager to send her away, to join the church he had left? Truth be told, the prospect of leaving her home excited her as much as it frightened. She felt a longing in her heart of late, to get away from this vampire-cursed valley and see the world, with all it beauty and danger. Thraben, she thought, They say it over looks the ocean, with so much water, it stretches all the way to the horizon…
Natiya's path wound along the slope behind the village, before plunging into the drooping conifers of the Somberwald. Vampires tended to stay out of the forest, but Natiya cut off a branch anyway, whittling it with her knife as she walked. She let the hike consume her. She always felt more at ease here in the forest, away form people and their expectations. Just her and the mountain. Her tangled questions slipped to the back corner of her mind, forgotten for now.
Her route took her up the valley, into the highland cirques between the peaks. Her first set of snares had caught a raccoon and a hare. She quickly dressed the carcasses, then stashed them in a hidden nook to retrieve on her way back. Hopefully, she had caught enough hares to make herself a new fur cap. Her old one was wearing out.
The forest was quiet, peaceful even. No werewolves this close to the vampire manors, and even the geists around here were reclusive. She caught a glimpse of dryad every few days or so, but they tolerated her presence, so long as she didn't harm the forest.
The sun slowly slid across the sky, perpetually veiled by the purple-gray overcast. The clouds cast a twilight pall over the forest, trees and hollows shaded in the gloom.
The rest of Natiya's traps had caught a badger, two more hares, and an incredibly fat rat. She discarded the rat, and tied everything else to her pack. A good haul today.
Afternoon faded into evening as she returned down the valley. A few times, the sun seemed close to breaking through the clouds, but it never did. This morning's sunrise was a fluke, then.
The sun had just sunk behind the western mountains, by Natiya's reckoning, when she paused to survey the forest. How many times had she walked this path? She had spent years traversing these woods, yet it never felt like home. Neither did the small cabin her family lived in.
I don't belong here, Natiya thought, I never did. The realization was sobering. She would be leaving for Thraben in a week, and she realized she actually wanted to go. She wanted to leave this little, devil blasted valley more than anything in her entire life.
Natiya started forward, a warm satisfaction blooming in her chest. No more second-guessing. She knew what she was going to do now. As she walked, a weight lifted from her shoulders.
Something was wrong.
Natiya stopped again. Something definitely wasn't right. She closed her eyes, concentrating. It was…
Smoke.
Natiya's heart lept in her chest. Something was burning. Her worst fear sprang to mind. Devils tearing at her village, burning it to the ground.
But no, that was wrong. The wind was blowing down-mountain, meaning the smoke was coming from further up the slope.
Natiya set her pack down and start running up the mountain. Darkness settled over the valley as she jogged. It was dangerous to be out at night, but nobody started a fire in the Somberwald. She needed to find the source.
She stumbled to a halt when she saw a light in the distance. She could hear voices now, low and chanting. She caught her breath, the started forward at a slower pace, weaving through the inky gloom with practiced stealth.
A shrill, echoing screech rang out, followed by a chorus of similar calls. Natiya paused. She could now make out a group of figures dancing around the light of a bonfire.
There was also something else, a scent mingled with the smoke of the fire and must of the forest. Sweet and spicy, yet strangely salty.
She had never smelled it before, yet recognized it immediately.
Angel's blood.
Present day
The sunrise painted the village with crimson light, peaking through the clouds from further down the valley. Here, at the edge of the Geier Reach, the thick layer of clouds smothered the rest of Stensia wasn't as perpetual. Natiya reckoned the sun came out on at least half of the days of the year. Building the village here was a smart decision. It's proximity to the vampires kept the werewolves away, yet it was far enough from the bloodsuckers to avoid their notice.
The town's residents were cleaning the remains of last night's battle, carrying the rotting remains of the undead to the graf beyond the village edge. Most of the village was still intact, with only a few buildings destroyed. The zombies had been too focused on killing its inhabitants to do much damage.
Natiya strolled around the courtyard, idly fingering the red armband sewn onto her sleve. She stopped at the place the skaab was standing when she annihilated it with her lightning helix. The only remains were a handful of silver-etched brass plates that had bound the monstrous thing together. Now where did a ghoulcaller acquire a finely crafted skaab?
The answer to that was obvious - Skaabs came from Skaberen. Who though, and where?
Natiya's musings were interrupted by the approach of the old cathar who had lead the townsfolks' defense. Adalwin was his name. He walked slowly, with a tired gait.
"Fiendslayer Natiya, I do not know how to thank you. If you had not intervened last night, we would have perished," the priest said.
Natiya smiled. Fiendslayer was a new one. "There is no need to thank me, mayor Adalwin. I only do what I can."
"Some form of thanks is in order nonetheless." Adalwin stood there and smiled, fidgeting a bit. He obviously had more to say. Natiya turned and started strolling towards the chapel, gesturing for him to follow. He stepped in beside her, looking a little uneasy. Shadows! Did she really tower over him that much? She had forgotten what it was like to be around Stensia's short, sturdy inhabitants.
"If you don't mind my asking…who exactly are you?" he said after a moment. Natiya grimaced. That question was inevitable, of course.
"My name is Natiya Mocna," she replied, "I was born in a village in Stesnia, not terribly far from here, in fact. I learned to wield magic from a young age, and I use it to do what good I can."
"Yes, but what more than that?" he asked. Natiya remained silent, letting him continue. "Your magic, I have never seen anything like it before. You summoned the form of an angel, but did not succumb to their madness. Which order do you belong to? Alabaster? Goldnight? You wear a uniform cut in the style of an archmage, but it's fashioned from a strange cloth I have never seen before. And your scars, they are far too precise to have come from a lycanthrope. You seem…I just don't know what to make of you, sir."
Natiya gave him a sidelong stare. "Not many do, mayor Adalwin."
He bit his lip, then resumed, curiosity winning out. "And what of the wards? They failed yesterday, gone completely. You restored them, but with gold light instead of silver. How? Has Avacyn returned to us?"
"No. Avacyn is gone, vanquished by a fool who imagines himself to be the lord of this world." Natiya shook her head. What else had that idiot vampire done by killing the mad angel? Those tremors…
"I restored your defenses with that," she said, pausing outside the chapel door and pointing at the metallic pattern she had set in the stones with her magic, "It channels the emotions of those who live here, their love, their desperation, their desire to protect those they hold dear. The wards won't work very far from the village borders, and only for those who consider this place their home. It's a little trick I learned some time back, on my travels."
"Huh," Adalwin grunted, digesting the load of information. The enchantment was a hybrid in fact, of three distinct types of magic. No need to confuse him further with the details though.
"You are very perceptive, Mayor," Natiya said, stepping into the chapel, "You keep your wits about you." The air inside was rank with the smell of too many bodies. Thin light flittered through shuttered windows, making the space gray and dismal. The forms of huddled bodies lay on the pews. Someone coughed in the corner.
"What happened here?" she wondered aloud.
"Sickness," Adalwin said, stepping up behind her, "Grind's Fever. Took two thirds of us."
Natiya grimaced. Grind's Fever wasn't usually fatal, but it rendered its victims bed ridden, unable to move for days.
"It came yesterday, all at once," the village's healer said, striding down the isle with a slight limp. What was her name again? "Right after the wards failed. I've done what I can, which isn't much without a purifying rite."
Natiya nodded. She didn't say anything about how reliant the townsfolk were on their wards and magic. It was an unhealthy habit, as these recent circumstances proved.
"And what of your children?" Natiya asked after a moment.
"In the cellar," the healer replied, "As far away from those unholy monsters as we could manage." Gisala. That was her name.
"Thank you," Natiya said. Gisala nodded and moved off to tend to one of her patients. She, as well the rest of the villagers, deferred to Natiya with respect, even if some of them were uncertain what to make of her.
Naitya left the gloomy chapel, back into the wan light of the morning. "Speak Mayor. You fidget when you have something to say."
The cathar barked a sardonic laugh. "You would pretend to know me after a few hours?"
"You do not have something more to say to me then?"
Adalwin huffed, before deciding to continue. "Me and the others, we were wondering what your intentions are. Where do you intend to go, now that you have saved us? We would welcome you if you decided to stay."
"I am sorry, but I cannot. I have already done for you what I can. I have other matters that need my attention." She wouldn't stay, even if she didn't. "The ghoulcaller who attacked you, I've been tracking her across Stensia for nearly a week now. Her name is Rinelda Smit. She comes from the Farbogs. I'm not entirely certainly why she ventured this far towards Kessig. I do know why she attacked your village though."
"And why is that?"
"Bodies. Her army was in bad condition, even for zombies. She turned towards your village the day the wards failed. She realized that you would be easy pickings without your defenses. The perfect opportunity to replenish her ranks."
"Well, you made short work of her ghouls, but she wasn't present herself. You intend to pursue her then?"
Natiya nodded. "Yes."
"When will you leave?"
"Within the hour," Natiya said. "She has a head start. I need to catch up. There are troubling times ahead. Stay vigilant, and keep your weapons ready. I suspect you'll need them soon."
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit
UBarrin, Master WizardU
USticher GeralfU
UIxidor, Reality SculptorU
UWNoyan Dar, Roil ShaperUW
Thanks for your thoughts. This was a rough draft that I shouldn't have posted. It needs a good, solid revision, both for this chapter, and my outline I have. I wrote it before we had a full EnM timeline, and so it needs some additional tweaking. I do intend on writing the rest, it will just be a while so I can make sure I do it right.
"You say 'learn from history,' but that does not mean 'learn the same bull***** the people in history learned alongside phrenology and alchemy.'" - The Blinking Spirit