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(Yes, that's an official job title.)
Lyre was never the kind of plane you'd expect the maybe-soon-to-be-aspiring-hero Troll Coward named Ig to be from, but with the vast and beautiful multiverse in front of and around you, anything is possible.
See, Lyre was born into silence and greyscale. Think of an old silent movie, only much more solemn—nothing was really and truly alive. Days dragged on while its denizens went about their monotonous routines. Eventually, seemingly out of nowhere, the sky erupted into an aurora of color known as the Opening Act. The plane, now awash with color, spent what could be considered decades, centuries, or perhaps even eons in this bright, soundless state, with the people of Lyre developing breathtaking pieces of art.
Eventually we get to the just-before-the-spark moment. The first sound. That is, the tiny sound of his mouse companion Demetrius squeaking. Our Troll Coward friend was so startled by this that his heart stopped! And, well, you know the rest. And in case you don't, here's the brief and definitely not quoted synopsis of the current state of affairs:
"After a dramatic moment [in his] life, [he] finally but slowly [woke] up to the sounds of the surrounding world. [His] body is sore, [his] muscles are weak, [his] mind is spinning, [his] ears are ringing as like after an explosion - but there were no explosion. Not what [he] can remember at least. Something happened within [him] and pulled [his] very being away just before... before [his] death."
Demetrius planeswalked with Ig! Although he does not have a spark of his own, Demetrius and anything Ig has collected (such as insects) seemed to just...go with him. No damage. No pain. Just as if they had planeswalked with him. Granted, they are just as confused as he is.
Teamwork makes the dream work! These two simple spells work well with small creatures and with each other.
Ig's very first discovery was an interesting glowing...insect...bug...winged-yet-flightless...thing in the forests of Lyre. Unfortunately for him, this was the only friend in his collection that came with. Hopefully he'll make more discoveries as he explores!
Best of luck to everyone, and may the endless waltz of Lyre light your path!
Credits: Arceus helped fine-tune the submission and help me change my previously mono-G walker into a Selesnya pal. Tomigon, on this thread, is responsible for the set symbol used.
Tirany's Tale, Prelude I - A Cascade of Laughter
Tirany burst into joyous laughter. It has been so long since anything this
patently ridiculous had happened to her.
Clutching her stomach she knelt down, crushing some of the long wild
grasses to the earth.
She caught her breath and looked around to the beautiful meadow,
looked up at the tower. She had seen it’s
like before, center of the land called Spindle.
A monument to male megalomania if ever there is one. Then
she remembered the circle of archmages that, and lost her composure again as
she recalled reading a history book on how they had “erected” it! She remembered war with them, war to the knife. Not her first. Far from her first. Her head seemed to start rushing. Memories rushing into her head and leaving rushing
and rushing and rushing until – oops!
Rush and go.
Rush and go.
Rush and go.
Ever faster rush and go!
Each her own, not as she is now. How she once upon an ago. They
were suddenly a torrent or a waterfall. She was standing under a cascade. Each there and then gone, like getting hit by
a mountain, which disappears the moment before crushing her to leave a grain of
sand. Then another. Then another.
Countless lives pummeled her as the sand seemed to quickly surround
her. As if she were sitting at the
bottom of an hourglass. Boulding a round
and primal mound, with her at the center.
Creeping pas her knees and covering her lap quickly. Rising to her hips and then up to rips. Rib by rib as her arms flailed and she
It became more clear that the sand of memories was like the
sand in the eyes after sleeping. Something
a living thing had made. That she had
made. In fell into her mouth and she swallowed
as it reached her breasts and she realized it was too late to stand. Yet she was surrounded by herself, or at
lease what she once was.
It got in her eyes as it reached her shoulders and kept
right on going. So very quickly it advanced
nos. Neck and jaw, ear and eye. Darkness and wooshing sound as her arms became
immobile. The strange feeling of her
head being covered, but the impacts above her continuing. Almost losing everything, only her fingers left
and it stopped like a sunshine thunderstorm that suddenly noticed ti has
started its rain on the wrong day of the week.
The moment it stopped she was suddenly whole again. While she
could not remember everything, not hundredth of everything, not a ten thousandth. Less.
Yet still enough. She remembered living
before. Many times. Endless times? Back into eons past.
It had been pretty much a live since that disastrous day
when things changed and she had been trapped.
Her spark going out suddenly. Trapping
her. Now she was free. She was not going to give that up. Things were not as before, but that was how
things always were really. Life is
She spread her hands, as she had so many times before. The sand was hot under the sin as she started
to move. It was never fun, crawling out
of the earth after you were buried. It was
thrilling in a unique and strange way. An
exercise of will, a determination to live.
Mere physical things could not
bar her from this. She had cracked stone
to do it, swum up through lava, risen rom unfathomable depths. Pulling out the dream sand was easy for her. It Dave way, gave way and started to
By the time her top quarte was out the sand was evaporating
rapidly, subliming into pearlescent mist and facing under the harsh noonday sun.
She shook her hair out, noticing how it
has gone for resting at near-white tow headedness to a darkened platinum. Standing, she laughed again. She was Young! It felt so good. Things looked sharp and colorful and bright. The clouds!
Oh the clouds were more than fugue blurs again. She could hear insects in the meadow about
her, so loud for things so small. Her
frame was a tall! The king of her arms
smooth and creamy, without a liver spot or blemish. Her hand went to her face and felt nothing
winkled or sagging at all anymore. She
took a deep breath, untroubled by that hitch in her right side and stretched,
feeling the pleasure of a strong body.
It was about time!
She dimly remembered that she had just been old for an
exceptionally long time. No doubt,
whatever disaster had trapped her had also played havoc with her regular
passing along from life to death and back again. Youth was new to her again. Not so new that it did not occur before her
recent transition. Sometimes it is hard
to say the way things are. Did she before
young so she could leave, or did she leave because she was renewed?
She tilted and shook her head, noticing her hair had changed
form toe-headed white to a blonde deeper than platinum. Odd now not to see it iron grey. But it has
been every color at some point of other, just like the rest of her it was only
as it was for the present, change was at the heart of her nature.
Turning to the sun and closing her eyes, she looked into the
redness and took a deep calming breath. Her memories were a hazed jumble but those of
her awakening were fresh and hers alone, and odd.
Tirany's Tale, Prelude II - A Little Turn in the Sun.
Turning to the sun and closing her eyes, she looked into the
redness and took a deep calming breath. Her memories were a hazed
jumble but those of her awakening were fresh and hers alone, and odd.
The snake that spoke to her was not a real snake. A
serpent hunting her, well duh. Not the real serpent of course, although
it sounded the sort of thing that would disagree. Like many things of the
sort, there were many imitators of the real sources of the name so many
used. She had been told enough to act.
It might be a
lie. Just a goad to spur her to walk willingly into her own doom.
Well, the real first past in foiling a trap is questioning “is that a
trap?” Still, she knew she didn’t understand what had happened the last
handful of decades or so. It has been so strange.
She turned widdershins
in place and the redness dimmed and grew. It as an elementary
exercise. One a child or a dog did instinctively. She stopped and
opened her eyes staring at the tower. Not a simple illusion, or a thing
without cardinal force.
So high, wreathed in
clouds and haze. Impossibly tall, so much so it is impossible to see the
base or even wisely conjecture how far off it is. Could be continents
between her and it, could be oceans. Or itch could be plainly visible if
she here standing at the horizons.
Some say every journey
begins with a step. They’re wrong. It begins with the decision to
move. As one side of her mouth quirked up into a smile in a way it has
not for over a century, she decided.
Tirany is old. I don't mean old like you
think of as a person, or a house, or an empire. Nor even as old as
dirt. She was around to watch the stone become dirt old. A being
extant from deep time. Change is part of her nature, she exists more in a
cyclical time than a linear one. Young to old to dead, then beginning
anew. Her regular course has been disrupted. She has just
begun anew, and is in a strange land. She feels no particular fear right
now, even of her old friend death, but everything that thinks always
does. There is a slight trepidation though, the unknown does that even to
her, even after all this time.
Note - I very much did not read anyone else's story, lest it corrupt of deflect the writing of my character's introduction. So. Yippee! - now I get to a sort of pop-corn time as I go back and review the creations of everyone else.