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Build a Planeswalker with Lore (Contest)
Hello Cardsmith Community, it's me again, LordWolffeIII. Recently in my "themed 'walker" contests, I have been encouraging lore. I am an avid creative writing who really appreciatates a good story and writes one for every card. For this contest, I would like you to write some lore and make a card for a planeswalker inspired by my "Werewolf 'Walkers" contest. Here is some background.
Name: Kyle (last name up to you)
Age: Early - Late 20s
Colors: Red, Green, Black
Classification: Human, Werewolf, Rogue (If you don't know what a rogue is, google it)
Mentor/Ally: Sorin Markov
Allies: Sarkhan, Arlinn Kord
Current Plane: Innistrad
Home Plane: Up to you.
I will choose winners based on the card's balance and the complexity of the lore. I will choose 3 winners, and they will all get 4 likes and a follow. You have 2 entries and a week to complete them. Thanks for the help and constant inspiration! Good luck!
Name: Kyle (last name up to you)
Age: Early - Late 20s
Colors: Red, Green, Black
Classification: Human, Werewolf, Rogue (If you don't know what a rogue is, google it)
Mentor/Ally: Sorin Markov
Allies: Sarkhan, Arlinn Kord
Current Plane: Innistrad
Home Plane: Up to you.
I will choose winners based on the card's balance and the complexity of the lore. I will choose 3 winners, and they will all get 4 likes and a follow. You have 2 entries and a week to complete them. Thanks for the help and constant inspiration! Good luck!
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@KJMartin Yes, you make a "Kyle" card and write lore for it with the included info as a basepoint.
Name: Nyarlathotep
Age: Unknown
Colors: Blue, black
Classification: Shapeshifter God/Unknown
Mentor/Ally: None known
Allies: None known
Current Plane: Innistrad
Home Plane: Blind Eternity/Unknown
Lore: Is Nyarlathotep an eldrazi or something else? Nobody really knows. Nobody in the multiverse also knows how it was made too. Nyarlathotep is very active and frequently walks among planes in the guise of a human being, usually a tall, slim, joyous man. It also has "a thousand" other forms and manifestations, most reputed to be quite horrific and sanity-blasting. Nyarlathotep also seems to be deliberately deceptive and manipulative, and even uses propaganda to achieve his goals, such as spreading madness among the population of a plane. Even the Gatewatch or Nicol Bolas himself doesn't know whether Nyarlathotep exists or not because of its deceptive and manipulative powers.
Whoops. I overlooked that. Well, sorry for that.
DARKNESS SWALLOWED UP the last remnants of summer like a great blood-soaked monstrosity; like children in a fairy tale devoured by a hollering woodland demon. The last unseen shards of winter on the air ruled again. A venomous mist began to appear from round the other side of Kessig, like truths emerging as lies unfolded, as the bosom of summer blazed with ice again. Winter’s cold fingers continued with their morbid art, ‘till icicles hung like swords from any perch they could find, and frost lay over everything like a thin carpet of dust.
The forest was silent, the balance between tranquility and cacophony thin as a layer of topsoil. The sun, an ambery disc in the grey sky, gazed down upon its desolate kingdom: the wilder districts of Innistrad.
Deep in the forest's nucleus, however, a creature moved. Her footsteps made no sound, and no breath escaped her lips, for she was a hunter, and knew the way of the forest. Her name was Veya Rok, a thief, a feral titan and a force of freedom. In her hands, she held a baby, infinitely powerless and completely dependent on his mother, Veya. Although he looked completely human, lupine blood coursed through his veins. His name was Kyle Rok.
Veya crept forward, still holding the baby, wrapped in a raggedy white shawl. Finally, she stopped and bent down to an ancient, gnarled oak. Here she rested her child upon a bed of leaves and snow, wrapping another blanket around it for warmth. The cathars were coming for her now, ready to burn her for her crimes. She would die, she would die in agony but she did not care, for she would be protecting her child, her precious child. They would scour the whole forest just to smite her precious child. They would look everywhere but here, here, in the turf where the Rabblepack, the fiercest wolf pack in Innistrad, prowled.
She made her way forward, the snow falling all around her. She blocked out all sound: her child's faint gurgling, fading away as she strode into the distance, the cathar's cries as they spotted her and ran forward, carrying flaming torches, and the soft sound of her feet crunching against the snow.
(Btw, I'm gonna be breaking Kyle Rok's life up into shorter stories. The child, as I'm sure you've guessed, is Kyle. I'll be making the actual card of him later, don't worry.)
@sanjaya666 It's perfectly fine, this contest is a bit confusing. It's not too late to re-enter though!
As a child, Kyle had no friends. His left arm had a disorder that caused it to be enlarged. The local boys bullied him. The only solace he found was in the woods. The creatures of the wild didn't care what he looked like. They always protected him from bullies. But one day, the boys were old enough to hunt. They found Kyle's Den. He was with all of his animal friends. The boys drew their bows and killed all the animals while two or three held Kyle down. "Hey look, missed one." One remarked as he drew his bow at Kyle. Kyle pulled himself from the ground and tore two knives from the belt of the young hunters. He killed them all. The fathers came upon it in horror. A boy, bathed in blood. He was dragged into town. He was tied to a stake and the lit a fire under him. Also, villagers hurled stones, knives, swords, and shot arrows at him. The flames liked his face, and an arrow almost found his heart. That's when his Spark ignited. "For all those lost, and for the wild places, I will keep watch.
http://mtgcardsmith.com/view/kyle-pyromantic-werewolf
@KJMartin If you still hope to participate, post your finished lore and card by Thursday also.
Lore of Kyle:
Kyle was a poor boy in the city of Thraben. He used to live with his sick mother, Mira, in the streets and alleys of the capital, begging for money or stealing it from the people of Thraben at young age so he could buy food for himself and for his sick mother. According to Kyle's mother, his father was a werewolf hunter who got killed by multiple werewolves in a nearby village before Kyle was born. Mira moved into Thraben when Kyle was an infant, but she never told the reason why they moved away from the village. When Kyle was 9 years old, his mother passed away, for she has been sick for many years and even though Kyle tried to bring her to a doctor, Mira refused.
Not knowing what to do, the young boy packed everything he had in the alley and began to search for the village where he was born. He left the walls of Thraben for the first time in his life, and didn't prepare for the night. He was sleeping right next to the road until he heard a howl. A werewolf was running towards Kyle and he was standing there in fear, watching as the savage creature was charging towards him.
Right at the moment when the werewolf was going to make a blow, Kyle dodged and started to run into the forest. He heard as the werewolf was chasing him, so he climbed on top of a tree. Kyle has been climbing on the buildings of Thraben, so climbing on top of a tree was easy. The werewolf didn't find Kyle, who was watching it from the tree. Eventually the creature found something else to chase and ran away. Then Kyle started to move down from the tree to get his bag, but when he was hanging on a branch, it broke and Kyle fell down to the hard ground and lost consciousness.
When Kyle woke up, he was in a house with bandages on his head, lying on a bed. He doesn't remember the last time when he slept on a soft, clean, warm bed. The morning sun was rising outside and the room was slightly dusty but still neat. It was probably a guest room. He could hear and smell as someone was cooking in another room. Then the door opened right before him. A middle aged woman was carrying a plate with soup on it. She was delighted to see Kyle awake at last. She gave Kyle a spoon, the soup and told him to eat it so he will feel better.
The woman introduced herself to be lady Oona Tarcur. She told Kyle how his husband found Kyle lying in the forest with a wound on his head last night near their farm. Her husband brought Kyle into their home and Oona started to bandage the wound on Kyle's head. Then they put Kyle into the guestroom and waited until morning.
Then a middle aged man comes into the room. He laughs as he sees that the boy is still breathing. He introduces himself to be Roy Tarcur, husband of Oona. Then the two asked Kyle's name and asked how he ended up into the forest in that condition. When Kyle revealed that he is an orphan boy from Thraben, Roy and Oona stared silently at each other for a moment. They left the room and started to mumble right behind the door. Kyle couldn't figure out what they were talking about so he started to eat the rest of the soup from his plate.
When Roy and Oona came back to the room few minutes later, Roy asked if Kyle wants to live with them and their two children, Jaxon and Tia. They could always use extra hands in the farm and they would give Kyle food to eat, clothes to wear and a roof where he can live under. Kyle couldn't be any happier. These people seem to be like his distant, good relatives. He promised to help in the farm when he gets better.
And so Kyle settled in the home of Tarcurs. After some time, Oona and Roy adopts Kyle so he becomes one of the Tarcurs. Over the years he works in the farm with his foster family and visits the capital from times to time. He sometimes walks into the wilds, so he can observe the wolves and even werewolves from trees, for he is fascinated by these creatures and wants to understand why his father hunted them. He has even learned some spells which only Kessigers know about while being in the wilds. Sometimes their home farm is being attacked by a wolf or a werewolf and the family has to fight against them.
When Kyle was 13 years old, he wanders to the wilds as usually after the day's work. But this time his foster sister, Tia, tries to follow him, for she is curious to watch what Kyle does after these years. However, she gets lost because Kyle is deeper within the wilds than she suspected, and she can't find back home. After Kyle has returned home, he hears from his foster brother, Jaxon that their sister is not home. So Kyle and Jaxon goes into the forest to search for Tia while their parents are in the farm, wondering where are their children. Jaxon takes two pitchforks with him, "just in case", according to him.
It was getting dark and the two boys were in the wilds. Kyle was leading the way, for he has been wandering around there more than anyone else in the farm. Then they hear a girl's scream nearby. They follow the noise and sees as Tia is trying to hide from a werewolf.
This werewolf looks more dangerous than the others which have attacked the farm. Kyle draws the predator's attention to himself and tells his foster brother to get Tia to safety. The werewolf then tries to attack Kyle's foster sister, but Kyle comes into its way and hits the creature with the pitchfork. The werewolf howls and chases Kyle, who was running into a forest opening.
He fights the predator and injures its leg, but then it becomes angrier than before. The creature scratches Kyle's head and he falls to the ground and drops his pitchfork. Then werewolf is about to bite Kyle's arm off, but he manages to take the pitchfork and stab the predator's heart with it.
The werewolf dies at the moment it bites Kyle's hand. Its strong and sharp teeth penetrates his flesh and he feels burning pain in his arm. Kyle opens the dead lycanthrope's jaws and kicks its head away from the arm. He feels sick, as if he's about to throw up. Everything around him becomes red as he transforms under the rising full moon. His planeswalker spark also ignites in the horror which he is witnessing: He is transforming into a werewolf. He planeswalks into another plane and loses consciousness.
Kyle wakes up in a strange world. He sees as the morning sun rises and dragons are flying above in the skies. He can't get up; everywhere hurts. He feels like as if he has fought in a war for the entire night. Then he looks around and sees few corpses. Green humanoids and a small dragon hatchling have been mauled by a werewolf. Kyle didn't know what those creatures are. Then someone was walking from the distance to Kyle's direction.
A long haired man with a staff came to see what killed this young dragon.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
I would have loved to continue the lore from this, but I didn't have enough time. I do hope that you enjoy the start of this planeswalker's journey.
The boy had been sat out on the outskirts of the forest for almost three days now. He was completely emotionless, a blanket wrapped about his shoulders as if to vainly try and ward off the ebbing cold. Weeks of starvation had worn his skin thin, and his hollow ribs now stood out from the thin layer of pale dermis that covered them. Although he was gazing out, right into the very bosom of the village, his eyes, like two pearls embedded in his skull, saw nothing. The usual cacophony that came from the settlement was not to be heard, as silence reigned.
'The devils a boy doing out here in this weather?' came the rumbling voice of Esmerelda, the mayor's cook, from down the hallway and into the kitchen. 'Look at all those poor fools from the village. Gazing like they've never seen a boy before. Look how thin he is. Have they never heard of manners?'
'We can't let him in,' the mayor, Tiderias, said. His voice was commanding, the kind that can tame werewolves and raise men from the dead at a single word.
The mayor himself was a tall, stocky man of about thirty. Although he had raised to such an elated position, he was not pretty; in fact, to call him ugly would be a great understatement. He had shaved badly, leaving cuts about his chin, tiny bits of hair sprouting upwards like tufts of grass. His face was like that of a badly sculpted gargoyle, with no logic to the way the gods' hands had forged it. His nose was far too big for the rest of his weedy little face, and was turned upwards like a pig's. His eyes too, were tiny, and spaced out several centimetres too wide.
'Not unless you wish to endanger the lives of all the good women and children who live in this town, Esmerelda,' he finished, looking up from one of the mighty, leather-bound tomes he had been studying. 'If he even steps near here he will be shot down. I have given the archers the right to fire at will when he does so. Do not overestimate your position; although your voice may strike fear into the hearts of other kitchen staff does mean you can influence my political decisions in the slightest way.'
'But he'll starve!' cried Esmerelda, as she stepped out to face her master.
'Then so be it.'
'Surely I can just slip him a flan or - '
'No, Esmerelda. In his eyes burn the fires of insanity. Off lycanthropy. All the other villages that lie in Kessig have been massacred, their huts painted with the blood of fallen villagers. Why? Because they have grown soft. They have let wolves into their homes, and the wolves have struck back. As I have always said, we must do everything we can to smite wolves and their cubs. I hate them to the point of insanity.'
'But - '
'No buts. Get back to your work.'
Kyle had spent the last three weeks without food. He did not care. He was beyond caring. Caring was for humanity, the scum of the earth.
For years he had lived in harmony with the same wolfpack that his mother had left him with. Yet humanity had come for them, with maces and fires. They had set his family, the only thing he had, the barrier between him and complete meaninglessness, alight. He remembered the screams as they died...
He shook his head, as though to rid it of the foul thought. For months, he had traversed the deeper parts of the forest, as though in some kind of a drunken trance. He had lived off berries and leaves, occasionally catching a vole or fox and grilling it, stripping the meat off its hider and stuffing down his throat. Yet, in the last few weeks, he had come down with a fever. He was red, sweat pouring down his face. Slowly, his sanity was being ground down into dust, as though being crushed between two mighty millstones.
What was the time? Night, day? Morning, evening? He did not care. He gazed down at the barren ground, his body completely devoid of activity, the only sign that he was alive the slow rising and falling of his chest.
He sat like that for some time - although how long he did not know exactly - until finally some primal instinct told him something was coming. He looked up, senses alert. The village was still, dark. Howls told him the Vildin pack were about.
He was just about to sink into nothingness again, when he saw something. A single light, dancing about in the dark like some insane, ancient melody had seized it by the throat. His wolven senses were alert, immediately. Careful to remain absolutely silent, he reached into his belt and pulled out a dagger. If they had hostile motives, he would deal with them swiftly and heartlessly.
Esmerelda slipped out as soon as she could. Under cover of darkness, she made her way from her dormitory, lighting a candle on her way. She crept from her dormitory down into the kitchen, huge slabs of beef and pork hanging from meat hooks like corpses from a noose. She ignored all of them, shivering in the cold, and opened a cupboard in the corner. From here, she took a bit of bread, a flagon of wine and some cheese.
As silently as she had entered, she exited the kitchen and made her way into the hall again. Tip-toeing her way there, she was soon at the door and made her way out into the night, the cold biting at her shoulders like a swarm of insects.
She finally came to the outskirts of Middlegate, their village. Chalked roughly in the ground ran a line of ferns and faggots of wood, marking the boundary between the wilds of Kessig and their village. Anybody without a permit would be shot down here. Careful as not to make a sound, she stepped over the line.
Immediately, she felt something move behind her. The next second, the cold, dull weight of metal was weighing against her throat.
'State your, your...your wolf - I mean, rank - I mean, intention,' came a rasping voice from behind. As she felt the man's arm press against her chest, she felt great strength, yet saw how red and swollen his arm was and knew he was not well. 'Yes, state your - your intention, and your name, or you will die.'
'I was coming to give you food.' Esmerelda swung round, and escaped the man's headlock with ease, for he was weak and under fever. 'Here.' She unwrapped her shawl and from it she took the food. 'Eat. You are no doubt hungry.'
Kyle gazed at her for several minutes, as though trying to coax her true intent from within her. Finally, he succumbed to hunger and began, ravenously, devouring the food, taking an occasional swing from the flagon. Within seconds, there was nothing to ever show the cook had given him food.
[I'm going to be dividing the second part of his life into two, as it is particularly long, btw. I'm not dead, and the actual card will be coming soon! Also - do you mind extending the contest?]
I'm making my card, just a little slow finding art. It will come.
@Trippleboggey3 When are you going to start yours? I'd like to see what it's like.