MTG Cardsmith Community Forums
Character Creation Contest
Hi! So, I guess I made another contest. This one is a bit unconventional, and I'm not sure if you guys will enjoy it, but I hope you like it! Sorry about the long description, by the way.
Rules:
- Create a character with some sort of backstory. It could be a planeswalker or legendary creature.
- Create at least two but no more than three additional cards related to the character. (Like a spell that they use, some sort of item they have, an ally of theirs, etc.)
- Write up a backstory for them. It could just be a description of their history and personality. It could be a couple paragraphs written in the voice of your character, something written by the character, or anything else you can think of. You can also hint at some of their backstory through the cards/flavor text (in addition to the written backstory).
Info for judging/entries.
- No more than one character per person.
- Deadline is on April 20th. Feel free to ping me if I'm late with the results.
- Entries are judged mainly on the characters rather than the actual cards. Which I know is a bit weird.
- Judging is based on the characters' memorability and complexity, as well as how distinct their personality and voice are. Card balance, creativity, and aesthetics are also taken into account.
Prizes:
First place gets 4 faves of their choice and a follow.
Second gets 3 faves and a follow.
Third gets 2 faves and a follow.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Example:
"Hello, darling. My name is Cameron. Cameron Lovelace. I'm afraid I don't have time to tell you my tale in full, but I can tell you the most interesting bits. Shall I tell you of the time I defeated the great Eldrazi Titans? Or how I single-handedly stopped a dragon from ascending to godhood? Or the time I... You look bored, darling. Oh dear, I'm rambling again, aren't I? Why don't you tell me about something more interesting? Like, for instance, yourself. Wait, where are you going?"
So yeah. He's a bard who's also a planeswalker. When he inevitably gets himself into trouble on one plane, he moves on to the next, and never looks back.
(Sorry if it's terrible. Just a vague idea of what I'm looking for.)
Good luck, and happy smithing!
Rules:
- Create a character with some sort of backstory. It could be a planeswalker or legendary creature.
- Create at least two but no more than three additional cards related to the character. (Like a spell that they use, some sort of item they have, an ally of theirs, etc.)
- Write up a backstory for them. It could just be a description of their history and personality. It could be a couple paragraphs written in the voice of your character, something written by the character, or anything else you can think of. You can also hint at some of their backstory through the cards/flavor text (in addition to the written backstory).
Info for judging/entries.
- No more than one character per person.
- Deadline is on April 20th. Feel free to ping me if I'm late with the results.
- Entries are judged mainly on the characters rather than the actual cards. Which I know is a bit weird.
- Judging is based on the characters' memorability and complexity, as well as how distinct their personality and voice are. Card balance, creativity, and aesthetics are also taken into account.
Prizes:
First place gets 4 faves of their choice and a follow.
Second gets 3 faves and a follow.
Third gets 2 faves and a follow.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Example:
"Hello, darling. My name is Cameron. Cameron Lovelace. I'm afraid I don't have time to tell you my tale in full, but I can tell you the most interesting bits. Shall I tell you of the time I defeated the great Eldrazi Titans? Or how I single-handedly stopped a dragon from ascending to godhood? Or the time I... You look bored, darling. Oh dear, I'm rambling again, aren't I? Why don't you tell me about something more interesting? Like, for instance, yourself. Wait, where are you going?"
So yeah. He's a bard who's also a planeswalker. When he inevitably gets himself into trouble on one plane, he moves on to the next, and never looks back.
(Sorry if it's terrible. Just a vague idea of what I'm looking for.)
Good luck, and happy smithing!
This discussion has been closed.
Comments
Sephina is an Angel of Innistrad, created by Sorin and the youngest sister of Avacyn, Gisela, Bruna, and Sigarda. During the war with Griselbrand, Sephina was too young, and too weak, to assist her sisters in battle. As such, when Griselbrand, along with Avacyn and her sisters, was imprisoned in the Helvault, she was spared.
She misses her sisters dearly, but had hoped that without Griselbrand, Innistrad would be able to achieve peace. Her hopes were shattered however as vampires and werewolves slowly took claim of the plane, and humans lived in a constant state of fear. She knew that this situation was not tenable, and she couldn't allow things to remain as they were. However, though stronger than she once was, she was not powerful enough to save the humans on her own, or with the few angels left.
Sephina determined that the only way to save the humans was to free her sisters, but she was unable to do so herself. She only knew of one person who could. Her creator, and Lord of Innistrad, Sorin Markov. However, she had no way to reach him. She immediately put herself to study, and worked to discover everything she could about her creator, and where he was. Her search led her Ludevic, one of the most respected, and feared, scientists on Innistrad. His crazed and insane works repulsed her, but after reviewing the documentation she had discovered, he was convinced he could artificially create in her the spark required to travel the planes. She agreed to submit to his experiment.
It was painful. That is all she remembers of what Ludevic did to her. It was so painful, she was sure she cried for death. But after seven days, the pain stopped, and she felt whole again... and something else. Ludevic had succeeded, mostly. She was still her, still an angel, and so she promised him a boon for his service, and immediately leapt to a new plane to find Sorin.
However, a novice with her powers, and unnaturally gifted to her, she was unable to direct her course, and found herself randomly sent from plane to plane, most recently landing on the city plane of Ravnica. Lost in the giant city, she is unsure where to go or what to do to find Sorin, especially as she still cannot select her destination. However, she does see one similarity to Innistrad. Suffering. She is an angel, and a protector of those in need to saving. She knows her quest compels her to move on and find her creator, but the people of Ravnica are in pain, and she cannot understand why the Angels of Orzhov and Boros do nothing to help them. She will eventually move on, but first she wants to learn, possibly teach, and try to bring hope to Ravnica.
Manyiti was once a young girl in a small village about 140 miles from the small city of Kuguv. She lived a tough life; her village was distant from any sort of interaction with any major cities, so she knew only those in her village, and a few poor merchants who traveled through it attempting to make a fortune. She often imagined travelling with one of the merchants just to see anything other than small hovel of about a dozen buildings which she knew as home.
Her village, and the surrounding villages, did their fair share of farming. But they were also the place of a dark secret. Far past Kuguv, which was an independent merchant city considered itself to be on the fringes, was a vast empire known as Iumra. Iumra had been embroiled in a war with several other great vast empires for hundreds of years. Many considered Iumra to be the herald of justice; an empire that fought to reclaim lands from tyrannical empires and to restore peace and unity among the lands. This wasn't at all known to Manyiti or her village. But far away, Iumra fought its holy war to end strife.
In Manyiti's village, all that was known, was that when you plow the fields, be careful of snags. If your plow snags, move around it because you don't want to know what's beneath it. Manyiti had been told this all her life. Hit a snag underground, and move on. One day, when she was about ten years old, she was playing with the only other child in the village, a boy named Nime, at the edge of the fields. She was chasing Nime in their favorite game, the runaway thief, where Manyiti was a traveling merchant and Nime was a thief who had stolen some of her wares. As she was chasing him, Nime tripped. As she got close, Manyiti in fact realized that the ground had given out, and Nime's right leg, up through half of his thigh, was in the ground. Nime quickly pushed his way out, and took off again, laughing and jesting that Manyiti could not catch him. But Manyiti didn't care about the game anymore. All she wanted to do was scream, but whatever in her wanted to was completely silent. The blood in her head was throbbing so loud but she could not utter a word. She just simply stared into the hole where Nime's leg had just been, at the decaying face of a person. The face, though marred, still had remnants of recently dead flesh, and the eyes, while vacant, looked like they had only begun their descent back to soil.
Manyiti was not foreign to death. Her grandmother died when she was eight. But they had burned her corpse, like everyone else who died, in a ritual to remember that all people come from both earth and air. That when people die, they must be both returned to their earthen parts (their ashes) and their air parts (their breath). If this is not so, the body becomes a vestige for curses and becomes something most unholy. This body was neither returned to dust nor air.
Manyiti ran home, her voice still silent, Nime chasing after her. Nime did not know what had happened, for he had not chanced to look again. She burst through her door and and crossed the threshold, her words still gone. Her parents, young, but their faces worn, saw their child with her voice silent and knew what had happened. You always move around a snag. That was Manyiti's first entrance into the reality of her village. That for some reason, bodies appeared under the soil in bounteous numbers. She questioned her village why they did not burn them and return them to air and earth. The only response she was given was "because even more would reappear to replace them."
Manyiti fled her village at the first chance she got. A somewhat affluent merchant traveled through her village when she was seventeen, and she stowed herself away in one of the merchants' caravan's barrels and was whisked away to Kuguv. There, she found the plight she sought to flee, the bodies buried beneath the soil, was not gone. She found decrepit hands poking through the cobbles, the tips of skeletal bones peaking out of the walls. Kuguv, the city of corpses. Not anything she had imagined it to be. She thought Kuguv would be a bright, cheery city with beautiful trees and wonderful festivals. Instead it was a city of wreathes of bones and a strict policy that one shall not disturb the protruding remains of any dead, for that shall only bring more. She began to think intensely on this. If they were corpses, they had to come from somewhere. She could avoid people's suspicions that touching a body caused more to appear. But she could not accept that they appeared from nowhere. She sought answers of where the most dead died. No one would talk to her. Until she met her.
She wasn't superstitious about the bodies; in fact, she was enthralled by them. Every day, Manyiti watched as the curious hooded stranger scribbled beautiful words into crisp, golden scrolls. She endeavored to meet the stranger.
She was surprised to find the stranger was not human. She called herself a moonfolk, from a distant world. It didn't make much sense to Manyiti, but if it could give her clarity to her problem, she would accept it. She said her name was Tamiyo. The moonfolk instantly became intrigued that Manyiti too was curious about the dead. Manyiti said that everyone else she ever knew had thought the dead simply appeared, but she knew the dead had to come from somewhere.
The moonfolk simply replied "clever" and a scroll floated to her side and a quill began to scribble on its own. Manyiti went to ask how, but Tamiyo interrupted her and said that they must go. Feeling that her time in Kuguv was worthless, Manyiti followed the moonfolk. Tamiyo wished only to take in the most that she could from the girl.
They traveled East, discussing the bodies and creating theories. Until one evening. They stumbled upon the still blazing field where a battle had just finished. Manyiti knew nothing of what happened, but Tamiyo, whispered something that Manyiti could not understand. But as they watched closely, a few cloaked individuals scoured the battlefield, and upon finding a dead body, enveloped it in a small black bubble, and when the bubble vanished, so had the body.
Manyiti rushed across the field, enraged that these people were doing such strange things. Her mind had already pieced it together. People had been sending their dead to the fringes. As she approached the cloaked men, they turned to her, and she saw the fear in their eyes. They stepped back, but no words came. Manyiti knew what it was. The Silence. An instant where your mind is so filled with terror and horror that no matter how much you wanted to, you could not utter a word, nor move your body. She reached out with her mind. These men were mages. If she could tap into the Silence within herself, maybe she could tap into theirs.
She connected. She could feel their Silence, but it was not like hers. She could control it. She was not partaken to it. She could dominate it. And so she made it erupt inside them. A Silence so great that their minds could not think and they could not breathe. And they collapsed before her. She turned back towards Tamiyo. The moonfolk was scribbling something on a scroll quickly with a worried face, then vanished from the hill.
Manyiti pressed on. She honed her skills. And she arrived in Bulmaduj, capital of Iumra, the empire that transported dead hundreds of miles away so they would have to deal with it. And she took the first ritual of the Silence. With the blood of one of the high officials, she entered the first phase of Silence, she honed her mind such that the Silence was not only a part of her, it was her. That in the moments when Silence would take hold it could not because it always was, to some degree, in control. She could never abandon the sights she had seen as a child. She would always have the Silence for that.
She ravaged Bulmaduj. At first she was whispers. Everyone's worst fears. Some died of their own accord. And then she became more. And she grew on the fears and the Silence of those who had succumbed across the city. She grew to the point of ascension, and she moved beyond her body. Rather, she discarded it. She didn't want it anymore. She was the Silence as much as the Silence was her. As her new form, she finished the city. No one survived. Its citizens descended into unspeakable madness so wrought that they could not help themselves.
She left, but she is never gone. She is in your head ever time the breath leaves your lungs and you can't speak a word. Every moment when you wish you could move, she is there. Few can control the Silence within themselves; wrest it out of the hands of Manyiti. But it is not impossible. Walk the path of blood that she had, and the Silent whispers fade into nothingness.
Hope you guys enjoyed as much as I did hahahaha
Also, to be honest, this is a grand endeavour for people to create, so one week is a rather short time frame. Not to mention it fell right around Easter for a lot of people. Busy time.
Forget what you think you know about Geisha... On Pandemonium they are more than just pretty ladies who can play music and act... They're the deadliest entertainment around!
Backstory: coming soon, probably.
For those of you unfamiliar with D&D, it is a game about communal storytelling set in a fantasy world designed by a person called the game master. The game master can make up anything they want, but they also have a fleshed out world available to them, where they can lead adventures. Zyn's story starts in that world, Faerun. In Faerun there is a species (or race in D&D terms) of elf called Drow. They used to live on the surface of the world, until their goddess, Lolth, angered the other elf gods. The drow were then exiled to a place called the underdark. The underdark is the subteranean counterpart to the surface, full of winding tunnels, ravines, dungeons, cities, and remains of civilizations past. As the draw grew acoustomed to living in the underdark, they developed their own culture separate from the surface elves. Drow society is founded on a caste system. At the bottom are slaves, and at the top are the religious leaders and matriarchs. In all tiers, women rank higher than men, who are regarded as little more than mindless animals, excluding the exceptional few. However, even the women have to be on their guard at all times, as assassinations caused by milliniea-long grudges can spark huge family wars.
This is the world that Zyn was born into.
Zyn had a fairly normal childhood by drow standards. Her mother was a low-ranking priestess, and her father was a member of the guard. once Zyn reached her teens (around 70ish in human years) however, something unusual happened. At that point, Zyn realized that they were gender-fluid. Sometimes, they would identify as male, and other times, they would identify as female. From that point on, they insisted on treating males around them as equal to the women. This obviously caused some concern among the matriarchs and priestesses, but they were willing to let it slide until one fateful day. Once Zyn hit about 100 or so, their father was caught disrespecting the goddess Lolth. As per law, he was to executed. During the execution, Zyn attacked their mother and freed their father. Their father managed to get away, but Zyn was apprended. As a sentence, Zyn was banished from the territory, and told to go kill a vampire several miles away. Since Zyn wasn't a particularly gifted fighter, and they hadn't bothered to learn magic, this was tantamount to a death sentence. Suffice to say, the vampire easily overwhelmed Zyn, and Zen was Vampirized. After about 50 years, the vampire got bored of Zyn's presence, and kicked them out. Zyn then decided that they had enough of the underdark and Lolth. Zyn made a pact with the Raven Queen (A fallen elf who controls an entire plane of shadow), and made their way to the surface. Once on the surface, Zyn spent a few hundred years away from society in general, before co-founding a town named Aliceton. After this much time, Zyn has become a weapons master, and the power of the Raven Queen allows Zyn to summon shadowy replicas of weapons.
(Sorry, but I don't remember how insert smaller images.)
"So it begins," the creature leaning against the wall murmured, "the fall of Ravnica and the start of a new world order."
"You're a planeswalker," Sorin spoke quickly- trying to inject his voice with a confidence he didn't have, "and a vampire, like me. We can work together."
"You're not a vampire," the thing spat. It slid off the wall and stepped closer to Sorin, "you're too human- barely even immortal."
Sorin tried to move. Something stopped him- filling his limbs with a leaden weight and sealing him in place.
"A vampire is the opposite of life," the creature hissed, "it is undeath- an absence. A void. Free from the petty squabbles and desires of humanity. Free from purpose. A vampire need not think- it need only hunger."
"A delightful speech," murmured Sorin, "but it means nothing. You can't just feast your way across the multiverse- you're clearly young. Time will tell you that there's more to life."
"I am not life," said the thing.
"What's your name?" Sorin asked.
"Elwin," the creature was close now. Sorin could hear its breath, ragged and sharp.
"Elwin," Sorin said, "what are you going to do to me, then? You can't exactly drink my blood."
"No," it replied, "but I will drink your memory of this conversation. Just as I will drink the memories of every planeswalker on this plane."
Sorin could see it now. There was a feeling of wrongness around the vampire- as though even the air itself was horrified of it. The closer it got, the weaker his limbs became.
"Though not before I take something a little more tangible," Elwin said. It reached up and, with a sharp tug, pulled out a lock of Sorin's hair. The vampire barely felt it. His head was swimming.
"It will not be today," Elwin wrapped the lock around its finger and turned away, "it will not be tomorrow, but there will be a time when there will be no more life, Sorin. Stop clinging so tightly to it and you might just see the end coming before it's too late."
Sorin opened his mouth to say something, and then darkness rushed up and took him. His last sight was Elwin, walking away down the alley. On either side, shadows detached themselves from the darkness and followed him, knives glinting in their hands. The floor seemed to writhe beneath them as they went: thousands of rats following the vampire as it walked away. As he surrendered to darkness, Sorin's heart quailed.
Elwin is the vampire leader of an interplanar organisation known as The Endless- mostly consisting of undead and other immortal creatures. Their motives are mysterious and their plots convoluted, but with eternity to wait they can form schemes that span millenia. During the events of war of the spark, Elwin saw the perfect opportunity to expand his outfit into Ravnica- slipping in under the nose of the guilds as they were torn up by war. During this time, he took the opportunity to harvest the essence of potential enemies for his own purposes...
More than any other vampire, Elwin is the antithesis of all that lives. His very presence leeches the strength from creatures around him. Once Elwin gets close enough, anything with even a trace of life within its veins is within his power. Where and how Elwin developed these unusual abilities is unknown- he is as enigmatic as the organisation he runs.
Elwin is a terrifying foe, but he is not without weaknesses. He is unwilling to work with mortals, whom he views as below him, and this makes him inflexible. His arrogance and pride also means that if a foe gets close enough to strike him, he will likely be unable to defend himself. Even if a brave hero were to take him down, however, their act would ultimately be in vain. Elwin never seems to stay dead for long, and his return is almost inevitable.
[Event is taken after the imprisonment of Nicol Bolas and the victory of the guild alliance]
A dark-robed figure was currently sitting in an obsidian, ornated throne. The figure can be described as a man in his old times due to his long white beard and half-bald head. In his right hand, multiple imagery could be seen flashing in a scrying ball he was holding for an unknown amount of time.
"So, the dragon is locked away in his own realm..."
A moment afterwards, another unknown creature was slowly creeping inside the dimly lit room, the said figure was an amorphous mass of black tendrils that slowly transformed itself into a hooded person, with half of his face hidden beneath his hood.
"The threats are gone. So is with the Immortal Sun." Reported the person who was currently standing a few meters away in front of the old man.
"Ah, Mr. Lazav. That wasn't so hard, wasn't it?" Commented the old man as he also unsummoned his crystal ball.
"Don't forget about our bargain, Malachai."
The old man just smirked behind his greyed beard as he summoned a hand-sized glass tube with a glowing orb inside of it. The tube then slowly floated away towards the standing person as he finally caught it with his right hand.
"Pray tell, do I detect envy behind that stoic visage of yours?" Asked the old man with a condescending tone.
"..." The hooded person said nothing as he turned his back.
"I know, this isn't my business to mess around with this little world of yours, nor even I have the desire to conquer this place. But to be confined within this space, within this small world, when you know that people like me could just come and go whenever they want, it is so... claustrophobic, doesn't it?"
"You cannot win against us all anyway." The Dimir guildmaster just slightly turned his head on the left.
"I know my limit, Mr. Lazav." Remarked the old man as he stood and summoned another item that looked like an ordinary wooden walking staff that was crudely shaped although the power that it emanated could be felt across the room.
"If you're finally done with your little research, and if you somehow finally able to walk between the worlds, you will know that there are many places out there that are worth to be... controlled. And after all my years, I know that this is only the beginning of my journey, Mr. Lazav. And maybe we will see us again in a... better circumstance." Suddenly, a spatial rift appeared directly behind him as the old man slowly walked towards it, then suddenly disappeared along with the rift, leaving the Dimir guildmaster alone in the dimly lit room.
The Dimir mastermind could only frown and silently left the room towards the street above that was crowded by people due to a celebration of the victory against the otherworldly invaders moments ago.
Ynmann grew up without a true parent, no dark side, or light side. So he grew closer to Earth and the physical realm overall. Learned from nature, human behaviour, justice, morality, and therefore developed emotions.
Ynmann deceided to put an end to the endless war between Light and Darkness. But he couldn't do it alone, so at dawn, when he was the most powerful, he chose a human. One he thought had courage to fight by his side when the time had come. As time passed, he started building an army, the Unnamed. An army of faceless heroes that didn't know their purpose yet, but were up for the biggest adventure of their life.
Saugr scaled the vertical brick wall in absolute silence, his fingers adhering to the wall like that of a fly, until he reached the shadow of a windowsill. The night was deep, but Ravnica did not sleep: the rejoicing had just started. Guard patrols were reinforced; they knew too well that festive nights were the most susceptible to arson and vandalism.
Such a patrol passed under Saugr, the light of their lantern casting trembling shadows in the alley. He knew they could never see him. He, however, didn’t need light. To his eyes, the City of the Guilds appeared to him as clear as day. The armed men turned around a corner and disappeared from sight.
“Good. Must continue. Up. The rooftops.”
Agile as a snake, the climber leaped onto the tile roof of the massive guild hall, and ran past rows of ferocious looking gargoyles. He readied himself to jump to the next building forty feet across the crowded street below, when a familiar tug on the corner of his mind stopped him in his tracks. He crouched in the shadow of a snarling stone basilisk, and peered below. What had caught his attention was a hooded man, walking at a brisk pace through the crowd, seemingly flowing through it, as if the bystanders were made of mist.
“Danger. Threat. Must avoid.”
The figure froze, then swirled around looking straight at him, and, even though his faced was obscured by his cowl, Saugr could feel the man’s gaze. He himself froze absolutely still, imitating the gargoyles surrounding him. The shrouded man’s gaze persisted for a few more seconds, but then something else seemingly caught his attention; the figure suddenly melted into a writhing black mass, before disappearing into a side alley.
Saugr started breathing again. He hoped the mysterious individual had not deemed him worthy of attention, or better, not seen him at all. He looked back up at his objective, the massive domed building a few blocks away, that he knew hosted his prize. He leaped over the street bustling with activity, the wind whistling past him, landing flawlessly on the slate roof he was aiming for, and resumed his run.
“Careless. Must not get caught. Too much at stake. Must not disappoint.”
A night bird screeched in the night sky. Saugr froze again.
“Maybe spy. Hide.”
He focused for a second, and his body armor shimmered, until it had taken the exact color of the roof he was standing on, shadows and all. Satisfied, he pressed on.
Saugr eyed the festive Ravnicans on the plaza below.
“Hrm. No choice.”
He scaled crept down the wall like a spider into a dark alley that stank of rotting fruit, and hid behind a crate to observe the revelers from a distance, looking for something. He found it.
“Yes. Good disguise.”
Closing his eyes, he reached for his inner self, and, suddenly, he changed, molting and twisting, until he had become a bright eyed girl with jet black curls, wearing a simple but elegant green dress. She felt her ears.
“Not ideal.”
The ears sharpened to a point.
“Yes. Better.”
The elf emerged from the alley, mingling effortlessly into the crowd, smiling back at those who smiled at her, laughing at the drunken jokes of intoxicated citizens, but never forgetting her objective. She finally reached the first steps that led to the domed building. On both sides of its massive doors stood stalwart soldiers, unfazed by the reveling unfolding on the plaza before them.
“To many witnesses. Not killing them. Find other way in.”
Casually snapping the wrist of an overenthusiastic bystander who had caught her arm to get her to join a dance, Saugr walked inconspicuously around the building, looking for another entrance.
She eyed a small postern behind a column, and approached it cautiously. It was unguarded, but the door was locked. The elf flicked her hand, and a long silver pin appeared between her fingers. She expertly inserted it in the thick padlock, and an instant later, the postern door was open. Saugr slithered inside, and locked the thick steel panel behind her.
A few seconds later, he was back to his former aspect. Adjusting his featureless mask, he crept down the narrow corridor that opened before him. As he suspected, the passage was chock full of traps, mechanical and magical ones alike. He expertly avoided them, crawling along the floor, walls and ceiling, deftly overstepping tripwires and sidestepping trigger plates. He reached a large room, filled with dusty crates and jars. Old pikes lined the wall, their heads rusty and dull. Two lit corridors opened on two opposing sides of the storage room.
“No more traps.”
He focused on the strange warm feeling that he knew would lead him to his quarry.
“Left.”
He ran silently through the stone citadel’s corridors, that wound like a maze. Any unprepared visitor would have quickly lost their way in the intricate hallways. But not Saugr. After all, he was the Secret Stalker. The Hunter of the Unseen.
“Left. Left. Right. Left. Middle. Left. Right. Middle. Middle. Right. Mid-”
He felt a presence coming around the next corner. He only had time to improvise. Leaping to the ceiling, he flattened himself against it like a lizard, and willed himself to take to color and grain of the rough stone that made the building. He hoped the light was dim enough to allow his camouflage to function.
Four soldiers turned around the corner and walked at a leisurely pace in his direction. They had clearly started to party themselves, as their red faces and raucous laughter attested. Saugr could smell cheap wine on their breath twenty feet away. They passed under him, completely oblivious of his presence. Once they had disappeared, he dropped to the ground, and continued down the corridor in the opposite direction. The presence was getting stronger, pulsing like a soft heart in the distance.
“Near. Very near.”
He knew he had to contain his excitement. This wasn’t the sort of mission he was accustomed to; Grayvan had told him to keep his head cool.
A winding staircase led to the upper levels.
“Hrm. Too slow.”
Saugr pounced on the nearest column, and started climbing at breakneck speed. Upon reaching the sixth and last level, he nimbly jumped from the column onto the gallery. It was lined with tall ebony doors.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Number four.”
He reached for the doorknob, but as his gloved fingers brushed against it, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged man in dark blue robes, carrying an armful of scrolls. The man froze. Saugr did not. His left hand rushed to the man’s throat, while his right muffled an imminent cry. Crushing the scholar’s windpipe, Saugr cursed himself for not sensing him sooner.
“No. Not my fault. Hidden aura. Mage.”
He inspected the cooling corpse, noticing a discreet tattoo at the nape of the neck.
“Black eye. Six legs. Like an insect. Strange.”
Saugr memorized the symbol. He would ask Grayvan or Baazan about later. Looking around the room, that apparently was some sort of library, he found a large cupboard. Emptying it of all its contents, he stuffed the body inside with its scrolls, hoping no-one would come looking around any time soon.
His prize was waiting nearby. He passed through a couple more doors, and down a long marble corridor, lined with elaborate tapestries. At its end, their was another black door, engraved with golden filigree.
“Last one.”
“No traps. No wards. Wrong.”
He was right. Something was amiss. But he realized it an instant too late. The door slammed shut behind him.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid !”
He ran to the other doors around the room. They too closed one after the other. He punched one as hard as he could. To his surprise, the wood barely splintered.
“Other mages.”, he realized.
Indeed, robed figures, similar to the one he had dispatched earlier, surrounded him. He counted seven. Their faces were hidden under dark cowls, but he could guess their intentions. They would kill him now, and maybe ask a few questions later.
“No time. Now !”
Saugr pounced on the nearest guildsmage, savagely twisting his neck, and was already racing to the next one before they could launch an attack. He materialized a long serrated dirk in his right palm, and plunged it in the neck of his second attacker. She collapsed, clutching her ravaged throat, a fountain of blood erupting from the wound. In the dim light, it was almost black.
The remaining mages attacked. Bright blue bolts raced towards him, slicing through the air with a keen whistle. As he advanced, he evaded most of the deadly projectiles, but one of the most accurate sorcerers’ missile managed to pierce through his left thigh. He screeched.
“Pain ! Bad. Very bad. Kill.”
Twisting mid-jump, he threw his knife into the successful mage’s eye, with such force that the man was nailed to the wall behind him. The remaining four guildsmages launched a coordinated assault, summoning black chains from thin air to immobilize him. They wrapped around Saugr’s legs, arms and neck, cutting deep into his flesh. He screamed in rage, snapping some of the links that were restraining him. He extended his hands, and long black claws sprouted from his fingertips like razors. In one precise swipe, he eviscerated another of the robed figures. Their assault faltered for an instant. It was enough for Saugr to break free of the last bonds and launch himself on the remaining assailants. Grabbing two by the neck, he viciously snapped their neck.
The last mage turned to escape, extending a hand to open one of the doors before her. But Saugr was ready. Summoning his bow, he aimed and let loose a barbed arrow in one fluid motion. The sorceress crumpled to the floor like a doll.
Saugr listened. Nothing. Only silence. He breathed out, wincing in pain. And then he saw it, gleaming softly at the center of the circular room.
“Yes. Yes ! Now, show him. Show success.”
Kneeling on the marble floor, facing towards the middle of the room, Saugr hastily removed his mask, and opened two eyes. Then two more. And two more. And two more.
“Look,” He said in a dry, raspy voice, that was rarely ever used. He felt another presence than him looking at the massive glowing stone artifact in the middle of the room, through his eyes. And it was satisfied.
“Success, Lord. Success. Immortal Sun. Immortal Sun. Immortal Sun.”
Cards linked to her (the first four cards below are made by @Jonteman92).
Story:
Hestia was born in a quiet, yet prosperous town named Borvo within the land of Eviera, on the plane of Avelaide. She, her parents, and two siblings lived happily in the town for six years after her birth until an outbreak occurred nearby it.
The plane of Avelaide contains a black abyss, where the most horrific souls are imprisoned. The abyss tends to break out into the world of the living at any part of the world at any time, opening a gate for the said souls, and letting them walk on the world as dark beasts known as "Akons".
Such outbreak happened near Hestia's hometown and the countless Akons ravaged it down, drowning the cries of dying souls in a fiery inferno, which started shortly after the attack. Hestia's parents, older brother, and older sister were killed by the Akons, and their home burned to ashes. Hestia, who was still so young and small, was hid beneath their house before the monsters came in and spread the fire. She breathed her lungs full of the dying town's smoke for the whole night.
When the red morning sun was rising, valiant hunters of the abyss were finally arriving. Hestia remembered what her parents ordered her to do when she heard the sound of their horns; run for them and don't look back. The little girl rose up from the ashes and ran while the remaining Akons of the dead town started chasing her. Should she have remained under her house any longer, the Akons surely would have found her. She tripped and fell onto the ground at the town's gates. When one of the Akons charged at her, the knights arrived and killed it after a battle that lasted for many minutes. One of the knights brought Hestia to safety immediately when he spot her while the rest hunted down the last Akons.
Hestia was the only one found alive in the town, which was a miracle. However, the destruction of Borvo left a deep mark on her body and soul. She was weaker than other people of her age.
The abyss hunter who saved Hestia at the gates of Borvo brought her to a city named Legorna, famous for its beauty, wine, and yearly tournaments. There, Hestia grew and trained to become one of the city's watchmen, despite her condition. Even though Hestia is weaker than her colleagues such as Oliver and Haide, her soul, which is said to be ashen, grants her and others fiery determination to burn away the dark.
As long as she breathes, Hestia will not have Legorna face the same cruel fate as Borvo.
Hestia by @TenebrisNemo
“Her soul, which is said to be ashen, grants her and others fiery determination to burn away the dark.” This is definitely the Dark Souls of custom Magic cards. But seriously, you did a great job with worldbuilding here. The idea of a sort of abyss beneath the world that sorta seeps through the cracks (Not an exact description, I know) is a pretty compelling concept. You captured the feeling of a world besieged pretty well. Mechanically, I like Hestia a lot,. Well done! You get two faves and a follow! Except, uh, I’m already following you? So, I guess you can have either four faves instead, or, if you’d prefer, I can follow you with a different account (if that’s not against the rules). Up to you. Yeah, sorry.
#2
Manyiti by @RohanDragoon
TThe idea of dead bodies appearing underground, without reason or explanation, is an incredibly striking image (and one I wish I had thought of), and you executed it very well. The bodies appearing because people are too lazy to bury their own dead was surprisingly plausible (if slightly anticlimactic). But it’s good worldbuilding, and it drew me in. (It also feels kind of like the setup for a zombie apocalypse.) It’d also be cool if we got to find out how exactly Manyiti controls this silence, and what exactly it is. Good job, and keep at it! You get three faves and a follow.
#1
Saugr by @ASubtleGhost
Maybe I’m just partial to characters who have creepy voices inside their heads (In the vein of Mistborn?), but this one stuck out to me. I found it very engaging, and it was just well written. I haven’t gotten around to reading Children of the Nameless yet, but it seems like an Entity, from what I’ve heard about them? Either way, I like it. It seems like you put a lot of work into it, and it paid off. Nice job!
So, yeah. Sorry for the late results, and congratulations to everyone who entered! Feel free to let me know which cards you want favorited.
I've already written a short story for the Black Agent Grayvan Klenn on the Choose your own saga thread by Sorinjace. http://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/4104/choose-your-own-saga-contest-2019/p1