The Maze of the Guilds

On behalf of the Keeper of the Guilds, we welcome you to the glorious and prosperous city of Ravnica. We hope that you experience everything our panunopolis has to offer, from the splendid waterways of the Azorius and Simic guilds, to the ever-bustling industrial sectors of the Izzet and Rakdos guilds. Try the marvelous cuisine of the Gruul and Golgari guilds, and don't forget to take a spectacular flight between Selesnya's floating temples. Visit the markets in the Dimir and Orzhov sectors, and then we'd recommend you watch the endless legions of the Boros guild march in awe inspiring formations around their base at Sunhome.



This is the message you would have received if you were new in Ravnica. A message filled with brilliance and magnificence. But you are not new to this city. You have lived in Ravnica your whole life, and you know the true colours of the city.

Crime and espionage are running rampant in the city; people are being exploited by the Ten Guilds, blood flows more frequently than water, and the Guilds are on the brink of an all-out civil war, an event which has not occurred for at least six generations.

And that is where the Maze comes in. Said to be older than the ancient locations of all the Guilds combined, the Maze is nestled at the heart of Ravnica. The Dragon Maze has been dormant for an entire era, but now it has finally woken...

When the Maze woke, the ten Guilds knew what was expected of them. Each had to provide two Champions, both with the mythical planewalking ability. These Champions had to make their way through the twenty-two Trials, but only one Champion may emerge, and the Maze would ensure that happens.

The Guilds immediately called on these individuals, some of whom had been preparing for this since they were born, others oblivious of their own importance. The Maze itself also called upon two Guildless individuals, people who were either banished from their Guilds, or who found a way to abandon them entirely.

And you are one of these 22 individuals. You have been chosen to represent your Guild in the Dragon Trials, and it is expected of you to use all your experience, intelligence and skills to let your Guild reign supreme. There are no friends in the Maze; even the other Champion from your Guild (or Guildless) is an enemy in the Dragon's Maze as you fight to stay alive.

Spoiler

If you are part of the Azorius Senate, you see yourself as one of the elites of society. Your Guild is in charge of the judiciary and orderly systems of Ravnica. You take it upon yourself to ensure that the laws are being upheld, and also take the role of the judge, jury and executioner.
Your headquarters are located at the magnificent Court Halls of New Prahv. This white marble building is decorated with your Guild's two colours, white and azure, and is lined with hundreds of candles, statues and tapestries. Close to New Prahv is located the magnificent fountain around which your Guild was founded, and its waters are said to provide enlightenment to all who drink of it.
Your Guild Leader is Grand Judge Isperia, also known as Isperia the Inscrutable. He has three incarnations, but only two are ever seen - when appearing in public, he is a winged elf, and when he metes out justice in court, he is a sphinx, which used to be his only form when Grand Arbiter Augustin IV still lead the Senate. He has presided over the Azorius Senate for more than a century, and thus, many believe he is the immortal personification of Justice itself. He has yet to deny this claim.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Excellent wielders of magic, especially defensive and water magic. Strong diplomatic skills. Persuasive. Authoritative.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Weak against melee onslaughts. Poor stealth skills. Weak to curses and hexes.

Races connected to this Guild: Humans, Avian races, Centaurs, Light elves, Aquatic races

Spoiler

When you join the Simic Combine, you pledge your life to preserving and creating life and nature in all its forms. Your Guild is in charge of maintaining the few parts of natural flora still remaining in Ravnica, and you also breed new species of creatures for Ravnica.
Your aquatic headquarters at Zameck showcase your affinity with plants, life and water. The emerald green and turquoise colours of your Guild decorate the entire headquarters, and gives a feeling of growth to the buildings. Just beside Zameck are located the ancient breeding pools, the location where the new species are created and bred everyday.
Your Guild Leader, Prime Speaker Zegana, also known as the Vision of Progress, is one of the is the... "longest-lasting" of all the Guild Leaders. Originally a very gentle yet intelligent mermaid-witch, Zegana has been at the head of the Combine since the first breeding pools brought life. However, with age came the need to evolve, like many of the species they breed in the Pools. She thus experimented not only on new specimens, but also on herself. This causes her to occasionally disappear from the public eye for months on end, only represented by her Archbreeders.
These experiments have lead to Zegana becoming dryad-like, and given her the ability of foresight, which she often uses to assist in the experiments of her followers.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Excellent healers and nature mages. Water-breathing. Natural Camouflage. Can communicate with most natural creatures.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Extremely vulnerable to curses, fire and melee attacks. Poor persuasive skills.

Races connected to this Guild: Elves, humans, Aquatic races, Reptilian races, Dryad-like races, Centaurs

Spoiler

Knowledge is Power. That is what will describe any Izzet member. In charge of the man and energy supply to the entire of Ravnica, the Izzet League is in constant search of knowledge and ways to gain more power. They are responsible for almost all the beneficial technology found in Ravnica, but their reckless and impulsive research methods result in disastrous failures as often as useful innovations.
Your headquarters are the magnificent complex of Nivix, a place surrounded by mana creation pools, steam lines, and constantly active factories. The Guild's red-orange and dark indigo colours are showcased by the streams of mana flowing from Nivix in all directions, and most of the windows and stone are coloured according to the Guild.
The League is lead by Niv-Mizzet the Unbound, a dragon of considerable power and intellect. Due to his madness and temperamental nature, he speaks to his followers only through his Masters of Thought, the chief mages in the Guild.

Positive qualities of this Guild: The best mages in Ravnica, especially with fire and psychic magic. Extreme intelligence and insight. Resistant to heat and mana-debilitating curses.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Poor stealth and Diplomatic skills. Weak to water, air and ice magic. Vulnerable to most melee attacks (if the attacker can get close enough) Susceptible to poisons.

Races connected to this Guild: Humans, Dragons, Technological beings, Tamed goblins, Dwarves

Spoiler

If you ever found yourself bound to the Rakdos Cult, you can expect people to fear you. In charge of the industrial and recycling of Ravnica, your dark and destructive forges burn constantly to keep Ravnica... cleansed.
Your headquarters at the intimidating fortress of Rix Maadi is permanently surrounded by a red and black cloud of smoke from the forges, and the streams of molten metal and rock flow more constantly than water in your home sector. At the top of the fortress is found the Red Hall, the ancient gathering place of your Guild.
The Red Hall is also the residence of your leader, Rakdos the Defiler. He devotes most of his time to activities of which the details should rather not be divulged, so Blood Witch Lyzolda acts as Guild Leader when the demon himself is... occupied.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Impervious to fire and death magic. Powerful melee attacks. Capable of inflicting curses and hexes. Usually large and intimidating.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Weak to light and water magic. No sense of stealth or tact. Minimal diplomatic skills.

Races connected to this Guild: Goblins, gargoyles, wraiths, Skeleton-like races, demonic-like races, humans

Spoiler

This is the most non-urbanized and unkempt Guild, something which you will know all to well if you are part of the Clans. In charge of the beasts and lumber of Ravnica, the Gruul Clans are also the oldest of the Guilds. They strive to return Ravnica to its natural wildness, and are thus the most unpredictable of Guilds.
Your home is centered at the ancient ruins of Skarrg, where the first Gruul pyres burned. The Guild colours of peridot-green and brown are kept intact by the constant attempt to return to nature. The Stomping Grounds, a site where the Gruul come together to pit their strength against one another, is located in the center of Skarrg, and constant brawls can be seen occurring here.
Your leader is... well, the core value of the Gruul Clans is anarchy, so there is no leader. If there was, it would probably be Borborygmos the Alpha. Known to lead the most destructive raiding parties in all of Ravnica, this red-haired cyclops is a force to be reckoned with.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Excellent fighters. Hard-working and strongly-built. Can tame most wild beasts. Impervious to poison and nature magic.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Not always intelligent. No diplomatic or persuasive skills. Weak to curses and psychic magic. Cannot wield magic.

Races connected to this Guild: Minotaurs, beast-like races, Ogres, Orcs, Trolls, Goblins

Spoiler

For you, as a Golgari, death is the ultimate thrill. In charge of the graveyards, sewage and plague-control of Ravnica, the Golgari Swarm are one of the lower, shadier Guilds on the city. They also strive to achieve immortality, and thus delve deeply into death magic.
Their headquarters of Korozda are located in the lower city, otherwise known as the sewage city. Here they prepare the bodies of the dead to be laid to rest, and hold ceremonies in the great Overgrown Tomb, where their first leader was laid to rest, and is kept watch over by the new Guild Leaders.
These Guild Leaders are called "new" because they don't seem to last very long. First, there was the creator of the Swarm, Svogthir the "God-Zombie", and though he is believed to be dead, there are rumours that say otherwise. After him came the Sisters of Stone Death, Lydya, Lexya, and Ludmilla, who ruled for a long time, but they were eventually overthrown by the dark-elf shaman Savra. When she was assassinated, her brother, Lich Lord Jarad, took command. He is the most recent Guild Leader.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Resistant to death magic, curses and plagues. Can wield dark and death magic. Excellent stealth. Excellent ranged attackers.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Weak to light, fire and nature magic. Weak to melee attacks. Little diplomatic and persuasive skills.

Races connected to this Guild: Gargoyles, wraiths, dark elves, Rat-like races, Arachnid-like races

Spoiler

The Selesnya Conclave are what you might call the charity workers of Ravnica. Taking it upon themselves to provide healing and aid to the citizens of the entire city, Selesnya is extremely connected to religious and natural bonds.
The floating temples of Vitu Ghazi are the headquarters for this Guild, and the main colours of this Guild, dark green and silver, are displayed throughout this section. The Guild also perform all their rituals here, and initiates are forced to take the walk of faith (jumping down from the highest temple, and hoping to be caught by one of the giant birds of Vitu Ghazi).
The Guild is led by the Chorus of the Conclave, a group of ancient dryads who sing a song that can be heard by all, but comprehended only by those of the Guild. They disapprove of individuality, for they believe the good of the whole must be placed above the good of one. An elfin named Trostani of Selesnya acts as their Voice.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Master healers. Wield Nature and defensive magic. Dexterous. Excellent ranged attackers. Capable of bestowing blessings.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Weak to curses and magical attacks. Little stealth. Susceptible to psychic attacks.

Races connected with this Guild: Light Elves, Humans, Centaurs, Avian races

Spoiler

This is the most secretive of the Guilds, and are the most connected to the common people of Ravnica. Their specialty lies with thieving, smuggling, and espionage, and won't hesitate to exploit their enemies' weaknesses from the shadows. The are also excellent diplomats and liars, which helps in their field of expertise.
Their headquarters of Duskmantle is located in the middle city, or the pauper's city. Here they have entire communities of smuggling rings, and unlike the other Guilds, they do not ask for a traveling tax in their domain. The subterranean lake surrounding Duskmantle is also the place where their thieves and assassins get trained, since it is an extremely dangerous place.
Very few know who the leader of House Dimir is, but even those who do know him only as Lazav the Faceless, a shapeshifting mage of immense psychic power. Members of the House assassinate, extort, and sabotage without knowing why or from who the orders came, since these orders are passed along via telepathic communication

Positive qualities of this Guild: Masters of Stealth and thief-related abilities. Excellent camouflage. Diplomatic and persuasive. Intelligent.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Don't really use magic. Weak against melee and magical attacks. Vulnerable to curses and plagues.

Races connected to this Guild: All races excluding Centaurs, Minotaurs, demon-like and angelic races

Spoiler

The Orzhov are the artisans and traders of Ravnica. If you are part of them, you are respected for your excellent trading skills, yet feared for your magical prowess. The Orzhov Syndicate are dark and light, thus making them terrifying if you ever cross them.
Their headquarters are located at the district of Orzhova, which is located very close to the Dragon Maze. There are various temples in this region, covering the basis of both the more light oriented beliefs and the darker beliefs. Their colours of purple, white and black are worn by all their traders, and their banners hang in most of the streets surrounding the Maze.
The guild is ruled by the Obzedat, also known as the Ghost Council of Orzhova. Its members are the Deathless, so called because they have managed to cheat death, maintaining their consciousness even after their mortal bodies perished. It is unwise to cross them, for they can extend your servitude to the guild into undeath if your debt is not payed. They are represented by the human Teysa Karlov, Grand Envoy of the Obzedat; though she is not the official ruler of the Guild, she still holds enough sway to change the Syndicate's policies as it suits her.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Excellent traders and diplomats. Charismatic. Capable of wielding light and dark magic, as well as psychic magic.
Negative qualities of this Guild: No stealth skills. Weak to fire and water magic. Vulnerable to melee and ranged attacks

Races connected to this Guild: Humans, elves, wraiths, Goblins, skeleton-like races

Spoiler

Honour and Structure are the key foundations of the Boros Legion. Controlling the main force of the military, the Boros Legion demand respect from all of the other Guilds. They also control the prisons of Ravnica, and set up an iron fist to ensure structure remains in the city.
With their main base at the fortress of Sunhome, the Boros Legion are located just as close to the Maze as Orzhova, just on the opposite side. The region around the fortress is largely flat, mainly for the purpose of training and disciplining their armies. The Sacred Forge is also located in Sunhome, and is said to be the oldest forge in existence through all the magical planes.
Archangel Aurelia the War Leader took command of the Legion after Archangel Razia's death and Archangel Feather's fall from grace. She actively participates in the affairs of her Guild, but her passionate convictions often lead to avoidable conflict.

Positive qualities of this Guild: Excellent melee and ranged warriors.High levels of endurance. Authoritative. Intimidating and respected.
Negative qualities of this Guild: Little to no Stealth. Not very dexterous. Only higher up officials have real intelligence and ability to wield fire magic.

Races connected to this Guild: Humans, Goblins, Minotaurs, Orcs, Angelic races, Dwarves

If you are Guildless, you are only free from the Guild... You were still born into one, so bear that in mind when creating a Guildless character.



This Storybook was designed to be elimination style (thus, if your character dies, you are out), so I would suggest each person to please reserve two characters... No more than that please. And try and keep it in the same Guild if possible.
However, if you think you will be able to survive till the end with one character, you may reserve just one character...

The Maze (not part of the Trials)- @TheClockworkConjurer
The Merchant (not part of the Trials)- @Caesar
Azorius- 1- Iwanacio "Anaci" Flass (@Pretzelstick)
2- Mannaric (@CandyWizard)
Simic- 1- Aquanette "Aqua" Evenestra (@AstralHunter)
2- Lysander Simic (@AstralHunter)
Izzet- 1- Zyreli Zyherst (@Halfbloodcheetah)
2- Sibylla Rathbone (@Chaser)
Rakdos- 1- Zefen Gal Fitzbyr (@SpiritedWolfe)
2- Avali Hans Smythe (@SpiritedWolfe)
Gruul- 1- Manelau "Maneuel" RiTimm (@Stegosaurus)
2- Mirgajan "Mira" Gedoraws (@Stegosaurus)
Golgari- 1- Asphyxius "Nero" Poisonim (@15253)
2- Nachtan Telemon "Nacht" Bias (@15253)
Selesnya- 1- Tāne Mahuta "Cactus Jack" Selesnya (@Deskro)
2- Daryon Pippalook (@CandyWizard)
Dimir- 1- Raevelle Aisling "Raeve" Ghornal (@QueenOfHearts)
2- Frost Lorelyne (@Verser)
Orzhov- 1- Revan (@Verser)
2- Nefarias "Nef" Mora (@Deskro)
Boros- 1- Tumeric Baharat (@Lumi)
2- Nameless
Guildless- 1- Severan Calerus "Shade" Torin (@LordZeus)
2- Trykster "Tryk" Rivelle (@Chaser)

Note that once a character is eliminated (the terms and conditions of the elimination will be discussed in the DT with each of the Trials...), you may no longer write as that specific character. The Maze shan't allow it...

CodeSelect all

[b][u]Chosen Guild-[/u][/b] (or lack thereof)
[b][u]Full name-[/u][/b] (there is no lore behind any names, so be unique)
[b][u]Race-[/u][/b]
[b][u]Age-[/u][/b] (between 14 and 49 please)
[b][u]Gender-[/u][/b]
[b][u]Appearance-[/u][/b] (fully detailed please. Include attire and appearance, as that will be what they will have with them in the Maze...)
[b][u]Backstory-[/u][/b] (since Ravnica is a city expanding over an entire continent, feel free to be imaginative... Just bear in mind what it is your Guild does, etc)
[b][u]Personality-[/u][/b] (detailed, but not a full psych-eval...)
[b][u]Skills-[/u][/b] (despite what you might think, cooking and hunting will be useful in the Maze...)
[b][u](Only for mages) Spell list-[/u][/b] (list up to 2 unique spells and 3 standard spells, like healing or firebolt, that your character can cast. No OP spells, please)
[b][u](Only for Warriors and Archers) Moves list-[/u][/b] (list up to 2 unique and 3 standard attacks/abilities your character can perform. No OP powers, please...)
[b][u]Strengths & Fears-[/u][/b]
[b][u]Random Question! (optional)-[/u][/b] If you were elected as the mayor of a city, or the president of a country, what would your main goals be during your term?

Though he fought bravely and talked even more, the Unnamed Boros Legionnaire's time in the Maze was short-lived and painful. The tribulations of the Taj-Nar Trial were as unbearable to him as his talking was to others.
However, with his last dying breath, he committed an act of selflessness, giving up his life to ensure that another Champion may continue, for one. more. Trial...



And as a final word before you enter the Maze, I would like to tell you that this is a free and open fantasy SB, thus interesting spells, weapons, creatures, and races are going to be in here, and are also open to be created by you, so... Have fun.

The Maze is waiting for you, and the whole of Ravnica is depending on you. Fight well, be smart, and above all, stay alive

There was not a cloud in the powder blue sky on that fateful day. The sun beat down on the Orzhov market that hummed with energy and conversation. Almost every stall was crowded, with people trying to interact with the legendary merchants that dotted the main strip. The citizens of Orzhova were lucky that the markets were such an integral part to their city. They could buy anything here, irrelevant of rarity, danger or legality. In fact, most citizens chose to head to the Orzhov market and spend their spare time window shopping rather than pursuing their own interests.

One stall was particularly appealing. It had a soft pink aura that glowed, bouncing off the shopkeepers face. The crowd was writhing, everyone trying to get to the front to catch a glimpse of the half-human half-demon. Everyone agreed that Nefarias, known as Nef, was beautiful, even other females. Like most of Orzhova’s citizens however, she was shrouded in mystery. This unnerved many people, but not the brave. These men and women pushed their paranoia to the side, intrigued by her allure. Nef stood up on a crate behind her stall.

“Citizens,” she purred. The deafening crowd fell silent almost immediately. “Who wants to fall in love?” She tinkled her dainty fingers across small glass vials containing luminescent pink liquid, a narcotic blend of vodka, rosehip and cinnamon, along with other more demonic ingredients. The crowd began to murmur in scepticism.

“Oh… You don’t believe me? You, there!” Nef pointed at an unfortunate-looking man.

He looked round sheepishly and pointed at himself. Nef nodded. “Come to the front.”

He pushed his way through the crowd, receiving jovial slaps on his back and impish jibes, amongst howls of laughter.

“What’s your name, Sir?”

“Metahn.”

“Okay Metahn, pick a lover.” The man tentatively scanned the crowd.

“This one.” He pointed at a slender elf, pale and blonde. The crowd once again erupted in laughter. Nef held out her hands.

“Settle, friends!” The crowd hushed. “Mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît.” She beckoned the young elf to the front. The elf blushed and shook her head vigorously. Nef smiled and closed her eyes. Clear images flashed before her — this elf’s mind was too easy to read. Nef opened her eyes, leaped off her stall and walked through the crowd to the elf. The crowd split like a school of fish.

“What’s your name, Honey?”

“Saariah.”

“Saariah, are you really going to embarrass me in front of all my clientele?”

The elf’s eyes widened but her lips tightened in defiance. Nef raised an eyebrow. She leaned to Saariah’s pointy ear and whispered “I’ll pay for you to travel to Izzet for your studies.” The elf’s ears pricked at this offer

“H-how did you know?” Nef chuckled, her vanilla scented breath enveloping Saariah’s senses causing her to inhale sharply.

“Does it matter?” Nef wheeled around and strutted back to her stall.

“Wait!” cried Saariah.

Nef stopped and grinned victoriously. Composing herself, she turned with her hands on her hips.

“I’ll do it.” Saariah walked up to the stage, her head down. The crowd whooped and cheered, wolf-whistling as she walked up and stood next to Nef. Mehtahn gave an awkward smile, his teeth poking out of his uneven lips. The elf could only manage a grimace in return.

“Now, let our two noble volunteers drink my potion and prove to you my legitimacy.”

Nef handed over two small vials to each of them. She noticed Mehtahn frowning at her offering.

“They’re temporary, friend. I’m not about charity. If you want the real deal, you gotta pay. Now, drink up!”

The pair clinked their vials and threw back the liquid. The crowd went deathly silent, watching the two figures intently.

“I feel no different, you tricked me!” said Mehtahn. The crowd began to boo and slowly disperse.

Nef smiled, bored with the confrontation. “Look.”

Saariah was swaying, her face flushed in pale pink. Suddenly she made eye-contact with Mehtahn and jumped into his arms, pushing her soft lips against his.

The crowd burst into uproarious cheering and thunderous applause. Fists shot into the air, waving Orzhov currency, trying to catch Nefarias’ eyes. She giggled at the chaos and fluttered her eyelashes. She was basically throwing vials and catching money, there were so many transactions. But the fun was cut short.

The sky blackened and the temperature dropped to freezing. Nef tried to hide her shivering, but her skimpy clothing did not offer much protection. Her frightened customers fled the scene, but Nef knew she couldn’t escape. The Obzedat’s Undead Debtors had finally found her.

“Nefarias Mora,” the collective body said with their ethereal voices. “How you toil so to make all this gold from petty products.” They swirled around her.

“You wanna buy some?” she waggled a vial at them.

“Silence, your insolence will be your downfall. Go to the Cathedral Opulent, the Grand Envoy wishes to see you.” With that, the spirits seemed to disappear. Nef sighed and packed up her belongings before setting off to see Grand Envoy Teysa. Refusal of the invitation was simply not an option, even for a demon.

As she neared the “Church of Deals” she was intercepted by her Cartel leader, Argent Uhman, with a group of chained thrulls. Great, another problem I have to deal with.

“Nefarias! Long time, no see!” he drawled.

“We saw each other last week.”

“Come now, where’s your respect? Now, why are you here at the Cathedral Opulent?”

“The Deathless summoned me, said Teysa wanted to see me.”

“That’s ‘Grand Envoy Teysa’ to you, child.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I think the Obzedat are up to something. Be careful and if anything goes wrong, come to me, I’ll try to sort it out.”

“Well, thanks, Argent.” She slapped him on the back. “I best be heading off now. Ta-ta.”

He opened his mouth to reply but didn’t say anything. He glared at her and spun around, his lavish cloak billowing at his heels before stomping off with his thrulls. Nef giggled and skipped up the steps.


It had been a while since she had last entered the Church. The interior was gaudy and expansive. She almost felt lost, but she knew this was exactly the reason for its design. She gathered herself and walked to throne-like altar where Grand Envoy Teysa sat.

“Good afternoon, Miss Mora.”

“Your Excellency.” Nef bent on one knee and kept her eyes on the marble floor. She felt cold steel on her shoulder.

“I hereby knight you, Nefarias Mora, as Knight of Desire. Over your residency in our flourishing city, you have proven yourself as a valuable asset. You have a knack for finding what people want, which has rewarded you richly. Your beauty enforces this and even make the other Guilds desire to be like us. Take this title as a symbol of our city’s gratitude. Now rise.”

Nef was almost speechless as she stood up. “Thank you, Grand Envoy. I don’t know how I can repay you.” She suddenly realized what she had said. This was Orzhova and having someone indebted to you was coveted, sometimes more than the actual repayment. Fortunately, The Grand Envoy waved her hand in dismissal. Nef gave a subtle sigh at the close call and turned to leave.

“Nefarias Mora ‘Knight of Desire’, there is actually something you can do for me.” Nef froze, cursing her luck. “The Dragon Maze has awoken…”

Nef’s mouth went dry and she clutched the pendant hanging on her neck. She was a merchant not a warrior. “Y-yes, Your Excellency?”

“I would be forever grateful if you would submit yourself to the Trials for the Orzhov Syndicate, you have so much to offer.” Nef couldn’t tell if Teysa’s smile was genuine or smug. But what could she do?

“Um…okay…”

“Perfect! We will have a great ceremony and celebration tomorrow! We will also make your Knighthood public. Oh, I’m so excited!” She smiled before quickly clearing her throat and resetting her demeanour. “Ahem, you’re excused, Nefarias Mora ‘Knight of Desire’.” She winked and then pulled out some parchment from her pocket. “So we need two champions,” she muttered under her breath, “right…right….”

Nef swallowed, life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Manelau RiTimm | Gruul Clans | Stomping Grounds

There was a blue sky with very little cloud cover over the Stomping Ground, an arena with a sandy stage and elevated stone seats. It was designed for a perfect place for fights to happen and watch it. Between the closeness of the seats, there were steps leading down into the area that most of the weaker younger creatures could take to visit the competitor or leave because the scene was too alarming.
Markers were drawn in the sand shown where the competitors can throw or fall and be called a foul or out-of-bound throw. In the middle of the sandy area was a circle the same size as dead grass left over from a pool, that marked where the competitors would be fighting- some would think the circle is too small to fight in since you need a better area for running around in and playing duck duck goose. Others, however, strongly believe the tighter the circle the easier the attacks.
Around the outer sides of the sandy court, was seats for the injured or resting competitors. There were also some fighting dummies but a muscular minotaur ran off with it mistaking it for a pretty lady.

Today drew the biggest crowd that the Stomping Grounds had ever seen. Weak, hairy creatures sat cross-legged, enjoying the breeze. They silently looked around, completely awestruck. Obnoxious little centaurs ran up and down the steps, fooling around like they were the competitors in the arena. Some adult minotaurs and Aerika, a friendly yet dangerous demon, were crowded around a bidding box, waving bags of coins to give to the cashier.

"One bid per creature, Sir," the cashier said to an eager dwarf. He frowned, grabbed his lump sum of coins and waddled away in anger. As more and more creatures started bidding, the chance of winning got slimmer. Behind the stadium was the Training Grounds that held most of the competitors, jumping around and throwing punches to warm up for their fight. Some girls who watched from the seats would drool over few certain fighters, throwing coins and even their clothing to these competitors. Like the Stomping Ground, there were boundaries drawn, but in thick red paint on the sand.
Manelau galloped around within the Training Circle, earning looks of envy and hate from the creatures inside the circle.
"Manelau!" yelled a girl. He looked over and winked, causing her to faint into the arms of her friends. Manelau's title of "The Prized Minotaur" was earned when he first came into the ring. He didn't like to admit it, but it was actually a mistaken. He was forced to fight, not against a regular minotaur, but against the toughest Champion of that time. Somehow, he won singlehandedly and was considered somewhat of a legend ever since.
Some put it down to the luck of the Gods while others believed he had Borborygmos's Blessing. But most didn't care, they simply wanted him to vanish.

The bell for the next fight rang.
"Manelau!" yelled Rus who was his mentor. Rus was a young werewolf with thick, dark hair and scruffy tail. He stood patiently until the heavy muscular minotaur, stopped in front of him.

"Now Mane, you have to understand, no cheapshots like last time," Rus warned as Manelau trotted over. He towered over Rus crossing his arms across his chest. "And try not to flirt with the girls."

"How else am I getting my fans?" Manelau spoke deeply.

Rus sighed, shifting his feet. "Try to be serious, okay? This is the last chance you have with fighting and I don't want you to screw it up like you did last year." Manelau nodded, trotting to the Stomping Ground while Rus followed close behind. It had been a year since Manelau was banned from fighting due to his unbroken win-streak. Some people feared he would destroy the whole Gruul community (even though most were 'Prized Fighters' themselves). This year he had been given one more chance to fight, and hopefully, lose.

When he entered into the Stomping Grounds, the crowd erupted into boos and yells. He stared straight ahead trying to focus on his battle strategy for whomever he was fighting. Rus looked up at the crowd waving a hand and beamed proudly, being the mentor for the minotaur. When they reached the circle, Manelau stopped and faced the audience while Rus walked towards the food and drinks in the coach's area, where the other mentor's were watching and discussing their students.

Manelau looked to the far side of the court and saw a wolf with jade fur and piercing emerald eyes, called a hati, walking leisurely towards him. Manelau smirked at the easy game, he could easily just step on the wolf's back and break it. But behind the Hati flew a brown scaly Imp on blood red wings, hissing at him. It flew snickering around Manelau and flew back to the hati.
The minotaur was confused, knowing it was illegal to have another creature fight with you. The hati circled Manelau snapping his jaws, while the Imp flew upwards into the sky, getting a perfect angle to dive towards the minotaur. Manelau had no time to react as the Hati started to bite at his legs. Manelau kicked the Hati in the mouth sending it whimper over it's now broken jaw while Manelau looked down at the Hati's bite on his leg. Dark red blood dripped down onto the sandy surface, burning from the poison.
He shook off the feeling and got into the position to attack the Hati but he had forgotten about the Imp, as it soared down and attacked him, latching onto Manelau's head. He danced around the arena ramming himself (and the Imp) into walls but without success, the Imp dug his sharp claws into Manelau's skin and snickered evilly.

"You won't win this time, Manelau. It will be the last of you, you stupid minotaur," the Imp squeaked as the Hati found the perfect time to gnaw at the minotaur legs. Manelau tried everything to pry them both off, but whatever he did, they would come running and flying back. Anger was bubbling from within him as his muscles converged. He remained stony faced despite the attacks and tried to figure out a way of defeating the Hati and the Imp. He grabbed the Imp by the head and threw it into the opposite wall. The Imp's broken body fell into the sand.Its wings twitched for a few seconds until death covered him in a cold blanket.
Manelau then turned and kicked the Hati in the face, breaking his nose and with one more blow to the side of his head, fell dead. Manelau stood breathless with pints of blood pouring from his muscular legs. He walked off the court and into the forest, his body visibly shaking. Rus watched dumbfounded.

Watching it all was the Gruul leader, Borborygmos, who had personally ordered the Imp and Hati to fight against Manelau. He wanted the Imp and Hati to win by time out, but the outcome was expected. He had seen Manelau practice in the Gruul forest. This was only the beginning of a long battle, he had told himself countless times. It was even before Manelau was in Gruul; he knew a warrior like that of Manelau would come sooner or later for a dark battle (the drunks called it The Battle of the Guilds).
Borborygmos walked away from the crowd as the next fight was happening in silent anger. He pushed a few of the young minotaurs that were hanging over the edge of the railing to their deaths and laughed. Suddenly, a wild idea struck him to congrats the Champion with a certain surprise. When he got out of the Stomping Grounds Bor stomped over little flowers and scared little birds, to find Manelau.

As soon as Borborygmos came to Manelau's hut, the minotaur opened the door.

"Oh! Hello there Bor!" Manelau exclaimed. Borborygmos tightly smiled, crossing his arms.

"Good fight, I have one more fight for you. Would you like to join it.. 'Champion'?"

Manelau considered the offer, looking down at his leg and back at the tall, could-kill-you-in-one-hit cyclopes and sighed. The wrong answer could earn him a hit in the head or even worst- exile.

"What will I get in return?"

"Honor from Gruul," Borborygmos stated firmly.

"Have you seen my leg? I was rammed-" Mane begun, as Bor waved a hand.

"Yes, yes. I saw. That was just practice for what is to come, Mane."

"What do you mean 'practice'?"

"Accept my offer and you shall see," Bor said, unfolding his arms. Manelau gulped and shook his head.

"Fine, fine. I'll accept your offer only if I get to eat."

"Food will be provided," reasoned Bor.

"Lovely," Manelau mumbled. Borborygmos tightly smiled and turned around to walk back to the court.

"Oh also Manelau?"

"Yea..?"

Bor turned around. "Don't fool around in Orzhoz. One wrong move can very likely send you somewhere dark." Manelau raised an eyebrow.

"Like I would fool around in Orzhoz!" He exclaimed, slamming the door. It was before long he had regretted the decision and decided it was best to weep over a bowl of soup.

Revan
Orzhov Syndicate
The Orzhov Central Market

Revan liked watching the market. Ever since he was a child on the outskirts of Ravnica, he'd loved the thrill of bartering. It was odd that he would look back on those times with a smile, but he did nevertheless. Revan sat on a bench to the side of the shambling mob filling the unpaved walkways. Around them, a sprawling network of tents were arrayed in a fashion that would attract the most customers. Each sat in the middle of an intersection, a place with the most foot traffic. Revan drank it all in, it would be his last day here for a long while. The Obzedat had declared he enter the dragon maze, it would be a long time until he saw Ravnica and for the first time, he was genuinely angry at the Obzedat. Why would the send him, a trader, a kind hearted person, into a maze full of nothing but death? Why didn't they send Set? He was one of the most powerful wizards in Ravnica next to Revan, and unlike Revan, he was angry and willing to kill. At the same time, a little part of Revan understood the Obzedat's choice. He was powerful and intelligent, one of the best in the Orzhov Syndicate, why wouldn't they choose him? Revan stood and turned to leave, he would have to go and pack for the maze.

''Going so soon?'' Revan turned, Set stood in a long purple cloak, his carved staff at his side. He sneered.

''A birdie told me you were picked for the dragon maze.'' Revan sighed.

''And you would rather go? You would rather get yourself killed? Set's sneer grew tighter. His eyes turned to slits.

''I would not die. I have the murderous intent that you lack. I have the will to survive that you will never have.''

''You realize who you're talking to? Need I remind you where I was recruited from?''

''Four years in the wilderness is nothing.''

''And how many years have you spent fighting off gryphons in a forest full of predators?''

Set said nothing.

''Look friend, no matter how much you think the maze will give you glory, staying out of it is the better option.''

''Well once you're dead I will be the one spoken of. I will be the teacher.'' With that, Set turned and walked away.

''Then my sacrifice will be in vain.'' Revan muttered after him.

The ent’s timber creaked with age, as he lectured some Selesnyan students on the importance of nature.

“Nature is the foundation of life,” rasped the Great Guardian of Selesnya. “Without it, we are Fateless.”

A young light elf raised his hand. “But must not nature be thankful of life? For without life, we have no nature.”

“Skreeee!” A honey buzzard called Crook perched on one of the ent’s branches squawked in apparent offense. The hornets clambering over the ent’s trunk buzzed in irritation at both the bird and the student.

“Listen well, child. You would do well to learn from us Ancients.”

The elf quickly averted his gaze back to his paper and quickly scrawled some notes. “My apologies, Great Guardian.”

“I think that is enough for today, my children. Do well, respect nature and aid your neighbour. Dismissed.”

The congregation began to chatter as they dispersed. Tāne Mahuta Selesnya known colloquially as Cactus Jack, rooted himself to the ground and watched the sun sink in the horizon.

“Rest, Crook,” he said to the honey buzzard. She cawed and entered a hollow in his trunk.

The ent could hear a song floating on the breeze from the Chorus of the Conclave, filling his mind with contentment. His jagged mouth split into a smile and his eyes drooped in peaceful rest.




The ent was awoken by the cries of the great Vitu Ghazi birds. It was dawn, but the city was already vibrant with its people attending dawn ceremonies and other religious meetings. A group of children of varied races sat at his roots awaiting his consciousness, as they did every day, unfazed by the hornets buzzing around.

“Cactus Jack!” They called in unison, in awe of the long needles that sprouted from the majority of his body.

He smiled. Children were innocent and not yet spoiled by the world’s corruption. He summoned his energy and pushed his roots through the ground causing them to burst upwards below the children, carrying them into the air. They shrieked with both terror and excitement. He chuckled at the show and sprouted soft leaves for the children to nestle into.

“What would you like to learn about today, my friends?” he asked.

The children babbled in excitement, yelling their questions and suggestions at Cactus Jack.

“Why is the sky blue?”
“How does Vitu Ghazi float?”
“How old are you?”
“What do the Dryad’s sing about?”

The old ent laughed, wondering which question he should answer first. But before he could decide, he heard another question assail his eardrums, causing all the other children’s voices to fade into the background.

“What is the Dragon Maze?”

A young garuda sat cross legged. His wings tucked neatly behind his back. Cactus Jack inhaled sharply.

“Ah, I’m sorry children, I fear I do not feel so well. Please, come back tomorrow and I will answer your questions.”

The children moaned as the roots brought them back to earth. The root holding the garuda stayed airbourne however.

“What about me, Mister Jack?”

“No. I must talk with you.”

“Why?”

Cactus Jack waited for the last child to disappear from view, back to the main city street. “How do you know about the Dragon Maze?”

“I h-heard some people talking a-b-bout it,” stammered the garuda.

“What kind of people?”

“Tr-Trostani.”

“What did she say?”

“I don’t know, I c-cant really remember… Something about it waking up? I don’t understand. Please don’t t-tell me off.” His eyes began to shine.

“It is fine. I am not angry with you. Go now, go and play with the others.” He lowered the garuda to the ground.

The garuda spread his wings and prepared to fly back. “Child,” he called. The garuda turned around. “Do not get curious about the Dragon Maze. It will only bring harm. Forget about it, until you are older at least.”

“Yes, Cactus Jack,” he said downcast, as he flew off to join his friends.

The Dragon Maze is awake? Why? What disturbs its slumber? Cactus Jack was worried. The Maze had not been disturbed for around 150 years. It was not to be disregarded. He immediately sought to investigate, by contacting Trostani herself.

He whispered to the trees to ask for a dialogue with the Guild Master. For now, he sat and waited, soaking in the earth.

Trostani appeared. Cactus Jack did not know how long he had waited.

“Trostani,” he rasped. “Why was I not notified of the Dragon Maze’s awakening?”

“I’m sorry, Tāne Mahuta, but some things are not meant to be discussed.”

“I am the Guardian of Selesnya, I have a right to know!” The hornets’ buzzing intensified.

“Calm yourself.” Trostani’s eyes flicked over Cactus Jack’s colossal form.

“Creee,” said Crook.

“You’re right, Crook. I apologize, Tāne, you had a right to know. You should know what you are protecting your people from.” She looked to the ground in mild guilt.

“So, tell me then.” The golden glow in his eye-sockets pulsed.

Trostani sighed in exasperation. “We don’t know much.”

“How do I know that you’re not holding back more information?”

“What would you like me to tell you, Tāne? That the Dragon Maze has awoken and that it’s going to destroy Vitu Ghazi and all that inhabit it? WE. DON’T. KNOW.”

“Creeeeee, reeee,” Trostani glanced sideways at Crook. She exhaled and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry. This whole situation has put a huge burden on me and the rest of the Conclave. To be honest, we are not sure what to do.”

“Has the Maze contacted you?”

“Yes.”

“Creee..”

“We must offer two champions to the Maze, who must fight for victory against the twenty other champions put forth by the other Guilds.”

“Whom have you chosen thus far?”

Trostani grimaced. “I’m really not at liberty to discuss this with you.”

“Then, I offer myself.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t! We need you here! You are our Guardian. We need you to protect us!” She looked visibly frightened. It reminded Cactus Jack of the day that she came to power. Frightened of responsibility and consequences.

“Trostani,” Cactus Jack’s voice suddenly became soothing, like a light summer breeze. She looked at him, her eyes watering. “Remember ‘Our Way’. The life of an individual does not outweigh the life of many. Do not lose sight of yourself or your values; that is to lose all of Selesnya. Let me go, save the life of at least one of the tributes. I will take their place and do my best to restore order for Ravnica.”

“Cawww.” Crook swooped down and landed on Trostani’s shoulder, nestling into her neck.

A few minutes later she sniffed, wiped her eyes and looked defiantly at Cactus Jack. “Okay.” She knew there was no other choice. He was right. About everything.

Nachturn Telemon Bias|Golgari Swarm|Wraith

"...So today, you will all choose a partner and practice with him. When you can fight to a standstill, you may challenge me. We are all clear yes?"

The pupils nodded.

"Very well, I suppose you may begin."

All at once the students jumped up, running to who they wanted to train with. Seconds later, the clashing of dull swords met his ears. Nacht watched for a while to make sure everything was going smoothly, then he turned and relinquished himself to thought.

The Maze has awoken

Those were the first memories through his head. Jarad had met with him and all the elites of the clan. He told them to keep quiet about it. For now of course, but he had hinted at a certain event in the near future.

A Choosing?

Nacht shivered at the thought, his ghostly form flickering within his armor. He turned back to find the first set of students waiting to challenge him.

"I suppose you are ready?"

They nodded and drew their swords, ready to show him what they had accomplished.

"Point your swords towards me, then we will begin."

The two obeyed and the rest of the class stopped to watch. Even if he wanted to, Nacht knew that he could not make them look away. So instead he shouted,

"Pay attention to your fellow students. Watch their movements and learn from them!"

With that, he drew Gray Shade. The blade shone dully in the noonday light yet it was as clear as a mirror. Nacht twirled it once, then positioned it to his side in a passive stance.

The two bowed to him, then struck, each whirling outwards seeking to trap Nacht between their attacks. He easily glided forwards, twisting to block their next strike.

The first he caught on the flat of his blade. Using the outwards motion, he went down on a knee and slid behind the enemies' guard. The first boy went down with a blow to the stomach. The next boy spun, aiming a side swipe towards Nacht's unguarded flank. Gray Shade met the student's sword. His now empty hand sped forwards and pushed the boy backwards, sending him to the ground next to his comrade.

With that, the battle ended. The two fallen pupil's bowed again and walked off the arena. Nacht turned to the rest of the students.

"What did your friend's do wrong?"

He was met with murmurs, then one boy spoke up.

"They fought to close to you?"

Nacht shook his head.

"No. They fought at a perfect distance. It was I who closed the gap."

Another boy piped up.

"Then they did not counter your offensive motions by sliding away."

Nacht nodded.

"He is correct. You must always keep space between you and your enemy when defending. The sword is to cumbersome to block attacks at dagger range yes?"

The students nodded.

"Now I will pose another question. What did I do wrong?"

Now there were no murmurs. The boys were all silent in thought.

"But sir, you told us not to focus on you."

Nacht shook his head.

"What I tell you to do can be much different then what you should do. A warrior must be able to see the entire battle even while they are focused on one aspect of it."

There was silence once more.

"Sir, with all do respect, I think you could have been more efficient. You didn't need to block their strikes when you could have dodged them. If you leaped you could have taken them both by surprise, kicking one and hitting the other on the back of the head as you fell. The two you fought are not experienced enough to predict that kind of attack."

Nacht was silent, the entire arena was silent.

"Did you all hear that?"

The students nodded.

"Did you all understand that?"

They nodded again, but it was clear they did not. Nacht thought for a second, then,

"You, what is you name? You who said that?"

"Asmodean sir."

"Come here, bring you partner."

They complied, walking up to the stage.

"Ready yourself."

They did so, raising their swords to face their enemy. Nacht turned to the rest of the students,

"Watch what I do."

Then he closed the distance between them in two quick steps. Nacht slipped his foot behind one student, tripping him. Then he turned and smacked the other with the butt of his blade. He ended facing their fallen bodies. The battle was over before it began.

"Now, your friend here," he gestured with his blade to the boy Asmodean, "was correct. However he forgot one key thing. You must never leave your feet unless you are absolutely certain your enemy will not be able to counter it. Are we clear?"

"YES SIR!"

"Good. Class is over."

Nacht turned as the students filed out, letting himself relax.

Nacht

The wraith shivered slightly. In his mind's eye, he could see himself opening the door to Jarad's quarters, sliding soundlessly across the smooth stone floor.

You know why I have summoned you?

Nacht nodded, eyes following the Lich King as he slowly walked out from behind one of the many pillars in the room.

Then you must know who I have chosen

Nacht shot straight up, eyes wide.

Surely you cannot choose me! I'm a teacher not a warrior!

Jarad chuckled darkly.

Oh I know of your past. You're anything but peaceful Nacht unless that is that you do not recall your days with The Sisters?

The wraith paled, or would have if he had blood.

I am old Jarad... he said weakly.

Oh there is no escape from fate my friend

Jarad suddenly raised his voice until it boomed across the room, ringing in Nacht's ears.

You have been Chosen!

The Lich Lord let the words reverberate through the air until the dreadful booming died off. Nacht sighed, kneeling before the Guild leader.

You wish me to take the oath then?

Jarad nodded, a smile slithering across his face.

So be it. I, Nachturn Telemon Bias, Swordsman of the Golgari Swarm, Teacher of Warriors and Keeper of The Crypt do swear to enter The Maze. Should I not, my penalty shall be death and moreover the permanent destruction of my essence.

Jarad laughed, unable to contain his vicious amusement.

Good, good. I have no doubt that you will keep this oath. I will summon you when it is time. For now, you may enjoy your peace.

Nacht stood and bowed again before leaving the quarters, his heart heavy.

Nacht?

The wraith turned one last time.

There is no escape from fate.

Mirgajan Gedoraws | Gruul Clan | The Hut

People on the streets were still talking about the battle, how the great Manelau left the scene and defeated an Imp and Hati. A rare battle, some have said weavering into the crowds while others mostly knew it was planned by the leader, Borborygmos. Mirgajan didn't deal with this. She continued on her way to the Hut, the central part of Gruul that sold only alcholol. The crowd was bigger today in Gruul than any other day, as Mira tried to slide through the moving crowd- like a fish going in the wrong direction.
The Hut was a small clay house that had a straw overview, that made it seem like a regular house in Gruul and unseen by the Roaming's (a small group of minotaurs that circled the area, in search of illegal alcohol) eye. It was the only drinking station in Gruul and anyone, even pre-teens of dwarves and minotaurs, came to enjoy a drink here and is infamous for bar fights.
Mira was pushed through when she finally made it to the Hut. It had been a long day working, dancing around a wooden post area with nothing but wore-thin sandals.
The Beast Grounds was a large sandy circle with wooden post to pin-point which animal goes where, and each wooden post had a swoosh of bright paint seemingly easy for the trainees for herding animals. In the middle of the large sandy circle, was a smaller sized circle that was kept for the routy animals that didn't do as they were told.
Today was the Great Day- which was when all the strangers of Gruul bring in their beast, hoping they would get trained by the end of the day and used for nothing- and hundreds of minotaurs, trolls, chimeras, and even a cynocephalus or two showed up. Mirgajan hated big crowds and tried to get work done quickly, but loved to show off. As being a Aapep, the main goal is to show off to people at how smart or cunning you are, and mostly you get cat whistles from the Minotaurs.

Mira made it into the Hut, the dry earthly smell welcoming her. There were few people here, each hunched over a drink solely looking for an answer. She swaggered over to the build-in-bar as more people came in. A manitcore was behind the counter, cleaning a glass pleasurably while staring at Mira.
"What do you want to drink, m'lady?" the manticore asked, setting the glass on the dusty bar counter.

"Whatever you have. It's been a long day," Mirgajan stated, shifting into an hard seat made of Grinkc's fur. The manitcore smirked turning around and grabbing a small brown bottle with a clear liquid inside.

"Where did you come from, m'lady?" he asked, pouring a pint sized cup for Mira.

"The Beast Grounds," she said tiredly. The manticore nodded, sliding the cup to Mira who chugged it in some glup. She patted the counter as a wave of stingness traveled through her brain and was back to normal but with teary eyes. Mira hadn't drink before but soon after her dad and Killien left her, the amount of sorrow and pain she felt the only way out of it was drinking.

"Would you like another one?"

"No, thank you." Mira breathed, shaking her head.

"Did you hear about Manelau?" the bartender asked, soon sweeping the counter. Mira nodded as a few more dwarves came and ordered then left as soon as they came.

"Everybody's been talking about it nonstop," she stated picking at the bar with a pointed nail. It was simple: Manelau had walked off the court and was soon followed by Borborygmos. He wasn't seen soon afters, as thought Bor had killed him with a soild punch to the head. It as predictable as Borborygmos was the leader of Gruul, and didn't want anything in his path or to win.
Mira drew lines on the bar, drifting into her own world when the door behind her slammed open. The creatures inside the bar were startled as Mira, when she turned around and saw a heavy built behemoth walk in. He had green skinned pull over his body enlarging his muscles and a swift green tail rendering out of his button. He looked stern as if someone had given him the wrong meal, continuing walking towards the counter.

The behemoth stopped next to Mira and leaned close into her ear, whispering something. Her deep green eyes widened as everyone in the bar continue on with what they are doing, even the bartender whistled and cleaned the counters but they were listening very closly. Then the behemoth handed Mira a letter, entitled to her in curvise and walked out.

The behemoth looked towards the bartender, and spoke deeply. "A free round of drinks on Borborygmos," and left the Hut. A sudden outburst came throughout the room as people came up one at a time.

"What's inside the letter, m'lady?" the manticore asked, refilling a beer for an impatient Minotaur. Mirgajan shook her head and looked fiercely up.

"None of your damn business," she growled, slamming the Hut door and blending into the crowd of people.

Trykster Rivelle | Guildless

The judge was already annoyed with him; he could tell. Tryk rattled his shackles maliciously, a delighted smile lighting up his face.

“Trykster Rivelle, former light-elf of the Selesnya Conclave, you have been charged with theft of a precious item from the Izzet League.” The words echoed around the great hall, thumping against the azure drapes of the windows, which were slightly ajar.

Tryk tugged at the collar of his silver shirt, brushing off his vest. Fresh air was always nice in a stuffy courtroom.

He was unwelcome in the halls of Azorius, he already knew. But it was their duty as Ravnica’s justice system to find him a criminal, and nothing more could be said of it.

The jury was raised on a wooden platform beside the defendant’s stand. Dressed in blue robes, they were still as stone, their faces shadowed in condemnation. Tryk eyeballed them contemptuously as the judge went on.

“Due to your lack of an alibi, and the presence of said item in your possession, the court currently leads toward the verdict of ‘guilty’.” A small smile played on the judge’s lips as he said this. However, the next words grated between his teeth. “Does the defendant have any… statements?”

The light-elf inhaled dramatically, staring up at the judge’s stand looming before him. “She likes me best.” He spoke evenly, his words dispersing into the air.

“Hmph.” The judge leaned forward, ancient eyes searching his papers. “And by ‘she’, I assume you mean the item that you stole from Izzet?”

“Hey!” Tryk snapped, fists clenching. “Don’t refer to her as if she were an object!” His harsh words rang in the air of the courtroom, spiralling up to the ceiling. The jury’s eyes seemed to panic, though their jaws refused to move.

After a brief silence, Tryk realized himself, leaning back. Regaining composure, he shook his head smugly. “Honestly, you humans and your objectification of women. Male chauvinist pig.” He sneered up at the judge.

The judge’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes murderous. “Trykster Rivelle. This so-called ‘woman’ you speak of is literally a coin!” The jury seemed to gasp slightly. Mysteriously, they did it without moving.

The elf’s eyes widened with pleasure. “Hey now, don’t talk like that about Asmira. She might get angry with you.” His arms swayed at his sides, swinging the shackles gently.
The judge laughed harshly. “Oh, you mean the coin that’s right in my hand?” Smirking, he held it forward, letting it glint in the daylight.

Tryk’s voice filled with panic. “Asmira!” he screamed. There could be no mistaking it. The silver coin gripped between the judge’s fingers was indeed her. The image of an argent scales faced down toward him. Her intricate markings seemed to shine with peril.

The judge’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Trykster Rivelle, you have been charged with the theft of your ‘Asmira’ from the Izzet League! Now, state your plea!” he roared, his voice booming in the courtroom.

The elf’s gaze fell to the floor, crushed by the judge’s tirade. “I...I…” His voice trembled with despair. For once, his smug expression was drenched in disbelief. “I…”
His eyes shot back up, gleaming violently. “I plead insanity.”

The windows burst open, smashed inwards by the wind surging through them. The stone-faced jury broke into calm panic as the air blasted them against the wall. The judge grunted as the gale clutched at his robes, pulling him backwards. “What…”

Tryk concentrated, focusing the air into one spot. The cuffs chaining him to the stand burst apart in unison, clattering to the floor. Rubbing his wrists, Tryk stretched casually as the courtroom descended into chaos.

“Ah,” he breathed. Fresh air was always nice in a stuffy courtroom.
The judge was desperately raising his hands, casting his pathetic water magic. But the frail stream of liquid was immediately shattered to droplets. The jury were trying to maintain order as well, to similar effect.

Tryk glared up at the judge’s stand, moving his fingers discreetly. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, milady,” he crooned.

The judge growled as the wind ripped the coin from his fingers, hurling it into the air. “Rivelle!” he roared.

Tryk straightened his vest as Asmira spiraled through the air. Deftly snatching her from the wind’s current, he pressed his lips to the cold silver. “I told you,” he said, “she likes me best.”

The judge clawed at the stand, his robes flaring out like a ghost. “You...ingrate!” he seethed.

Tryk paid him no attention, arranging the coin on his hand. A single flick of his thumb sent Asmira spinning, flying up to the ceiling.

In that moment, the winds stopped. The jury fell to the ground as the silver coin flew higher. It hung in the courtroom air for one terrible second, before descending, shooting down like a falling star.

The light-elf opened his palm, letting the coin fall flat into it. Raising his other hand, he slapped the coin down on the back of it. “Asmira, Asmira, help me decide,” he murmured.

The court of Azorius fell to a standstill as Trykster Rivelle removed his hand. His teeth bared in a shark-like grin as he stared down. A silver flame stared right back at him.

“If it pleases you,” he said simply. Already, his hands were moving, whirling around at chest height.

The judge leaped forward, his hands already at work casting a water-shot. “Stop him!”

“My love for you fuels this attack,” Tryk murmured, clasping his hands together, clamping the air between them. His eyes glowed as his hands slowly spread apart, forming a sphere of air between them. The room collapsed upon itself as the sphere began to pull inwards, sucking scraps of paper and stone from the destroyed stands. The judge screamed as he was torn from his position, flying towards the light-elf.

Tryk grinned, releasing his grip on the sphere. “Exploding Heart!”

And the screams were drowned out by a single, deafening explosion. The walls of the courtroom blew outwards, the marble pillars cracking and collapsing. The ancient wood of the jury stand split open, scattering the silent onlookers against the floor. Tryk was left standing in the center of the courtroom, the sole features of which were him, the judge’s stand, and a whole lot of rubble.

Oh, and the judge. The poor man was stumbling to his feet, scrambling backwards until his back was pressed to the stand. “St-stay...back!” he wheezed.

Tryk advanced slowly, curiously staring at the defeated justice. “Hm,” he muttered. Quickly, he flipped the coin again, catching it in his fist. Opening his palm, he could see the mark of the scales reprimanding him. He sighed.

“Fine,” he said dismissively, turning away. “Have it your way.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began to walk out of the desecrated court. “What a waste of time,” he sighed. His footfalls echoed to the high ceiling, thumping against the azure drapes.

“....Tryk.” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating inside his skull, echoing in his mind.

“Who’s there?” Tryk instinctively clutched Asmira closer to his chest.

“...It’s me.”

“Who-” Tryk cut off, staring at Asmira. His silver mistress bounded out of his hands, floating in the air. A soft green light emanated from the coin.

“Don’t you recognize me?” the voice asked gently, pulsing with warmth.

Tryk’s voice caught in his throat. “Asmira…” He stepped forward numbly, spellbound by the beautiful sound that rang within his ears.

“Tryk...my love,” Asmira pulsed, “We must...go to the Maze.”

“The Maze?” he said quizzically. Realizing what she meant, his eyes widened. “But something might happen to you!”

The light seeped into his body, spreading through his veins. “It’s alright,” Asmira reassured. “You’ll be there to protect me, won’t you?” She giggled.

“I...I will!” Tryk said, his heart captivated. “I swear that I shall!”

“Good,” Asmira said, the light around her dissipating. The silver coin dropped into Tryk’s hand, the scales facing up.

“You can count on me, Asmira,” Tryk chirped, cradling her in his palm. Grinning cheerfully, he strolled out of the courtroom. “Do you think I’d look good in a hat? Ah, I thought you might. Tri-cornered? Yes, I guessed you’d approve.”

But the coin had stopped answering a long time ago.

Shade / Guildless / Duskmantle

Shade had been sleeping in his bed when he received the message. It had happened as usual. His mind went fuzzy, and a telepathic command forced him to wake up.

You have a new mission. the emotionless voice said. This is Trustee commander Zheng. A certain Orzhov member by the name of Tallius Terek has provoked our displeasure. You are to assassinate him. He is a trained soldier, so be careful. and an image of his target flashed into Shade's mind. Shade sighed. He hated assassination jobs, but he could hardly afford to refuse a mission from Zheng, who was a psychic specialist and a member of Dimir. He had been placed in charge of giving orders to the trustees. He replied in thought Yes, sir. When do you wish me to carry out the task? Now. he replied and then the voice faded.

Shade jolted upright. Now? He usually got at least an hour or two to prepare before carrying out a job! He scrambled out of bed and hurriedly got dressed. He ran around his dingy motel room, rushing to get his weapons and equipment.

As he went to the door. He took another look about his small room. Being a trustee of Dimir, he was allowed to live on their turf. But that didn't necessarily mean he got good accommodations. In fact, he was favoured by the House for his skills, which was why he got a room of his own unlike the other trustees. However, it was still worse than even the lowest Dimir member got. He ran out of he door and down the stairs to the tavern, where a few hangers-on still drained tankards of ale, nodded at the barkeeper and went out into the cold night.

As he ran into the street, he saw his mentor, Zeren. "Zeren!" he stopped and exclaimed with a grin.

Zeren smiled at apprentice and said "I was just coming to meet you. I was hoping we could do some night training."

Shade sadly shook his head and replied "Sorry, Zeren! Zheng gave me a job."

Zeren nodded understandingly and said "Alright then. But at least take this." And handed him his hip flask. Shade grinned in happiness. Khir! He had forgotten to take his own flask.

"Thanks Zeren!" "Zeren smiled and said "No problem, child. Now, you better get going before Zheng gets angry!" Shade nodded and ran off. He wished that he hadn't got a mission that night He loved his night training sessions with Zeren. They often practiced with other masters and their apprentices. While most had originally disliked him for being Guildless, they had gradually warmed to him in the eight years that he had been a trustee of DImir.

Surprisingly, Shade had actually grown friendships with the people of Duskmantle. He actually now had feelings for the place. It was his home now. He thought on this as he rushed out towards the Orzhov territory.

A few minutes later, he was kneeling on the roof of a four storey building looking down on the street below, camouflaged by his black clothing. He was on the border of Orzhov territory, and like all borders those days, the buildings all around were deserted, and the street below except for the patrol. This was done on the borders of every district to avoid deaths of members.

His target seemed to be on patrol with another member, which meant that he'd have to kill them both. He hated unnecessary deaths, but Tallius had probably killed more than one Dimir member to provoke Zheng, so Shade reasoned the deaths were justified.

He often had to make excuses like that to satisfy his conscience on assassination missions. A gust of wind suddenly blew, and he shivered. he unclipped the hip flask from his belt and took a couple of sips.

He savored the warmth and sweetness as he did so, along with the pleasant warmth at the back of the throat that came with the drink. The alcohol also lifted his spirits, helping him to prepare for what he had to do. He smiled as he remembered Zeren's beloved phrase. An assassin can't depend on luck nor blessings. He can only depend on his skill, his blade, and the restorative powers of Khir.

He quickly shook himself out of that memory, and focused on his current task. His hand went down to his pouch of shurikens. That had been a gift from Zeren on his eighteenth birthday. The pouch was magic. Whenever he used a shuriken, it would magically reappear in the pouch after one minute, yet it would always appear to be half-full. He had a good number of shurikens in there.

However, Shade quickly dismissed the thought of using them, or his throwing knives, as his quarry was too far way to get a good aim. Then as he watched, the man who was patrolling with Tallius said something to him, before walking behind one of the buildings near Shade. Shade couldn't believe his luck!

He quickly climbed down the back of the building and ran towards the building where the man had walked behind. He came upon the man with his pants down as he was taking a piss and Shade grinned as he grabbed him from behind and slit his throat before dropping his dead body to the ground. Shade then performed a concealment spell and ran out onto the street, invisible, towards the unsuspecting Tallius.

He raised his short sword, but just before he finished the job, two bright beams of light, one blue and one white shone down on him. He froze in shock as the spell wore off. This was an assassin's greatest fear! He looked at his target, sure that he would turn and strike him down.

But Tallius was glowing with blue and white light, and his eyes glowed white, without pupils.

"Severan Calerus Torin!" he said in a booming, powerful voice. "I am the Dragon Maze! I have awoken You are summoned to me, to be one of the two Guildless champions!"

Shade gulped. This was all too weird for him. He leaped onto a nearby building in an attempt to get away, and climbed to the top. As he got on the roof. He heard the Maze's voice right beside him saying "Do you accept?" Shade gasped as he saw Tallius beside him.

He jumped to the side and said "No! Just leave me alone!"

Tallius turned to him with a frown and said "Are you sure you want to refuse? See what will happen if you do." And suddenly everything started to go dark.


All the lights of Ravnica around him then started to fade. Also, he saw the stream that wound through Duskmantle start to drain away. It happened slowly at first, and was barely noticeable, but gradually it sped. Shade could see the blue mana from the stream and the white mana from the lights drain away and start to flow towards where the light beams came from, to the great mana towers that surrounded Ravnica. He gulped as people from all around started to cry out in terror that the lights were fading, and Dimir members cried out that their main source of water was draining away.

As everyone around suffered, Shade realized the pain he had caused. This was not justifiable.

He gasped out "Alright! I accept! Just put everything back to normal!"

The reply came "Come to me when the other Guilds send their champions." and Tallius's body fell to the ground. Everything returned to normal.

Shade took a deep breath, and then ran off towards Duskmantle. He had to prepare, and he had a strange tale to tell Zeren.

Frost
House Dimir
Duskmantle

''Two to your right, one to your left.'' Lavyrin sang. Frost had already downed two of them and Lavyrin was feasting on their pain. At speeds to quick for a human being, he dodged around his attackers strikes and in quick precise move, had them on the floor, begging for mercy.

''You didn't use all of of your skills Frost. You need to be more elaborate.'' Headmaster Soren stood in the stands of the round arena, watching the fight through his spectacles. Frost had come to hate the man, yet respect him. He got the job done quick and efficiently.

''I didn't need to sir.''

''It doesn't matter if you needed to or didn't, the whole point of this training is to explore your skill, to create new, innovative ways to take down your enemies. Go again, this will be your last try.''

They'd been at it for three hours and the men around him were huffing and weezing, slash marks covering their armor. Frost was instructed only to hit the armor, but he may have drawn blood a few times. They began again. The three men rushed him, swords held high. Frost weaved in between them, blocking strikes to his flanks. Lavyrin sang and Frost smiled. He liked it when she was hungry. Activating Bloodfang, Frost leapt up into the rafters, the shadows enveloped him and he was gone. His opponents spread out, not to far from each other, but not to close. Frost crept from rafter to rafter, formulating a plan. Lavyrin piped up.

''If you can get down to the first story I can hit them with dark energy.'' Frost considered it, but said nothing. Lavyrin grumbled.

''I grow weary of this man Soren. He bosses us around, but has no power to back it up. He is not fit to be our higher.'' Frost grinned at this.

''Believe me, he has power. He alone stood at the head at the battle of Mor'Ghul. He singlehandedly protected our people from the Rakdos. Back in the day he was considered a legend.'' Lavyrin snorted.

''I bet we could do that.'' Frost chuckled softly, the men below him unawre of his whereabouts.

''Maybe I will take you up on that plan.'' Lavyrin sang. Activating Bloodfang again, Frost shot down into the stands. With a howl, Lavyrin released a wave of dark energy. Frost shot to the other side of the arena and repeated the attack, he went around the ring four times before Lavyrin had run out of energy. Each wave exploded against his opponents, when the dust cleared, the men lay crumpled on top of each other. Frost dropped down from the stands and walked towards the men. He made sure they were conscious and helped them up. Clapping sounded behind him. Soren grinned.

''Well done Frost. You used each of your abilities to your advantage. With the combination of speed and power, you cannot lose. Training is over. Get some rest.''

Turning, Soren walked up the steps and exited he arena. Frost followed him out. Back at his quarters, Frost changed out of his armor and into more civil clothes. He figured since he had the rest of the day off he would sleep.

Two hours later, Frost awoke to the whispering of a voice. He looked around the room. Nothing.

Frost Lorelyn. You have been chosen to compete in the Maze of Guilds. Do you accept?

Frost shook his head. He needed to think logically. He knew the invitation was an offer he couldn't refuse. But at the same time he was terrified of the Maze. Terrified enough to defy the words of Lasav. Frost sighed. He could never rebel. It would only mean dyeing faster.

''I accept.'' The presence in his consciousness faded. Frost grabbed Lavyrin and his armor and exited his room.

''Where are we going Frost?'' Lavyrin murmered.

''We need to train.''

Raevelle | Somewhere in her home
House Dimir

She stretched across the tiled floor of her sitting room and tried not to wince at the pain in her side. She really shouldn't have tried to grab that gold necklace- but then again, it was pretty. Groaning, she sat up and wobbled to her feet, not bothering to be graceful in the comfort of her own home. There were no windows, seeing as it was underground, but she had so many lamps and candles it looked like it could be daylight. Taking a bottle of rum out from a small chest, Raeve sat down and soaked a long piece of cloth with it. After cleaning her wound meticulously,- she healed fast, but she could still catch infection- she stitched her own cut and stretched experimentally. Popping open the cork of the rum again, she took a long drink, relishing the spicy sweetness and warmth that accompanied the drink.

Raeve sighed at the blood on her otherwise meticulous floor. She hated cleaning. Resigning herself to her task, she fetched a warm washcloth and mopped it up- just as someone knocked upstairs. Smiling to herself, Raeve slithered up the stairs and closed the trapdoor that led to her real living quarters. Carefully, she pulled a silken rug over it and, wrapping a cloak around her half-naked self, answered the door. Dusky purple light gleamed outside, and the boy who stood outside her door squinted his eyes to keep the sun out of them.

The boy held out a scroll, and Raeve smirked as she broke open the ornate seal. Lazav had summoned her, which meant there was fun- or adventure- or better yet, both at hand. With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed the boy, who disappeared into the shadows like a mist. She went back inside, shutting the door behind her, and humming a ghastly tune as she went back downstairs. Scrubbing at her face and arms, Raeve gave herself a cursory look in the mirror before padding into her closet to find something to wear.

In the mood for something pretty and deadly, Raeve chose a dress that was made almost entirely of thin blades- one of her favourites. The slits up the side allowed for free movement and a pair of thick breeches would protect her legs from the blades just fine. Strapping practically an entire armory onto herself, Raeve smiled at herself, revealing her iron teeth, as she braided her hair back, and out of her face. Just as she was about to leave, she cursed, remembering her gloves, and pulled them on, too, keeping the iron nails from shooting out as she did so.

A few moments later, she was covered in a dark cloak and outside, hidden in the quickly falling night. She smiled to herself as she slipped past Duskmantle's guards unseen and waltzed into the hallway that led to her room in the keep. After all, when given a choice between a dramatic entrance and an unseen one, when have I ever chosen not to be seen? She burst into her room, instinctively feeling that his presence was inside.

When nothing echoed in her mind, Raeve huffed. "What must I do to gain your attention, grow a second nose?"

"I'm not sure that would work, Raevelle, darling." She poured herself a glas of wine and sat, listening to the voice in her head. "Sit, would you? You needn't loom. On second thought, perhaps you'd better stand. I like my chairs with the stuffing inside them."

She plunked herself down in the chair anyway, crossed her booted legs on his desk, and taking a long drink of the wine, said, "I'll buy you a better chair. I promise." A wicked grin split her face as she rubbed her hands together, causing the iron nails to shoot out, and said, "Now tell me, what exactly was I summoned here for?"

Lazav, rolled his eyes at her happiness mildly. Anyone who spoke with him would be shocked that this was the man- or woman, she supposed- who led House Dimir. "I'm not so sure you'll be so happy when I've told you what your next job is."

She snorted. "If it involves people and blood and risk, I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine." She wrinkled her nose, and said to the room, casually, "I liked yesterday's voice better. At least that one was fun to hear. So much pain!" She grinned.

Lazav didn't say anything. By now, he was used to it, having dealt with her for years. "Raeve, have you heard of the Maze if the Guilds?"

Oh no. How did he find out? Wincing, she spoke quickly. "I swear, it's not a hallucination. I just drank too much. I'm still reliable for missions, I swear." Her heart thudded in her chest as she waited for his reply.

He paused for a second before asking, "What are you talking about? What hallucination?"

Rave bit her lip, wincing when it split open and started bleeding. "I've been hearing this voice telling me to go to compete in the Maze of the Guilds." She lowered her head, waiting for Lazav to tell her that she wasn't fit to take on jobs anymore.

But he didn't. He simply waited. "And you assumed that this... this voice was a hallucination?"

She shrugged. "Well, I was drunk off my ass and losing blood quickly the first time I heard it. The second time, I was just about to fall asleep. And... everyone thinks I'm going to go mad someday- even you. What was I supposed to think?"

He didn't answer her question, but took a moment to reply. When he did, his voice was thoughtful. "Well, I assure you that that was not a hallucination." In a firm tone, Lazav said, "Raevelle Aisling Ghornall, you have been chosen to compete in the Maze of the Guilds."

She choked. Raeve never choked. She hadn't choked when she'd made her first kill, nor the time Lazav had caught her eavesdropping on a top secret conversation. No, Raevelle always had a biting response, but not now. Now, all she could do was stare at the wall, her mouth hanging open in shock as she stood there.

"Are you alright?" Lazav's questioning- not concerned (or so she told herself)- voice made her gasp in air, made her think again.

"I... I can't!" She hit herself mentally as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and shook her head, indicating that she wanted to talk. "How will you manage without me? Who will..." She trailed off as Lazav cleared his throat in her mind.

"You're not exactly essential to House Dimir. You don't want to train anyone, or manage anything- and I offered you a position, if you would so kindly recollect- all you want is the rush that comes with death." Feeling her scornthat hid anger, he continued, "Not that that's bad, exactly. And competing in the Maze... well, that is a high honor, Raeve."

"Is this a way to get rid of me, Lazav?" Her voice dripped with venom as she spoke. "Need I remind you that I do not take kindly to decisions that are made for me?"

Lazav spoke mildly, even as her iron nails cut into the lacquered wood of his desk. "You are not essential to House Dimir, Raevelle. However..." He looked at her once before going on. "... you are probably the person I trust most in the guild. And it was not me that made this decision, but it is me that is saying that you will compete, Raevelle." His voice strengthened with pride- and something else Raeve couldn't identify. "And you will win, because you always win."

And then he smiled at her- in her mind, of course- a smile she hadn't thought of in ages- a smile filled with threats and bloodlust, and promises of pain. And then she smiled back, and the air seemed to weigh more heavily in the room as the two assassins bared their teeth, seemingly promising victory.

Victory.

Mannaric | Azorius Senate

The red fish inside the thin aquarium – which took up the entire wall – swam happily from one side to the other, never bored of its vast surroundings, always feeling like it entered someplace new.

However, the marine animal could not be seen through the aquarium's glass. Instead, a whirling blue light that came from the clear water embellished the entire living room. The light reflected from the brown, elven eyes of Mannaric, who was sitting in an elegant black leather armchair, leaning as far back in it as he could.

He grumbled as he ground his teeth. "Eleventh time this week…" He sighed and raised his hand with an open palm. He made a circular motion with his arm, and the blue light began to take shape.

The entire aquarium wall morphed into the figure of an attractive blonde woman. Her left eye was bluer than the summer sky, her right one greener than the densest rainforest. She was Tundra, the famous news reporter and host of several widely popular shows.

"We apologize for the inconvenience," she said. It had been the same pre-recorded message every single one of those eleven times. "The magical frequencies of this channel are experiencing an instance of momentary interference. It should not last longer than just a few minutes."

Mannaric flicked his finger to the side, and the image instantaneously changed to a symbol of a fist pumping into the air, a snake wrapped around its wrist. The serpent's tail was lodged into its mouth, making the animal look like a speckled wristband.

The low male voice echoed in the room. "Previously on OuroBoros:"

A yellow goblin smirked with a twitching eye. "The dwarf Winkohr is as good as dead."

The scene changed to an older-looking, loose-haired dwarf who spoke with a burr in his speech. "Let them come, my brothers! For Honour and Structure!"

"I thought we controlled the prisons," a man with blue hair said. "But we ended up imprisoning ourselves."

"Boring," Mannaric flicked his finger one more time.

"Knowledge is out of your League, human," a dragon roared in a deep, monstrous voice.

"Or Izzet?" the man replied.

"Next," Mannaric swiped again.

"A troll and a minotaur?" A large minotaur cried as he flipped over a large table, breaking everything on top of it. "They'll never let us be together…"

Mannaric rolled his eyes. "I hate trollmances."

The white door to the living room opened, and in came an older-looking dwarf, the same one from the show in the aquarium. He wore an expensive black suit and bowtie, a silver watch, and a hairband which tied his long hair behind his head.

"Sir," he said without the burr. "You have a call."

"Tell them I'm busy, or in the shower…" Mannaric continued to sit lazily as his swiping reached another instance of interference.

"It's Isperia, Sir."

"Ispe…?" Mannaric leapt from his chair with a smile. "Isperia? He's back? Thank you, Gonther."

"Always a pleasure," Gonther smiled back with a nod before leaving the room.

"We apologize for the inconvenience…" Tundra's message began to play once more. Mannaric quickly waved off with his hand and the image on the screen morphed into that of an elderly winged elf. The wall behind him was shelved with hundreds of neatly-arranged books, their titles too far to read.

Isperia appeared to be talking to someone else in the room with him. "…that a Guild leader cannot enter it. Do as I say, Senator. I will not have this crisis cripple our Judgement." He glanced and noticed Mannaric, who still gazed with a slightly confused smile. "Ah, Rick!" he said with a smile of his own. "Leave," he uttered to the Senator without so much as glancing at him. "Rick, I… Something's happened… I need to talk to you, in person. When can you come?"

"I can be there in two minutes." The light elf shrugged. "Open it up." He waved off again as the screen turned transparent. He could see the red fish swim blissfully inside the glass tank.

But he did not stay to watch it for long; he stormed outside the living room and into his large hallway. The hallway had a wide set of marble steps that led to the second floor, and its white walls were riddled with doors that led to at least a dozen other rooms. In the centre of the hallway was a large equilateral triangle shallowly-carved into the floor.

Gonther emerged from behind one of the doors. "Is everything alright, sir?"

Mannaric extended his arm and reached for one of the walls. The wall opened and a long overcoat flew into his hand. "Open it, Gonther," he said as he donned the coat.

Gonther stood beside the triangle in the centre of the room. He reached inside his pocket and took out a small, blue pouch. He unwrapped the lace which had kept it tightly closed, and flipped the pouch upside-down into his other hand. In his strong grasp poured a sparkling blue powder. As soon as his palm was full, he closed his hand and placed the pouch back in his pocket.

He turned to the triangle and raised his hands high in the air. He tilted his head upward and loudly uttered a few words. "O, pohr, tvory tah!"

The triangle glowed azure, then took the shape of the Senate's symbol – a triangle with a circular rune in the middle. The dwarf threw the sparkling powder onto the triangle, which turned into a blue dust cloud that slowly dropped towards the floor.

As the dust approached it, the triangle started to glow even brighter. Suddenly, the powder instantaneously spread in all directions, and soon formed a bubble around the triangle, large enough to fit even a centaur.

Gonther stepped outside the bubble, leaving a hole in the floating dust in the shape of his own silhouette. The bubble wall slowly began to reform, but Mannaric made another hole in it by stepping inside.

"Isperia, Azorius!" the light elf said loudly. The bubble turned into a bright flash of light as Mannaric's entire body rapidly began to ache. The pain intensified with each passing moment; the brightness did not allow him to see outside the bubble wall.
After a few seconds, the pain entirely stopped, and the flashes of light all around him faded away. He found himself standing in Isperia's office, atop a similar triangle, but he could not stand for long. His knees betrayed him, and he fell to the ground, barely managing to hold himself on his arms.

In just a brief moment, he regained most of his strength. He got up, and saw Isperia standing right in front of him. "Thank you for coming," the old winged elf said. Mannaric stood up and took just one glance at the room: all the walls were burdened by books; in the centre was a large desk, a small bowl aquarium lying on top of it. Inside the aquarium swam a tiny red fish.

"What's the matter?" Mannaric asked. "Has anything happened?"

"I don't know where to start…" Isperia replied as he sat behind his desk. He motioned the teleported guest to sit down on the sofa across from himself, and the guest obliged. "I'm sure you've noticed it, the magical interference all over Ravnica? There is a reason why it has been happening, Mannaric. The Dragon Maze has awoken!"

"The Maze? Surely you're mistaken…"

"You've felt it, haven't you, Rick?" Isperia inclined forward, and wrinkled his old forehead even more. "The storms, the odd aroma in the air, the distorted magic…"

"Still, that doesn't prove…" Mannaric chuckled.

"It spoke to me, son," Isperia said as the guest's smile disappeared. "It told me to choose."

"…And you want me to help you choose?" the light elf curled his eyebrows.

"Manar…" The older one sighed. "How shall I put this… the Guild leaders are given the freedom of choice, but there are those who do not share such privileges. There are those who are chosen by the Maze itself."

"The Guildless, right," Mannaric nodded. "But what do they have to do with anything?"

"The reason why I came back, Mannaric, is that… Severan was chosen by the Maze. I received word from my informants, but I just confirmed it an hour ago."

"No… no," Mannaric's face turned even paler. He gazed at the ground. "This can't be. We have to stop this, he's my brother…"

"And he is my son!" Isperia spoke with tremendous zeal. "But the Maze would have none of it. I begged it. I got on my knees in front of two hundred people... Severan is going in no matter what. And he'll die there, Mannaric. Alone, in pain, surrounded by enemies. And when he does, turmoil will follow. No heir, people rebelling, taking sides, civil war, countless deaths… Unless…" He leaned forward on his desk and looked Mannaric in the eyes.

"Aw, no…" the guest cringed and pulled further back in his seat. "You're not… Don't, please."

"I have to," Isperia said with a trembling voice. "It is my duty as a leader, as a father. I cannot enter the Maze, guild leaders are not allowed. But you…"

"Just…"

"You are one of the most powerful mages of all time," Judge Isperia interrupted. "You can protect him, you can guide him to the end."

"That would mean my certain death," Mannaric winced. "You're asking me to die for him?"

"This is an opportunity for you, Mannaric," Isperia pressed to convince. "An opportunity to truly reveal yourself to the entire world. The stories of you will ring in every Ravnican ear until the end of time. You will be a legend, an inspiration to all who come after…"

"How dare you?" The guest rose up from his seat. "This is not a favour to me, this is not a service to me!"

"I have to, Mannaric. He's my son."

An angry spark ignited in Mannaric's eyes as they opened wide. He clenched his jaw. "I'm your son!" he bawled as he pounded once on his chest. The sofa and desk rattled, a book fell from its shelf. The chandelier above them swayed a few times. The red fish began to swim rapidly as the aquarium waters splashed around in the small tank.

"Calm down, Manna…"

"I fought for you!" Mannaric's face reddened. He slapped the air with his hand, and three dozen more books dropped from their shaking shelves. "I bled for you!" He stomped the ground, and a swirl of long fissures opened in the marble floor around his foot. The crystal chandelier above them began to flail vigorously. "I betrayed for you!"

He waved again with his hand; the desk and sofa flew into the wall, breaking all the shelves hanging from it. The desk shattered, but the heavy sofa made a hole through to the neighbouring room.

Through the opening he saw a row of bathroom stalls. "Taken!" a voice shouted from inside one of them.

Mannaric turned back to Isperia; the old elf was holding his hand up, levitating the small aquarium in the air, the red fish in it still alive. "You don't have to do it," Isperia said. "I just had to ask."

"I have award-winning actors serving as my butlers. Isn't my glory enough?" Mannaric sighed, slightly calmer.

After staring at each other for a few silent moments, he walked into the bubble and flashed himself back home.

"Get me a drink, Gonther," he said to his butler, who had been waiting in the hallway the entire time. "Something that will knock me out."

"Of course, sir," the dwarf nodded.

The elf stepped back into his living room and sat in his armchair. He watched his large fish swim blissfully until Gonther brought him a glass of a transparent dark-green liquid. The butler left him alone as he played around with his drink.

Mannaric smelled it a few times, before he turned the bottom up and drank the entire glass in one go. He sighed, shut his eyes and leaned back. He listened to his own breath for several seconds – it was calm and steady. He opened his eyes and swiped once more with his hand.

The screen lit up. Mannaric waited for half a minute, before the light morphed into Isperia's face.

"Hello," the old one said with a worried look.

"He's my little brother," Mannaric uttered. "I'll do it."

Asphyxius (Nero) Poisonim|Golgari Swarm|Arachnid

Nero sat on the sidewalk, lazily juggling a dozen bottles. So few bottles were easy to juggle with just two arms, so he did so, both arms moving in a blur, catching and tossing the empty bottles up in the air once more. The air was alive with the sounds of the nearby market, here and there Nero could hear the merchants advertising their wares, their shrill voices coming together like a chant. Nero sniffed, then chuckled to himself. A few years with the guild and he was already becoming snobby.

Focusing back on his juggling, Nero saw that he'd attracted a crowd, mostly mothers or fathers with their children clinging to their arms, watching the bottles rise and fall with glee. Nero's first instinct was to shoo them away. This was his quiet time and he was not some beggar to be goggled at. Then he thought better of it. Why not put on a little show. He hadn't done anything of the sort in years but that was all the more reason to do it now.

"Ah! I didn't see you there! How kind of you to give me such attention!"

Nero swept back his cape in an elaborate bow, exposing all six of his arms. The children screamed and giggled in excitement. Nero rose once more, still juggling the bottles.

"Now, what would you all like to see? Hopefully some magic?"

At this, he let his arms go limp and swept his cape up towards the bottles. Instantly, they disappeared. The crowd clapped modestly, some threw a couple coins his way and Nero grinned at them.

"Thank you! But lets be honest, it wasn't all that special. However, my next trick will be sure to put a smile on your faces. So, I must ask you, are you ready?"

The children shouted their approval and Nero smiled at them, pulling a deck of cards from his pack.

"Now I want one of you to choose a card."

A shy looking girl stepped up and hesitantly took the topmost card. Nero smiled at her before asking.

"Now tell me, what is your card young lady?"

She glanced at it before murmuring,

"The Joker."

"Ahh very good. Now, hold onto your card and don't lose it."

The girl nodded and stepped back. Making sure the deck was in order, Nero threw all the cards into the air, letting them flutter into a cloud before going to work. He worked all six of his arms, each hand darting into the cloud and pulling back a card with inhuman grace. The crowd gasped, trying to follow his movements as he spun and weaved, plucking cards out of the air. Then just like that the cards were back in his hand. The parents clapped in admiration of his skill. Not one of the cards had touched the ground.

"Now young lady, what was your card again?"

"The Joker."

"And where did you pick the Joker from?"

The girl hesitated again, then responded.

"The top of the deck."

Nero shook his head, holding out the deck of cards for all to see.

"Are you sure? Because there's a Joker right here at the top of the deck? Can I see your card?"

The girl handed back the card, confusion painting her features. Nero glanced at the card before showing it to the audience.

"Clearly there's been a mistake. This is a Jack of Clubs if I ever saw one!"

The crowd erupted in applause. Nero bowed once again.

"Thank you! Thank you! That's all for today but be sure to find me tomorrow and I'll have more tricks in store!"

The crowd slowly dispersed. Nero put away the deck of cards, then, shouldering his pack, headed back to the Crypt.

The noonday sun found Nero back home, his happy demeanor gone.

He was to meet with Jarad, and he was late.

Nero dashed into the inner sanctum of the Guild, hoping to find the Lich Lord before it was to la--

UNNACCEPTABLE

Nero fell to the ground, his hands melting before him, his vision tinged a sickly shade of green.

"My Lord! I did not mean--!"

Yes, but you did so nonetheless you coward

Nero screamed in agony, what remained of his arms scrabbling against his head, desperately trying to stop the agony.

Nero. You dare defy my orders. Especially on my special day

Confusion was a vague cloud in the back of his mind.

The Choosing you wretch! The Choosing

"W-Wh-What is t-t-the choosing m-m-my l-lo-lord?"

There was a pause in Jarad's monologue, then his voice rang out like a thunderclap in Nero's mind.

The Maze has awoken Nero. And you shall be one of it's victims

The pain stopped. Nero's arms stopped melting, slowly reforming as the illusion faded.

But it was hardly any use. For a new agony had struck.

"Me? T-the Maze?"

Yes

Nero remained on the floor, shaking in terror.

"But they say the people go in there. They --"

Never come out. True, all the legends are true. All the most terrifying, gut wrenching things you've ever heard about The Maze, there all true. But Nero, you're forgetting

"W-what?"

YOU HAVE NO CHOICE

Spoiler

I decided to stop here on account of me being sick. Don't judge me bruh (I'm sorry I'm so lazy XD )

Sibylla Rathbone / Izzet League / Izzet Academy

Deep within the chambers of Izzet, far from the gluttonous fire pits of the smelters, a woman with greying black hair opened her mouth.

“Now class, the secret to psychic magic is focus. It’s important to have a clear mind whenever you try to cast it. It may be difficult, but I promise you, the reward is well worth it.”

The woman paced back and forth in front of the blackboard, her indigo cloak swishing around her ankles. The students sat in rows of dark metal desks, forming a rigid semicircle around her. Already, their eyes were beginning to glaze over.

She smirked. “Sure, it’s not as flashy as your fancy fire magic. Psychic mastery will be unlocked by the patient,” she lectured, pointing with her wizened oaken staff.

A disgruntled yawn from the back of the class failed to surprise her. A young man in an orange robe scratched his blond hair, kicking his feet up on his metal desk.

The woman concealed a grin. This was her favorite part.

“So, today, we’ll be starting with a little focus exercise.” She heard the groans before they arrived. The brash fire mages were itching to get back to their battle training.

“Now, now, class, this exercise will be easy!” she reassured, smiling. Raising a finger, she tapped her weathered cheek. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

The students scoffed, gazing at her with meager interest. The woman chuckled, a dragon-tooth necklace swinging at her chest. “Focus,” she said sternly, her gaze turning intense. “Just keep your eyes...on…”

“Me.” She spoke from the back of the classroom, simultaneously swinging her staff downwards. She hit the young mage’s head with a satisfying crack that resounded through the classroom. The boy whirled around, wide-eyed, clutching the swelling lump with both hands.

The students turned in their seats, staring at the woman who had appeared at the back of the class. Bewildered, they whipped their stares around again. The woman by the blackboard hadn’t moved.

After a brief silence, one of the savvier students flipped his iron pen forward. The teacher shimmered as it flashed through her body. As the pen clattered on the floor, the woman dissipated into the hot air, leaving a ribbon of mist in her wake.

“I told you to focus,” the teacher said, smugly tossing her greyed hair over her shoulder. “Pay more attention when the teacher is talking.”

The students nodded numbly, still a bit slack-jawed.

“Miss Rathbone?” A page tentatively poked his head into the classroom. “M-Mr. Vieri said you needed to come. It’s Master Niv-Mizzet.” Some students gawked as he said this.

The teacher’s shoulders drooped as she sighed. “Ah. And I’d just earned their respect, too.” She gave the boy a nod. “Fine. I’ll be there right away.”

The young page bowed and scampered away. Instead of following him, the woman stood there for a while, leaning on her staff. The young mages watched her, awkwardly staring, unmoving.

One spoke. “Miss Rathbone, shouldn’t you-”

He cut off as the teacher vanished into a cloud of vapor. A faint cackling could be heard from outside as Miss Rathbone dashed down the hall outside, her indigo cloak swishing around her.

Miss Rathbone tapped her shoes on the steel catwalk, heedless of the smelting vats that bubbled beneath her, driven by the workers that stirred them with iron poles. Cautious shouts could be heard as another jagged load of scrap metal was dumped into the pot, swallowed by the magma.

She frowned as she leaned on the railing, looking out over the scarlet factory rife with orange sparks that burst out like savage fireflies. She always tried to avoid this part of the Izzet complex; it was far too boisterous and sweaty for her tastes.

“Miss Rathbone?” She turned as the echoing clangs on the catwalk signalled another presence.

She grunted. “You can call me Sibylla, you know. It’s not as if it ever mattered.”

“Maybe not to you,” the man chirped, drawing closer. “But a little respect goes a long way.”

Sibylla scowled. She’d enjoy Lochlan Vieri a bit more if he just wasn’t so likable. Soot-smeared cheeks stretched in a grin, green eyes sparkling, and a relaxed stance in his singed coveralls all reeked of charisma.

“Have you been working with the smelters again?” Sibylla asked, turning back to the shades of crimson that swirled below like a brewery of hell.

Vieri shrugged, brushing ash from his hair. “It really raises their spirits, you know? Besides, it’s also a great magma exercise.”

The old woman snorted. “As if you needed more practice.”

“Well, I do! I’m still rubbish at psychic magic,” Vieri said.

Sibylla scowled. “You didn’t need psychic magic to become a Master.”

Vieri smiled, but his eyebrows turned upwards in sympathy. “Well, I’m not saying that it isn’t important…”

“Right; you’re not. But others are.”

Vieri rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Look, I know that you had to wait a while-”

“Thirty years.”

Vieri winced. “Yeah. The point is, you’re a Master of Thought, and you deserve it more than you know. Izzet isn’t all about power.” He pounded his fist against his chest in stiff-lipped conviction. “It’s about knowledge, and conquest. And you fulfill that more than anyone I know.”

Sibylla regarded him with a serious gaze for a moment. Vieri’s earnest eyes shone through the sparks of steel.

Shaking her head, she laughed. “You know, Lochlan,” she rustled, “if every soul was like yours, the world would be an incredible place.” Leaning against her staff, she started past him. “But I’m afraid that, alone, you’re only insult to the injury,” she muttered.

She could feel Vieri’s sympathetic gaze on her back as she went. “Master Niv-Mizzet wants to see you,” he called dejectedly.

“Lovely,” Sibylla murmured, scowling to herself as she hobbled along the catwalk.

-----------


The dragon’s lair was a bloody maw, with jagged piles of jewels crushing in like teeth. The mounds of gold glittered like drops of sunlight on a silver tongue, and countless tapestries hung from the dark walls.

Sibylla paid no attention. The impact of novelty had worn off with time.

Weaving through the mountains of silver and bronze, she searched the glittering landscape for any signs of the mad dragon. “Old cretin,” she said under her breath, parsing the stray pieces of gold with her staff.

A deep rumbling from a particularly large pile failed to disconcert her. Sibylla leaned on her staff and sighed as a scaly head rose from the riches, gold cascading and clinking down the sides.

Niv-Mizzet stood up, rising like a crimson ghost ship from the depths of his hoard. Opening his terrifying mouth in a yawn, he bared his monstrous fangs, stained a permanent red from some poor creature's blood. Snorting, he shook himself down, sending a spray of golden coins in every direction.

Sibylla braced herself gently as the coins pattered against her. Patiently, she waited for the dragon to fully awaken as he stretched.

“Whoooo dares,” Niv-Mizzet growled, his amber eyes narrowed furiously, “to awaken me from my slumber?” Looming forward, he stared at her, face-to-face, his scaly lips snarling.

Sibylla chuckled gently and reached her hand out, rubbing the great lizard’s snout. You haven’t changed a bit, she thought.

I find it best not to let my age show, Niv-Mizzet responded mentally, his expression softening.

Sibylla scowled playfully, swatting the dragon’s nose with her staff. If anyone else had done that, they would have been charcoal.

Niv-Mizzet gave a rumbling chuckle, baring his teeth in a shark-like smile. How are the students, Sibylla?

As moronic as ever, Sibylla replied. Why did you put me in charge of them?

What are you talking about? The dragon snorted, causing wisps of flame to flare out of his nostrils. This is a great honor. You fully deserve this right.

So you say. Sighing slightly, the old woman leaned on her withered oak stick. Her weary eyes flicked back over the dragon. So, what could cause the great Niv-Mizzet to summon a hideous hag such as I? she asked amusedly.

The dragon lay down uneasily, lounging upon his golden throne. Right. That. For the first time since she’d known him, she saw doubt cloud his expression. His scaly brows furrowed, and his teeth ground together in suppressed frustration.

Sibylla, he began hesitantly, have you...noticed, anything in particular? His serpentine eyes searched hers, prying for an answer.

Sibylla rubbed her chin. Not much, she responded, tapping her cheek.

Oh, she realized. There might have been something.

Really? Niv-Mizzet leaned forward, his eyes wide. What was it?

Nothing, really, Sibylla said. Probably just an Orzhov snooping around town. But I did feel a small voice at the back of my skull; like how we’re talking, just...more mystical, she finished.

And what did that voice say? Niv-Mizzet prompted.

Sibylla shrugged. I blocked it out as soon as I detected it. I’m still blocking it now, in fact.

Then, could you...unblock it? the dragon asked tentatively.

Sibylla blinked, taken aback by her master’s sudden politeness. I...suppose, she said. Standing up straight, she tapped a finger to her temple, letting her mind calm. “Remissionis clypeus,” she uttered.

Almost immediately, crimson mana flooded into the room, swarming around her. Niv-Mizzet backed up, eyes widening, but they were immediately cast down. As I thought…

Sibylla could barely hear him, for the stream of mana kept howling in her ears, making her blood churn. “Master!” she cried as the blood-red flood enveloped her.

Niv-Mizzet snorted. I suppose that’s a confirmation, he sighed grimly.

The mana dispersed, rippling back into the air like a galaxy of crimson stars. Sibylla was left gawking. “What...what…”

The dragon’s expression hardened. “Sibylla Rathbone!” he roared. “You have been chosen to enter the Dragon Maze of Ravnica!” His voice boomed throughout the chamber, making the dark walls quake in fear.

“The...Dragon Maze?” Sibylla recalled vaguely.

Niv-Mizzet nodded, snorting fire from his nostrils. “Indeed. You are one of Izzet’s two champions, who we will send forth to conquer the beyond!” A hint of madness flashed in his eyes, giddy with greed.

Sibylla took a step backwards. Even Niv-Mizzet had mood swings. In fact, especially Niv-Mizzet. “I...I see,” she said, at a loss for words.

The dragon grinned crookedly. “Be proud, Sibylla! This has been your destiny from the very beginning!”

Sibylla sighed. She was in no mood to hear her master ramble on about destiny. “I guess I’ll be off, then.”

“I expect great things from you, Sibylla.” Niv-Mizzet’s amber eyes suddenly narrowed greedily. “Now leave my chambers, and take nothing with you.”

Sibylla nodded, swallowing dryly. “I’ll...be on my way, then.” Turning around, she walked numbly away from the dragon’s hoard, her footsteps echoing through the fiery halls of Izzet. As she went, she could hear what sounded like a gentle sigh as Niv-Mizzet laid down on his bed of gold.

“It’s just the wind,” she muttered dismissively.

It was impossible for Zefen to know just how long he had been walking, wandering and seeking. In his own defense, he was only ever good at keeping one task at a time in his head, so he merely stomped through the maze with his skull held high and purpose in his stride.

That’s all there was, and all there had to be, for him.

He didn’t bother to stop and ask why or what or even where, accepting the towering sandstone walls with the fading engravings at their base. His boney toes sunk into the loose sand pathways between the structure’s walls, and the blade that hung from his fingers sliced through their footprints as he dragged it behind him.

He didn’t care if anyone, anything could follow him. Something inside him burned and numbed his fear, his rationality. Glory hunger he called it, the sensation that grabbed his shriveled heart and pulsed it over and over again. Yes, it told him. It is here, waiting to be found.

All of his bones chattered in anticipation. The shiver even reached his hands and fingers as they floated along the etchings, just grazing them as he walked. Occasionally, the two substances, bone and rock, would meet in a flash of a skirmish. In the end, bone won out, leaving specks of sand to drift to the ground.

For how long this went on, Zefen had no way of knowing. He just kept walking like his hunger told him to.

His head was locked forward as he walked, keeping his gaze trained in front of him. It never strayed, never bothering to snatch a look behind him or to the side. The thought didn’t even occur to him to be on the alert. All the same, he did not once observe the inscriptions in the stone.

His journey through the maze consisted of the same thing, repeated over and over. He moved forward, one foot in front of the other, and drained away the magic little by little. But he would not stop.

He did not stop. Not until his bones creaked and his joints grinded together from the strain. Until the windblown sands found their way into every cracked bone and armor crevice. Until the magic forcing his body forward dwindled and each step took the effort of moving boulders (even then he would press on until he collapsed in the path.)

No, he walked until his heart thumps slowed enough that each beat was seconds apart. Until the fire that fueled him gradually faded and burned away to the mere embers. Until the usual pounding in his head roared to life so his helmet rung along with his ears.

Until his strength was sapped away and the sword hung dangerously loose from his finger bones.

All it took was a strong enough gust of wind and the blade tumbled to the ground. There was a loud crash of metal as it slashed through the air and stuck into the ground. Then, and only then, did Zefen pause.

The drone of his footsteps had become just another background noise in his hearing, and with it gone, everything felt strangely empty. Even with the wind picking up into stronger rushes, everything had changed in the instant it took to decide not to move a leg forward.

His beating heart, his throbbing head, suddenly became more pronounced in his mind. The sand moving wind merged with the other noises as Zefen turned and stared at his fallen blade, mustering the strength to pick it up and continue on.

If he even could continue on. … Could he?

He stared for a moment, watching the sun glinting off the metal gradually fade away. It was the smog that rolled in that did it, which his vision conveniently pushed aside. It didn’t matter to his goal, his purpose (Did he still have that?)

His human instincts told him to take a breath and move on -- there was no point in standing and watching the damn thing. But there was the flicker in the back of his mind, the flicker that rooted him to that place as he stared. His fingers would not move, his joints would not creak from an outstretched thing.

Everything had come to a standstill. For what reason? Zefen had no way of knowing.

Smoke and smog continued to pile up into the air, and once he looked up, he could no longer see the sandy pathway. He could no longer even see the bony fingers on his hand. As it built, his mind felt like it, too, was fogging and clouding. Building and building until there was a pop and his bones flared with warmth.

Something clicked in his head and the fog inside cleared away. Confusion leaked its way in, slowly digging its filthy claws into his tender mind as he tried to shove away grogginess. This wasn’t real, he knew, for he hadn’t truly felt something since ages ago.

Since he died and flames licked the rotting flesh off his bones.

The thought was a match that ignited the world around him, like gasoline laced the air and waited for cue. He leapt back, shriveled heart pounding and mind awake, alive. Fear came next, fighting for control of the last sane portion of his head as every joint chattered and shivered and clicked against one another.

Fire, fire, fire, was all the thoughts he could muster as the brightness and heat swirled higher in front of him. There was no escape from both the quaking fear and the shock that resonated from feeling the fire as it ate at his dry bones. Even as he tried to press himself up against the great sandstone wall, it wasn’t enough.

I would never be enough.

He threw his head back and screamed out to the clouded sky. The burning started with his armor melting into large chunks that bore down on him and clung to him in their molten state. The fire ate away at his helmet and chest place, searing dangerously close to his blackened heart. And as the fire danced around his feet, his chest, everything inside him went cold.

As if he was still human and death claimed his soul with a specter’s scythe, draining the warmth and the will from him.

“Zef, please,” Evlen’s voice sung. “Please, you’re dreaming, Zef. Please.”

The flames vanished with the heat boiling inside his deadened marrow. At one point it had become so intense that he thought it would burst and end his sleep in a fiery death. It then took a second for Zefen to realize the smoke was gone as well, and his inability to see was due to the darkness of night. Even with the patches of moonlight flooding through the rotted wood holes in the roof, it was almost impossible for him to see anything. Especially the faint silhouette of Evlen’s ghost.

“Please,” she begged again, her voice cracking as it struggled against sobs. Her pales hands caressed the side of his skull where he cheek would be, and there was almost, almost the feeling of an actual touch of a hand there. Dread crept up in the back of his mind.

Before panic could settle in next to it, his hand moved from its resting place on his chest plate and dropped onto the dagger tucked in the dirt next to him. The familiarity of the action guided his hand to the hilt, only once tapping the metal to make a light clinking noise. His fingers curled around the hilt and the familiar pressure of the blade in his hand flooded through him. Comfort fought back the uneasiness that threatened his sanity.

Zefen’s other hand reached up and caught Evlen’s wrist before she could press her fingers to his forehead. The moon’s faint light aided him in seeing her eyes widen. Her arm fought to wrench itself from his grip and jerk back to safety. His grip only tightened, almost painfully so as she let out a muffled cry.

“How long?” he growled, allowing his emotion to slip and bitterness to taint the escaping words. Fear flashed in her faintly green eyes, her image flickering for an instant. She gave no immediate response.

“How long?” he demanded again.

“Nearly three days,” she murmured. The loving tone, the song quality of her voice had drained away, as it normally did when Zefen’s brutishness flared. When he was sure there was nothing more to answer, then, and only then, did he release her. The tension, however, did not ebb away. He recognized the signs of death calling for him well enough. The dream, the fire, the feeling. The length of his slumber only confirmed his fear.

After a sufficient moment of edgy silence, Evlen spoke again, taking a quiet and careful voice before the skeleton. “I felt it. Your dream, I mean. You were so silent and I didn’t -- I didn’t want... You were just so hot. And then... you weren’t. I had thought...” She tried so hard to fight off the sobs slinking around inside her, but one shattered her shell and she broke. Zefen did not comfort his lover.

“It was stronger than before.”

Against the sobs, she asked, “Did it touch you?”

“No. Not today. But it was stronger.”

Once Evlen had calmed, all that was left was silence creeping around the broken, rotted home -- the residence of the two undead. Its only rival was the drumming of Zefen’s finger bones on his precious blade’s hilt and its hollow grunts in response. Silence only grew braver as the tension spread out its spidery web in the room.

He did not bother to look at her, and she did not try to catch his gaze. Both of them knew that undead did not last forever, and animated corpses fared even worse. Though the true question, the real strength for the web, was how much longer he would have.

Zefen had no way of knowing.

So he pushed himself to his feet, listening to the usual clanking of his armor pieces against his bones. The action smashed the web with a strong gust and the normality of the night had returned. Evlen, however, still clung to a wisp and hissed, “What are you doing? You just woke up! You just had a dream. You just--”

“Time does not stand still while I rest,” he responded. The hardened mask of Zefen the Warrior snapped perfectly into place once more. “There is plenty I must catch up on.”

She gave him a pitiful look. It was a look of concern and worry, not only for him but also for what may happen. For what may become of this hardened structure of a man that she came to love?

Zefen scanned the earth that crept through the rotting wood of the floor. His eyes normally would fall on his dual blades in an instant, but today it took a second. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts and fears to recall the location precisely. Once spotted, he bounced forward and snatched the two sheaths tied together in one graceful movement. It took one more before both were situated comfortably on his back. His confidence was returning.

Before he could turn to Evlen again, a strong gust of wind stormed through the house, whistling right through Zefen’s skull. There was a cry from Evlen, likely from the sharpness of the cold that followed the wind. Confusion ran rampant in his head, his thoughts startled by the sudden wind in his head.

Not a moment was wasted before a bright, ghostly figure appeared in front of the pair. It was a faceless ghost, its head like a white mask that glowed in the moonlight. A black cloak wrapped around its thin body, wisps of the shredded fabric trailing out behind it. One hand of long, white claws was stretched out, holding a neat envelope between two of them.

Zefen did not hesitate. Still gripping the blade, he moved forward and plucked the envelope from the ghostly creature’s claws. Faint human instincts tugged at him, things that he could no longer do even if he would succumb to them: narrowing eyes, pulling lips into a snarl, or even the hairs on his skin prickling on end.

The creature bowed its head ever so slightly and then floated back into the shadows, vanishing in the same time it took to appear.

“What does it say?” Zefen asked, turning and handing off the letter to Evlen. As he could not read himself, he was suddenly grateful to have a companion who could.

She took extra care opening the letter, handing back the white encasing. The outside had lavishing script with the letters running together and swirls stemming out from the letters. He imagined it said his own name with those letters, as the pattern appeared faintly familiar.

He turned back to her, watching her eyes run along the page and forcing himself to stand still. Though every alarm in his head was firing, he was determined to stay calm on its surface. Her fingers gently held the cream paper to her face, at one point turning it over to see the back.

A moment before Zefen was ready to snap out of impatience, the ghost pushed to paper to him, eyes gleaming. “The Maze, Zef. The Maze.”