Oh, I like this a lot. This is a great little tender moment between these two, and shows a nice glimpse of their history in story-form. Very cool.

He gazed out the palace window. While he couldn’t see the protesters, themselves, the torches they held shone brightly, piercing through the night and illuminating the city streets below.

Not five years had past since he had claimed this city, as well as this plane, as his own. And already, they rebelled against his rule.

Had he been so unkind, so unjust?

He had not thought so. Since he was young, he had wanted nothing more than to be a good ruler. To allow all nations to enjoy lasting peace. To create a world, a multiverse, in fact, where future generations would never know the tragedy of war, suffer the sickness of famine, or feel the helplessness of poverty.

Had he not done everything he could manage to accomplish these goals? Yes, some laws needed to be enacted in the name of order, some restrictions needed to be put in place for safety, but was this not a necessary evil? Is removing a few little freedoms in order to protect lives really so unacceptable?

And still, despite his best efforts to help the citizens of this backwater plane, they still continued to reject his gifts at every turn.

“Your Majesty,” spoke a male voice from behind, “the protesters are nearing the palace. What do you wish to do?”

The lord jumped inside his skin while stifling any physical reaction, save perhaps a quickened heartbeat that his general shouldn’t be capable of detecting. He hadn’t heard the footsteps. He always heard the footsteps. Had this been an assassin…

He didn’t bother completing the thought.

The lord still managed to not avert his gaze from the window, and instead continued to peer down at the amber lights in the streets. The protesters hadn’t turned violent yet, he knew, but they would soon enough. Such things were inevitable. For a moment, he visualized the end result of allowing them to continue in their campaign, their mobilization into a fighting force, and eventually, an all out rebellion forming that would tear apart the entirety of the plane in a pointless, bloody war.

He clenched his fists, angry at them, in part, but more so at himself. He took a deep breath.

“Kill them.” Vasilias finally managed. “All of them.”

I should probably mention that this was a very young Vasilias, probably in his late first century of kingship. It's not the Lich Lord Vasilias, or the mad king Keeper gave us a look at in Slaughtering The Messenger. This is before he crosses the Moral Event Horizon, or maybe after he has, and simply hasn't realized it yet.

This is a pretty interesting piece. It shows us a nice glimpse of Vasilias, and I always like bad guys who don't see themselves as bad guys. I also like that we get to see a little bit of vulnerability to Vasilias, which is something we don't get too often from the character. I enjoyed this piece. Thank you for posting!

I was a little concerned with delving into the history of an established character as my first story for the M:EM, so I'm glad that it turned out well.

Vasilias viewing his actions as good came largely from his monologue in the bio. Specifically this part: "I brought order where there was chaos, and peace where there was nothing but war." While in part, he was gloating about his power, he was still listing things that he felt pride over. To somebody who didn't view themselves as being good, such as Bolas, Ellia and the Dual-Walkers, bringing peace, in my mind, isn't something they would actually care about. There also seems to be some measure of regret when he speaks of Ariva's former glory.

@Dance
I liked getting to see some of Shifter’s tiny manipulations (which will end with horrible consequences).

@Reflection
This one I really love. It adds real character to Duchess, without actually humanizing her, if that makes any sense.

@Wager
I’m unsure about this one. It’s a character piece, but it doesn’t really seem to show much about Alessa’s character that we haven’t already seen. Dance shows Shifter controlling smaller pieces, Reflection shows the Duchess’ insecurities, and Ghosts shows Cara at her most vulnerable.

@Ghosts
This was a good one. As mentioned above, I enjoyed seeing Cara as vulnerable as she was here.

@The Vow
This is amazing. I have no words for this, besides that.

@The Drop
This was a good piece as well. I really liked the added touch of him refusing the flask before the hanging.

@Slaughtering The Messenger
Beebles!
Did… Did Raleris just send a bunch of poor, innocent Beebles to their deaths? I mean, he didn’t appear to have any plan to get them back after their message was delivered. He just left them there. He had to know how that would end, right?

Raleris sending innocent creatures to their death aside, it was very good.

I really, really like Larasa and Morgan. I am an absolute sucker for a good love story, and theirs is a good one. I love how they can kind of turn this dark revelation into something which will help hold them together. Very nice, sir!

A very nice story, sir!

It reminds me very vividly of these lines from C.S. Lewis: "Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience."

I wouldn't exactly call Vasilias a "moral busybody," but I think the same sentiment applies. You know what he's going to say at the end, but you still get a little chill when he says it.

I'm very glad you liked "The Vow" and "The Drop" as well. Thanks for reading!

Chardis appeared on the new world in a flash of flame. Around him, the nearest trees disintegrated into motes of ash, along with the grass and about half of a deer. The Aether trail had been fresh, so his quarry was near. Chardis could have destroyed him a few times before, but the chase was half the fun. If he had simply wanted to kill the 'tourist' that would have been easy, but he wanted that man to understand that death was coming first.

Chardis paced forward slowly, leaving bromstone footsteps. He did not have to go far before he found him -- Illarion Vale. The other planeswalker turned slowly. looking away from... a faintly glowing meepling? Seriously?

Chardis laughed. "Confessing to animals in the face of the end?" he asked, "I'll admit, you never cease to surprise me."

Illarion shrugged, "I think this is the part where you kill me?"

Chardis sighed and rolled his eyes. "You just had to suck the fun out of it at the end, didn't you?"

Fire flew from his hands, countless incendiary strands. His entire field of vision became orange-yellow, and he felt the satisfaction of removing another opponent, no matter how pathetic.

Yet, when the smoke cleared, there was Illarion Vale, his glowing meepling, and the stump it sat on, completely unharmed by Chardis' torrent of fire.

"What?" Chardis demanded, "How did you survive?"

"You don't know where we are, do you?" Illarion asked

"What does that matter?" Chardis demanded He raised his hand, fire in his fist, ready to strike again.

"One of the advantages of being a tourist," Illarion said, picking up the meepling and petting it gently, "Is that you end up knowing quite a lot of places very well. This is Iun Ilana, the plane that lives. And sees. And thinks. And... moves."

At that. the land around Chardis buckled. From his wake of cinders, the aura of distruction he had poured out upon Illarion Vale, there arose rank after rank of elementals -- no, not elementals, the energy in them was wrong. They were just earth and stone. Standing, staring at him and ready to fight.

"And I think she likes me better than she likes you."

Illarion Vale took a deep breath of the cold autumn air, and gazed out upon the familiar sights of home. While wandering the multiverse had not reduced his desire to go out and tour it, it had given him an ever-growing appreciation of that singular vista that existed nowhere else in the Multiverse.

Slowly, he walked down the wide lane, pausing to watch the children playing, for Old Man Withers to yell at him to get off his lawn, and finally walked up the creaking steps to what had at one time been his family house. Carefully, he knocked on the door.

There was no answer

"Marina?" Illarion called. He knocked again, then tried the handle. The door was unlocked, and opened freely.

Inside, the house was very dark. All the shutters were closed, drapes drawn. Strange, Illarion thought.

Then, a sibilant, female voice spoke from the darkness.

"You know," she said, "You made a mistake when you sent my brother fleeing from Iun Ilana with his tail between his legs."

"What..." Illarion muttered, "Show yourself!"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the woman -- Syl of the Dual-Walkers -- replied, "Your mistake was that you should have killed him. Oh, I would have come after you one day or another, once I worked out what happened, but it might have forestalled my revenge, and when I took it I'd do things my way, rather than his."

An eerie glow -- a glow that presented no earthly color at all -- began to seep from the beams of the house, faintly illuminating the world around, casting shifting shadows all about. The big chair was turned away from the door and Illarion, and Syl's voice echoed from it.

"I never was one for theatrics." Syl said, "But my dear brother insisted that a subtle poison or a knife in the night would be far too easy. No, you let him live, so you had to live."

Illarion approached the chair. He set one hand upon its high back.

"Go ahead." Syl said. Her voice was coming from the other side, near and very real, yet somehow the unknown filled Illarion with trepidation.

He stepped about in front of the chair, intending to face Syl of the Dual walkers and whatever fate awaited him.

He faced the price of his victory, and the fate that had already been decided -- A grey, mangled mass of flesh that might once have been human, that couldn't be human. Illarion fell to his knees, and Syl's laughter echoed from the rafters rather than that malformed abomination. Whatever magic had killed that person was...

The mass moved, shifted. A gap opened and a gasp of foetor escaped it.

No... it wasn't dead.

Compared to such a fate, death would be a mercy, and as the reeking, rattling gasp rose to a faint, inarticulate wail, Illarion wished for all Dominia that Chardis had killed him, instead of this.

"Brother will be pleased." Syl said, and from her unseen position planeswalked away to share the news.

Chardis appeared on the new world in a flash of flame. Around him, the nearest trees disintegrated into motes of ash, along with the grass and about half of a deer. The Aether trail had been fresh, so his quarry was near. Chardis could have destroyed him a few times before, but the chase was half the fun. If he had simply wanted to kill the 'tourist' that would have been easy, but he wanted that man to understand that death was coming first.

Chardis paced forward slowly, leaving bromstone footsteps. He did not have to go far before he found him -- Illarion Vale. The other planeswalker turned slowly. looking away from... a faintly glowing meepling? Seriously?

Chardis laughed. "Confessing to animals in the face of the end?" he asked, "I'll admit, you never cease to surprise me."

Illarion shrugged, "I think this is the part where you kill me?"

Chardis sighed and rolled his eyes. "You just had to suck the fun out of it at the end, didn't you?"

Fire flew from his hands, countless incendiary strands. His entire field of vision became orange-yellow, and he felt the satisfaction of removing another opponent, no matter how pathetic.

Yet, when the smoke cleared, there was Illarion Vale, his glowing meepling, and the stump it sat on, completely unharmed by Chardis' torrent of fire.

"What?" Chardis demanded, "How did you survive?"

"You don't know where we are, do you?" Illarion asked

"What does that matter?" Chardis demanded He raised his hand, fire in his fist, ready to strike again.

"One of the advantages of being a tourist," Illarion said, picking up the meepling and petting it gently, "Is that you end up knowing quite a lot of places very well. This is Iun Ilana, the plane that lives. And sees. And thinks. And... moves."

At that. the land around Chardis buckled. From his wake of cinders, the aura of distruction he had poured out upon Illarion Vale, there arose rank after rank of elementals -- no, not elementals, the energy in them was wrong. They were just earth and stone. Standing, staring at him and ready to fight.

"And I think she likes me better than she likes you."

Illarion Vale took a deep breath of the cold autumn air, and gazed out upon the familiar sights of home. While wandering the multiverse had not reduced his desire to go out and tour it, it had given him an ever-growing appreciation of that singular vista that existed nowhere else in the Multiverse.

Slowly, he walked down the wide lane, pausing to watch the children playing, for Old Man Withers to yell at him to get off his lawn, and finally walked up the creaking steps to what had at one time been his family house. Carefully, he knocked on the door.

There was no answer

"Marina?" Illarion called. He knocked again, then tried the handle. The door was unlocked, and opened freely.

Inside, the house was very dark. All the shutters were closed, drapes drawn. Strange, Illarion thought.

Then, a sibilant, female voice spoke from the darkness.

"You know," she said, "You made a mistake when you sent my brother fleeing from Iun Ilana with his tail between his legs."

"What..." Illarion muttered, "Show yourself!"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the woman -- Syl of the Dual-Walkers -- replied, "Your mistake was that you should have killed him. Oh, I would have come after you one day or another, once I worked out what happened, but it might have forestalled my revenge, and when I took it I'd do things my way, rather than his."

An eerie glow -- a glow that presented no earthly color at all -- began to seep from the beams of the house, faintly illuminating the world around, casting shifting shadows all about. The big chair was turned away from the door and Illarion, and Syl's voice echoed from it.

"I never was one for theatrics." Syl said, "But my dear brother insisted that a subtle poison or a knife in the night would be far too easy. No, you let him live, so you had to live."

Illarion approached the chair. He set one hand upon its high back.

"Go ahead." Syl said. Her voice was coming from the other side, near and very real, yet somehow the unknown filled Illarion with trepidation.

He stepped about in front of the chair, intending to face Syl of the Dual walkers and whatever fate awaited him.

He faced the price of his victory, and the fate that had already been decided -- A grey, mangled mass of flesh that might once have been human, that couldn't be human. Illarion fell to his knees, and Syl's laughter echoed from the rafters rather than that malformed abomination. Whatever magic had killed that person was...

The mass moved, shifted. A gap opened and a gasp of foetor escaped it.

No... it wasn't dead.

Compared to such a fate, death would be a mercy, and as the reeking, rattling gasp rose to a faint, inarticulate wail, Illarion wished for all Dominia that Chardis had killed him, instead of this.

"Brother will be pleased." Syl said, and from her unseen position planeswalked away to share the news.

Illarion vale looked out over the charred flagstones of his family home, the ashes of his life and everything he had left in the planes. In the end, the dual-walkers had made him set the torch, but it was their fault all the same. Their fault, Illarion told himself, and what was he to do about it?

Illarion Vale had always run away. When he became a Planeswalker he ran from his home. When Shandrovol fell, he ran from the fury of Phyrexia. And when Chardis decided he had been offended, he ran. Even on Iun Ilana, Illarion ran in the end, forced Chardis to back down and then left. And what had that earned Illarion? Nothing -- it had cost him what he valued more than his life. A place to return to, Marina who he loved and who was blameless in what went on in the wider planes.

Running was what Illarion did best. Ran away from his problems, ran from place to place, and the Dual-Walkers were no doubt expecting him to run now. After all, what else could he do?

Illarion knew the answer. The thing about being a tourist was that he picked up countless little bits of information. There were things he had tried to forget, had written off as though they ought to be for gotten, but now they called to him, those malicious specks of trivia. And as he watched the last ashes vanish into the breeze, he remembered one that promised him revenge.

An Æther Vent. But where to find one?

Illarion, tourist no more, left to begin his search.

"Wake up, sleepy-head!"

The cheerful, female voice echoed in Illarion's ears, and he looked up from where he had finally fallen unconscious, at a corner booth in the Laughing Assassin. The bright-eyed young woman with her short blonde hair was massively out of place with the dismal, macabre surroundings of the tavern -- As Illarion himself might once have been, before fate and the Dual-Walkers had conspired to destroy him.

"What do you want?" he growled.

"Actually," she said, "I'd like to help you. My name's Aloise. Aloise Hartley." She extended her hand to shake.

Illarion sat up slowly, introduced himself, and shook the woman's hand. She slid into the booth, opposite him, and smiled.

"So," she said, "Since I've yet to see a human on Shadowmoor who isn't, I'm betting you're a planeswalker like me."

Illarion nodded.

"Good," she says, "that makes things easier. I happened to hear last night -- and I honestly promise I wasn't trying to eavesdrop -- that you're looking for a cache of artifacts? I've got good news and bad news for you."

"What's the bad news?" Illarion asked.

"They're not on this plane, if that's what you were hoping."

"And the good?"

Aloise smiled brightly, "I just happen to know where the cache you're looking for might be. I always like seeing something new, so I'd like to come with you... or rather, I'm going there and would like to know if you'd want to come with me."

Illarion sighed, "Well, it won't get me any farther from what I'm looking for." he said, "When do we leave?"

***

The ruin, if ruin it was, was massively overgrown on the outside. The plane it sat on existed in a state of barbarism, but the ruin was clearly technological in nature, possibly even beyond the artifice of Zent or Jakkard. It had sat, no doubt, for millennia, but once they were past the threshold and the entry hall, the darkened, twisting tunnels of the place still had a clean finish, and the glass tanks that held specimens of nameless species in preservative fluids only slightly frosted over, providing all-too-clear glimpses of the abominations within.

Their progress through the place was frustratingly slow for Illarion, as Aloise stopped here and there to sketch and take notes. She seemed to have no fear, only a boundless curiosity. It was refreshing, somehow, stirring pangs of nostalgia that meant Illarion left her to her devices undisturbed.

At last, they came to a sealed bulkhead, protecting some inner sanctum of the laboratory. Here, Aloise worked her magic on the locks, and after a few long minutes, the heavy door swung slowly open.

Inside, the place was clean and bright. The walls were lined with shelves, containing no small few works of artifice, while well-lit steel tables provided work space for who knew how many experiments, glassware sitting on each. Towards the back, there was a large glass tube. Illarion examined that and found it contained the body, no doubt preserved in stasis, of a woman younger than Aloise, with bright red hair and a slight taper to her ears that suggested elven heritage.

Illarion sighed.

"This could take some time." he said, "It's not like we can take this whole place with us."

A new voice responded to him

"And," she said, harsh and cruel, "Who are you to take what is mine?"

Illarion turned. Standing in the doorway, behind him and Aloise, was another woman. She was beautiful, perhaps, but more than anything her bearing made her seem as cold and hard as stone, the aristocratic bearing, the perfect neatness of her auburn-brown hair, the very way she held her slender arms perfectly still.

"This place is an abandoned wreck." Illarion replied, "No one owns it. But I only want one item. Help me find it, and you can have the rest for all I care."

This seemed to interest the strange woman

"Well," she said, still harshly, "Just what did you come here for."

"An artifact." Illarion replied, "One that looks like metal a sphere a little larger than your head, studded with holes."

The strange woman grinned. "I know what that is. But do you? I've half a mind to give it to you, just to see what happens."

"I'm going to change Dominia." Illarion replied, already knowing exactly how he meant to.

"I've heard that before." the woman said, "But not for a long time." She smiled. "Left wall, top shelf. There should be one left."

Illarion went over to the wall, and opened the cupboard on the top shelf. There, amidst unassuming parts, was exactly what he was looking for. An Æther Vent.

"Illarion," Aloise said cautiously, "Why, exactly, did you want to find this place?"

"I'll explain if you want." Illarion said, "I'll even let you tag along for what comes next."

"Please," she said, "This has... it's become rather frightening."

"Yes, young man." the other woman said, "I must admit I'm rather curious."

"The Dual-Walkers." Illarion said, "Syl and Chardis. They took everything I ever cared about from me, forced me to kill the woman I loved as a mercy to her... but they made a mistake. They left me alive. Now, I'm going to see they pay for their crimes."

Aloise frowned. "I'll come with you, then." she said, "But... vengeance isn't the answer, even if there needs to be justice. You know that, right?"

The other woman just laughed, and spoke in a mocking tone "And I would prefer to observe the fallout from a safe distance. Good luck, heroes."

Aloise sat quietly beside Illarion Vale. She looked up at her traveling companion -- her friend -- and felt her heart grow heavy. She wished she had known him in better times, for when by recitation of former adventures she dragged him from the depressive gloom the Dual-Walkers had forced him into, they were very much alike: She was a traveler who wanted to see everything Dominia had to offer, and so had Illarion himself been once. He could be again, she told herself, if he could be convinced to lay his campaign to rest. It was ironic that the very mission that threatened to consume him had been what brought them together in the first place.

"Illarion?" she ventured, "What will you do, after the Wheel?"

Illarion shook his head. "I... haven't really thought that far ahead. After all, I might well not survive the trip. I told you as much before. You're still certain you want to be there?"

"As long as you are." Aloise said. "It seems a shame. You're right, after all -- they left you alive, and if they wanted to ruin you that was a mistake on their part, but I don't think that's because of any way you might hurt them."

"No?" Illarion asked.

"No." Aloise said, "If you go to the Wheel, if you hurt them, even if you kill them... it doesn't stop, does it? What they did to you will always hurt, and having everyone hurting doesn't make it any less." She shook her head, "The best revenge you could take on the Dual Walkers would be to make the best of the life they left you, to live every day, and smile, and laugh, and refuse the pain they caused."

For a moment, Aloise looked away.

"I'm not saying that it didn't hurt, that it won't hurt... but if you can be stronger than that, you've destroyed their power over you, broken free of that awful cycle."

Illarion seemed to consider her words

"But how can I?" he asked, the pain rather than steel and fire returning to his voice, "I know... I know I can't undo what was done, but I don't know how to look anywhere other than back anymore."

Aloise looked back at Illarion, and held his gaze. A thought struck her, one she couldn't deny was appealing for more than just Illarion's sake.

"Well," she said, leaning closer, and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Illarion Vale."

He turned his head away, but Aloise brushed his cheek and brought his gaze back to her.

"And sometimes," she said, "What... what we need most is right in front of us. Staring us right in the face..."

Aloise drew herself closer to Illarion yet. Her lips parted, and, thrills of anticipation filling her body, closed her eyes and leaned forward for a kiss.

It was just before their lips touched that a panicking aven crashed through the closed window of their inn room. The frantic beat of the bird-man's wings buffeted Aloise and brought her attention to the scene before her.

Desperately, the aven tried to right himself.

"Who are you?" Illarion asked, "And what happened?"

"I am Krish." the aven replied, voice as frantic as his motions. Aloise could see that he had many cuts, bruises, and particularly burns that could not have come from his destructive entrance, "And as for what happened to me -- the Dual-Walkers happened!"

No doubt he took the astonishment on the faces of Aloise and Illarion for bafflement

"Ah-kaw" he coughed, "A monstrously wicked pair of twin mages. If you are fortunate, they will not follow me. If you are not..."

The aven Planeswalked away, leaving Aloise and Illarion alone in the room again.

Aloise looked at the broken window, then at Illarion. Once again, he was full of the fire and steel, the determination upon revenge she had hoped to lull him from in her embrace, before fate conspired to set them back on their former road.

"Come along, then." Illarion said darkly, "It's high time we visited the Wheel."

Anissem, the lair of the Dual Walkers, home of their Mirror Palace and the hub of the Wheel. Illarion Vale and Aloise Hartley arrived without fanfare, their silent appearance in the halls of the palace noted only by two. Silent was Illarion as he followed his senses best he could towards the center, one hand on the dread artifact in his satchel. Aloise, for her part, was quiet as well, though she dreaded what might follow. Even ignorant of the artifact's significance, she could not help but regret that she had not been able to keep them from this place, this fate.

By the time Illarion and Aloise reached what seemed to be the throne room of the Dual-Walkers, the two of them were already waiting.

"My, my, brother." Syl declared, "Do you see what your theatrical indulgence has wrought. Now we must simply kill the insolent whelp."

Chardis rolled his eyes, "Indeed, dear sister." he said, then looked to Illarion, "This plane belongs to us. Don't expect it to rise up and save you."

"I don't." Illarion declared as the drew the Aether Vent from his pack, "I expect this to." He held out the orb at arm's length, and upon seeing it the Dual-Walkers started

"Do you have any idea what you hold?" Syl shrieked.

"I know enough." Illarion said.

"Dear sister," Chardis said, "I do think this is time for your swift approach."

"Kill me," Illarion said, "And the Vent goes off. You can't stop me from triggering it, and I don't think you can destroy it or you already would have."

"Illarion," Aloise asked, "What does the sphere -- the Vent -- do?"

"It unleashes the Blind Eternities on a plane." Syl said, "A nasty, pointlessly spiteful weapon from a war before even our time."

"And here," Illarion said, "On Anissem? If this plane falls into the Eternities, the Wheel breaks."

"So," Chardis said, "Like you said if we could destroy that vent from here we would have. But if you wanted to use it, you wuldn;t have marched up to us, now would you?"

"I'm giving you a choice." Illarion said, "The same choice you gave me, even if I didn't have it put to me in such clear terms. The two of you can give up your lives... or you can watch everything that's yours burn."

Syl scoffed. "Go ahead." she said, "Destroy the Wheel, if you have the stomach for it. Ever since it was tainted, We've been seeking other domains. There will be more Planes of the Dual-Walkers long after you and your little defiance are forgotten.

Illarion began to lift the Aether Vent higher. Perhaps it made him a little like Chardis, but he thought such a moment deserved something of a display.

"No!" Aloise cried out, "No, Illarion, you can't!"

"It's only fair." Illarion said through gritted teeth, "They can play cool, but I'll hurt them the way they hurt me."

"What about the rest of the Wheel?" Aloise shouted, tears streaking her face, "What about all the little people who get caught in the crossfire of your fight. I thought you were different than them, that YOU wouldn't hurt innocents for some petty revenge."

Illarion turned to Aloise. He saw the fear, the anger, the pain in her eyes... and deep inside it was too much to bear. He lowered his arm, holding the Aether Vent at his side.

"Aloise..." he sighed. Her smile returned, only to be replaced with a new visage of horror as Illarion felt a sharp shock to his midsection

Chardis stood beside him as Illarion fell to his knees, holding a bloody sword, the one that had torn the mortal gash in Illarion's torso with one lightning fast strike. His grip on the Aether Vent failed, and the ominous sphere rolled past Syl as she approached as well.

Illarion Vale smiled.

"What do you have to be happy about?" Chardis demanded.

Illarion whispered two words, words that would be his last.

"I win."

From behind the Dual-Walkers, there was a momentary hiss from the activated Aether Vent, and then the Blind Eternities swallowed the chamber.

There, in the center where there should have been a world, four planeswalkers, one dying, watched in awestruck horror as the ancient device did its ghastly work. Anissem dissolved into nothingness around them, and the Wheel spun apart into oblivion.

Stratagoth the Hermit winced his way across the cell, wobbling as he went on legs that still bled from the day's ministrations. He carefully climbed to the edge of the steaming bath, and, gasping in pain as he did so, lowered himself in. When the pain of the hot salt water on his many wounds became so much that he felt himself reach the edge of his tolerance, he cast one of the lesser Workings and sighed in relief as his skin, wounds and all, was brilliantly transformed, and he felt pain no more.

The monk--for monk he was, albeit of an unconventional and outre faith--was settling in to the blissful stage of release that followed his meditations on agony, when he became aware of heavy footfalls in the old monastery, approaching the hall where his cell sat. Stratagoth listened attentively. The footfalls were forceful, sure, but--mm, yes, they faltered somewhat as they reached the cells and the walker caught a view of what had once been the other monks. The corners of Stratagoth's mouth twitched slightly as the sound of the person--probably human, of regal bearing no doubt--went from chamber to chamber, searching for signs of life.

Finally, he arrived at Stratagoth's own chamber. In the doorway, through the steam, the monk saw a remarkable figure. The man was tall, with pale hair and white clothes accented with gold, and his fingernails, too, had been plated in gold. A hood covered his head but upon and around that hood was a gold construct that could only be a crown. But above all what caught Stratagoth's attention were the somewhat sunken eyes in which burned an intensity the old monk had not witnessed in centuries.

The eyes swept the room, the man's thin, long lips curled slightly in disgust, and he turned to leave, when Stratagoth stood dramatically from his bath.

To his credit, the regal man did not startle, he simply turned slowly to face the strange apparition before him.

"You thought I was turned completely to gold, like my siblings," Stratagoth croaked softly, smiling slightly at the man. "I have not joined them yet, however. Only my skin is gold." He ran a hand down his bare chest, sliding gold fingers across gold furrows that would have been seeping blood if not for his spellcraft.

The young, regal man did not blink but his eyes did narrow somewhat in disgust. "Then you are the one known as Stragagoth, yes?" he queried.

Stratagoth jerked a nod in the man's direction, sending the various pieces of metal poked through his golden flesh jangling. "At your service young lad. But who are you? It's been a long time since I've seen so much gold that wasn't made of my own organs!"

"I," the man intoned, "am King Vasilias."

"King of what?"

At this, the man smiled somewhat, despite his still pinched expression. "Why, in time I shall be king of all of Dominia."

Stratagoth barked a laugh. "Impossible! No, no," he hastily clarified, seeing King Vasilias's frown, "not impossible to do, I mean, you are one of them, you are an Impossible! One of Flayer's kind, here at last, after so very, very long."

Vasilias started at the name. "Flayer! Was that the ancient teacher from which your brothers and sisters learned the legendary Golden Workings, then?"

Stratagoth rolled his eyes, dark circles spinning within a field of gold. "The clue, O King, was in the way my brothers and sisters and all of the rest all ended their lives without any skin. Yes, we learned the Workings from Flayer, although we turned both his work and his Workings to far different ends in time."

"This," Vasilias gestured to the brutalized naked body before him, "is your end, then? Ravaging your body by day only to preserve it through magic by night?"

Stratagoth eased himself back into the water gently, and sighed. "To understand even one aspect of sensation requires endless study, My King of All Worlds. The others, my siblings in our holy order of pain, in time sought to understand the extremity of agony, and I flayed the last of them myself in order to grant their wish for an enlightened end, their terminal bliss. But I..." he gestured down again at his broken form, "am interested in nuance and articulation. I want to understand the contours of anguish, not simply their most overwhelming expression."

"Besides," Stratagoth said softly, eyeing the Impossible before him, the being that in more recent centuries folks had taken to calling Planes-Walker, "I think you, too, would cling to even a wretched and barely human existance if you could only cling one more day. And perhaps you shall."

Vasilias, for his part, questioned Stratagoth no further on his strange monastic rites, but simply implored the monk to pass on the secrets of the Golden Workings. Stratagoth acceded willingly, even cheerfully, having no reason to keep the knowledge from anyone.

And, many hours later, after Vasilias had been taught each of the Workings, with pity in his eyes (but no understanding) Vasilias, the Future King of All Worlds, cast the final working on the old monk, turning him to solid gold before he could even raise his voice in protest. The last thing the old monk thought was, "Oh well, I suppose you'll have to find out the hard way, won't you?"

And then all the aches and pains that had been a part of his life for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years, were stilled at last.

AH! CONNECTIONS! Good stuff here. I love the connection to Tevish's stuff with the Flayer, and to my Deluge at Carakera with the "Impossibles" moniker, and of course to Vasilias and his younger days. Good stuff. Gruesome, in places, but good! I love Vasilias's barely contained disdain for pretty much everything.

The dull ache in Sri Hara's hip told him that rain would be coming soon. The elder loxodon rubbed the arthritic joint with a grunt, but a smile sat on his broad features all the same. Rain wasn't exactly unexpected, he thought ruefully. After all, it was a rainforest.

Regardless of the oncoming storm, it was early enough that dawn's light still held sway in the sky and all he could smell were dewdrops and morning mist and the distinct smell of fresh turned earth. No sign of clouds or thick scent of rain marred the beautiful day. He looked at the sky with wizened eyes and sighed peacefully, turning his attention back to the garden.

He plunged one thick weathered hand into the soil and sent a burst of mana through himself and into the garden, coaxing life into the ground. The freshly planted seeds sprouted mere minutes after they had been sown. Life sped quickly forward, tiny buds breaking the earth and climbing inexorably upward into a bright explosion of colors. If only it were so easy to slow growing older.

"But then it would be too easy." the elephant chuckled, shaking his head and causing his ears to flap softly. He lifted himself stiffly from the ground, joints groaning at the work. He brushed his hands together, knocking loose the clinging soil and smiling as he looked at the vibrant foliage. Sunpetals, dawnglow, and a handful of oranges and afiya in the nearby shrubs. A little oasis of cultivated peace in the commotion of the jungle.

With a deep breath, he bent and picked up the basket of herbs, fruit, and flowers that he'd picked this morning. Even stooped with age, he was powerfully built, and the great basket was no trouble despite its size. All the same though, he felt better to have his staff to lean against, retrieving it from where it leaned against the nearby tree. He tapped it a few times in the soft earth and began to head back to the overgrown temple.

It had seen better days, much like Sri Hara himself, but though abandoned it wasn't quite bad enough to call a ruin just yet. Sri enjoyed staying in the temple, if for no other reason than for the irony. It had been dedicated to him in his younger days after all, and it made him feel just a bit youthful to revisit his glory days, even if they had long passed. The vines covered the heavy stones of the temple in thick whorls and he admired the wild growth for all the vivacious life that had overtaken it. To be honest, Sri worried at times about the final fate of his garden once he left, which should probably be soon. He considered that it would probably be wise to burn it when he was ready to leave, but he just could never bring himself to do it, even if the plants ended up overgrowing the native flora. If the worst thing that happened for his passing presence on the world was that medicinal herbs and flowers spread like wildly, then he thought he could probably live with that. Heavens knew it wouldn't be the biggest impact he'd ever had, he thought with an amused grunt.

He hefted the basket awkwardly on his shoulder as approached the doorway and then stopped as an alluring fragrance caught his trunk. He stopped and sniffed, a sweet calming scent that drifted through the air, subtle beneath the riot of aromas rising from the basket. His eyes roamed across the wall, but his eyesight wasn't what it used to be and he relied on the breeze and his nose to find the source. At last, there in the corner was a single jasmine blossom.

He leaned close and stared at the flower, inhaling deeply and letting his mind wander. Jasmine wasn't native to this world, and the scent brought a flood of emotions back, brief flashes of his youth that made his eyes well with nostalgia. He cleared his throat and smiled, reaching with his trunk and delicately plucking the flower, placing it carefully on top of the pile he had already gathered. He let out a wistful sigh and turned, leaning heavily on his staff as he headed back in, fragile memories still fresh in his mind.

"It's been forever since I've had jasmine tea..." He smiled and looked up once more to the sky, seeing the bright dawn rising over the jungle and forgetting whatever pains the weather might bring later.

Oh, hey, a Sri Hara piece! Cool! I don't really have a lot to say about this apart from that it's cool to see Sri Hara get any story, even if it is a microfic. Basically, this is a nice little ambiance piece. Well-written, but ultimately not my style.

The chime of the coin hitting the tabletop made Alessa glance up. The small penny glinted in the noonday sun and looking just past that, she could see the top of a child's face looking at her excitedly. She gave him a small smile and leaned forward.

"Fortune told?" she asked, and he nodded with obvious exuberance. She chuckled and slid the small coin off the table and into the box where it joined the pile of silver she normally charged for readings. She didn't usually bother with this, but things had been slow lately and she'd gotten bored enough to take whatever distraction she could get.

Truthfully it was nearly as bad as just spending all day cloistered in her room, but the bustle of the market place and the brisk late year air were at least a decent change of pace for her.

She picked up the cards and riffled them expertly, putting on a show that was at least half the act in the first place. She was comfortable with being a charlatan, mostly because people didn't generally believe in fortune telling in the first place, and those few that did appreciated the theatrics. She looked at her young customer and inwardly sighed, wondering if she'd ever been that young. Probably had, but that felt like a long time ago...

Her fancy shuffling tricks were obviously thrilling to the young urchin, whose parents should probably be keeping better track of him. The alternative didn't bear thinking. Finally, after going through every flashy thing she could think of, she fanned the cards out in front of the kid. Giving him the real reading, as much as it was real at all, would probably go straight over the kids head, so she decided to keep it simple.

"Go on, pick a card. It'll tell your future." She smiled, just the slightest conspiratorial smirk on her face. He laughed and then looked at the cards arrayed before him, a deadpan and serious look on his features as he weighed what his destiny would bring. This obviously meant a lot to him, not that Alessa could blame him. There was something magical in what he'd come looking for.... soooooo...

Alessa pulled a handful of thin threads of mana, glowing sullen scarlet as she tied a mental knot with them. As soon as his fingers touched the card he'd decided on, she pulled and the images of her future turned sharp and jagged. She did her best not to let the wince show, but it was a near thing and he doubtless wouldn't have noticed anyways. He was too enraptured by the card he'd drawn from the deck. He laughed and jumped up and down as Alessa sat the rest of the deck aside with hands not quite as steady as they'd been before that little burst of chaos magic.

"Well, let's see what it is." She said and he proudly displayed the Treasures card, a huge pile of riches dominating the field between the borders of the card. She clapped lightly and took the card back, shuffling it into the deck as she looked at the child. She gave him a quick wink as the cards danced between her fingers.

"You'll do great kid. Go knock them dead." She said with a smile and he eagerly nodded once more, dashing off with a new story for whatever parent had dragged him out to the market in the first place. As soon as he was out of sight, Alessa let her face fall into her hands and bent over just a little, head pounding.

"Urgh... that kid better appreciate that." She said as she gripped her head and decided that, just perhaps, the sun was a little too bright for her to stay out much longer. It was around lunch time anyways...

The dark of the Vintara jungle was a thick mire of twilight, air heavy and humid, steaming with the sweat of beast and plant alike. In the darkness, shaded by thick fronds and cradled by greenery, alien eyes followed the subtle shifts of the foliage. The hunter was being hunted. Rishima almost felt pity.

The nekoru, an odd sort of dragon that resembled nothing more than an overgrown jungle cat with broad leathery wings, perched improbably on the branch, oblivious to her watching eyes. Despite the massive wings, it seemed perfectly at home, balanced along the branch and swiftly leaping from tree to tree. "Perfectly at home" was something that notably could not be said of Rishima, lithe body still twice the size of her ignorant prey. She resisted the urge to growl at the fact she'd been dragged to this horrible damp oven and once again fantasized about reducing it to something more pleasant. The image of the entire blighted and damned forest flooding thick with tar and waters soothed her nerves and she turned back to the matter at claw.

The nekoru was climbing higher and Rishima barely moved as she watched it ascend. It had spotted something that it obviously was intent on catching. She stalked through the dense trees, a darker presence in the shadows that should have been obvious by aura alone, but the young idiot was so intent on its next meal that it completely missed her.

Rishima sighed and scowled, finally growing weary of the distraction. Her gaze slid through the trees to the prey her own had been stalking, a flock of drakes whose scales seemed to shift to match the trees that they swarmed over. Her chest swelled and thunder pealed throughout the forest, crashing against the thick boles of the trees. Her voice shook the canopy and silenced every beast for miles in every direction, the only sound the silent flapping of thousands of beasts taking wing and fleeing from her wordless command.

The nekoru's hackles stood on end, wings spread as its claws shredded the thick wood of its perch, eyes wide and roving as they searched the jungle to find the source of the disturbance. Damn if this one wasn't stupid, Rishima thought with a grimace. Her voice spoke like an avalanche, a thick rumble from the shadows and she shifted within her darkness, eyes shining brightly from the depths of her umbral mantle.

The nekoru whined, a high pitched screech of horror as her gaze pinned it where it stood. Rishima's fangs glistened as she smiled and that expression was all it took, making the dragon fly away awkwardly, all its former grace completely leaving it as it fled. She savored its terror and stepped into the light as it departed. It may have been petty, but Rishima had been in a mood for weeks. She wished that her true prey could so easily be cornered, but... there had been a complication.

The spirit had been to this land, but it had been some time ago. Rishima had followed its steps through the portals of Rabiah to this land, a new world entirely, and finally tracked her quarry to a small island chain off the southwest. Rishima shuddered at what she'd discovered there.

There were few things in the multiverse that Rishima would admit to being afraid of, but no matter how vain she was, her pride withered before what she'd discovered. There were greater predators than her in the jungles of Dominia. There were few planeswalkers older than a century that hadn't heard the name of the being whose shadow was cast over those islands.

Nicol Bolas.

His presence left her with a problem. The last thing she wanted was to attract the notice of the forever serpent, but her own pride demanded she continue her vendetta. A brief flittering thought had passed her mind once she'd realized her situation, but there would be no bargaining with the elder dragon. It left her only two options to consider, and neither settled well with her.

She could give up her vengeance, abandon what drove her and slink back to the throne of her kingdom to sulk...

Or she could stalk the edges, cling to the shadows of Madara, and hope to avoid the baleful attention of the dragon as she followed her quarry. It would be dangerous, even to her, and perhaps foolish. But there were few things in the multiverse that could stop her, fear included. She gathered her dignity back around her like a mantle, wings spreading magnificently, snapping century trees with the force of their billowing unfurling. She would need to be cautious, but her path seemed suddenly crystalline.

Just as she'd stalked the nekoru mere moments ago, she would lurk the darkness and discover where Night's Reach had come from and where it had gone, and once she found the spirit... her fangs glistened once more, a terrifying smile of satisfaction. She would do much more than roar when she found Night's Reach.