Travar woke to a large, dark room, his vision blurred and hazy. Where am I, he wondered, and what happened to me? He tried to get up, but quickly collapsed, his leg flaring with pain. Travar looked around, taking his surroundings in. It was a spacious room dimly lit by candles, with many coffins lined up on the ornate, black stone walls. He could feel the spirits' thoughts reaching out to him, but he pushed them away. Not now, I don’t need another blackout.

Large windows exposed a night sky, and rays of moonlight fell through the roof onto a throne at the far end of the room. Sitting on it was a gaunt woman wearing a long black cloak. Two guards flanked either side of the throne, in front of which stood a large, ornamental coffin. Strange, Travar thought, gazing at the coffin, that one is eerily silent.

A melodic voice broke his thoughts: “Hello Travar, you probably don't remember how you got here. Being forcibly pulled through the Blind Eternities will do that to someone, though, ” the woman’s voice seemed rich and layered, as if many people were whispering in unison, “but now is no time for explanations, I require your talents.”

“Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?” he said, once again trying to stand up, and once again falling, his leg giving way beneath him. He tried to prepare a spell, but his thoughts were interrupted by that wonderful voice, that reasonable, wonderful voice…

"Well, your ability to communicate with spirits would serve me really well. We haven't even had a proper introduction though! I'm Bianca Addonicci, and you of course are Travar of Innistrad," Her tone was playful, and she reached out her hand, as if to shake his, but pulled it back, "But really, I didn't drag you all this way for small talk, we should begin."

“How do you know my abilities, and who is this informant? Answer me!” A tone of panic crept into his voice.

“Now, let’s not get snippy. This is my home after all. That coffin there. That is the resting place of my former patron, Vyth, who I need some information from. I would rather not have to deal with him personally. He probably would not take kindly to the fact that I continue to refuse his demands to reanimate him. He most likely would try to kill me." She smiled at this thought, "And, as you would know very well, the dead do not lose all their power when they leave this world.”

“And what makes you think I’ll do you this favor?”

“Don’t bluff me, you know as well as I that you can barely stand, much less fight right now, and if you planeswalked, I would catch you, and then we wouldn't have as much time for coffin talking, no?"

He knew he had no choice but to obey, and rose shakily on to his feet. Wincing from the effort, he hissed, “Fine, but you will let me go after this.”

“Sure, tell Vyth I sent you.” She smiled sweetly. Travar crouched next to the coffin and channeled mana, reaching out his consciousness to the spirit of the dead man. The world faded as he began his work.

Who disturbs me? A voice echoed through Travar’s head. A voice containing an immense hatred, but also a sorrow, a sorrow that could only belong to one whose very dreams had been crushed. Someone who had their will broken.

“I have been sent to talk with you Vyth. By Bianca.”

Bianca? Is she still alive?

“Yes. She wants information from you.”

Boy, do you even grasp who I am? I shaped the course of this world; I changed the lives of all who lived here. Vyth sighed. Probably for the worse...but, in the end, I couldn’t even change my own fate. I died a broken man, with my lifelong goal foiled and my city burning. Travar felt a rush of pity for the man. Before I tell you what you seek, you must first hear the story of my life. You must first understand who I am, my emotions, my pain, my death.

A bustling cityscape appeared before Travar. He took in the crisp air, the laughter, and the traders calling, selling their trivial products and goods. The Alcor, the voice rasped, my childhood home. I had everything I could ask for here, yet I could not have what I wanted most: equality. A family appeared before Travar, where a young child was hugged by his parents, while another sat on the side, alone. Travar once again pitied Vyth, how estranged he must have felt, but at the same time he wondered how accurate Vyth's portrayal was... I was born into the aristocracy here long ago; however, I was the second born, behind my brother. I was considered lower than him, denied even being considered the heir. I was to be sent to serve in the purifiers while my brother would be made king. Anger crept into the spirit’s voice. Disgusting, isn’t it? My sadness turned to bitterness, and my bitterness to hatred.

A scene emerged before Travar, a dark night, a silhouette creeping along a torch-lit hallway. I killed them while they slept, and faked having been a target as well by painting my own throat with their blood. However, those damn purifiers found me out and had me put on trial. Needless to say, they sentenced me to a punishment many considered worse than death: I was to be banished into the Necor, a wasteland known for the fact that those who entered almost always died or went insane. A bleak desert appeared before Travar, with a man aimlessly wandering its vast expanse. Within days there I had acquired a disease, Vyth sounded very uncomfortable, as if even thinking about the memory was unpleasant, Life was awful, I was starving and delirious, and I was lost, hopelessly, horribly lost. I had nearly given up, I wanted to escape my condition. I craved death.

However, a hermit found me. I can’t recall his name after all these years, but he was like a father to me, he nursed me back to health and gave me things to read while I was bedridden. The scene changed again before Travar, an old man, his features worn with age discovering a bone-thin Vyth in the desert, and bringing him back to his home. However, he died, and left me alone. Again. I learned the art of Necromancy, and snuck into the Alcor, under the guise of a trader bringing supplies. I visited five men who I had been told were on trial for necromancy. I presented them an offer: side with me and I'd free them, at the cost of their undying loyalty. They found me an elixir which could keep us feeling healthy and young for centuries, giving us more than enough time to establish my organization, Death's Hand, the one I assume Bianca is now in charge of. The scene shifted again. Vyth was building a stronghold alongside several men. Charkon summoned me a guardian, a demon hound, Dark Fang. Perhaps that old dog was my only real friend, I can’t say. Progress went on, the organization grew, we became very well connected. And rich. If someone wanted something done, they would contact Death’s hand. If you needed an assassination, you went to us.

But I didn’t need that, I needed the throne.

Once again, Travar’s vision swirled and he was looking at a burning city. I plunged the Alcor into a great war, and tried to seize the throne, but the planeswalker Noel D’corva apprehended me and my disciples. I had heard of them in my time at the Hand, able to travel to other worlds. And it was there, in the king’s throne room, where I died, once again alone, watching the city I once loved burn. Can you imagine how crushing it was, how it shattered my dreams? If there were two things I learned from my life, Planeswalker, they are that the path of hatred is often walked alone, and no one should go through life alone. No one.

But enough of this, he said abruptly, tell my dear Bianca that she can find Sirkan and Dark Fang’s bodies beneath Gittan City. Now go, I have no more to tell you.

Travar’s vision slowly returned back to the Dark room, and he felt Vyth’s presence draw away. He looked up at Bianca. “They’re under Gittan city. Now let. Me. Go!”

Bianca laughed. “Oh come on, I have so many coffins to try!"

Travar decided it was time to act. He channeled as much mana as he could and reached out to the spirits in the room. “Go!” he shouted, and dozens of shades poured out from the coffins onto Bianca and her guards. Vyth's spirit rose from his coffin, energy crackling around him.

Her playful tone faded as she blasted away a shade, “You will not leave!” She hissed, and several coffins burst open, long dead soldiers hoisting themselves out. She drew her arm back, preparing to send a blast of energy towards Travar, but Vyth struck first, blasting her with a bolt of black magic.

She flew backwards, crumpling against the throne. "Bianca," Vyth spoke, his voice angry and vengeful seeming to fill the room, "Why have you not reanimated me after all these years I've been waiting?"

Bianca lifted herself shakily to her feet, blood running down her face from a gash in her forehead. She wheezed, "It is my time now! Not yours! Not anyone else's!" And with that, she flung a bolt of energy at Vyth, striking the spirit squarely in the chest. Vyth collapsed, smoke rising from his chest.

Travar, who had been slowly crawling towards the exit looked up. Bianca's guards and zombies were bearing down on him. He stood, his own mana as well as Vyth's suppressing the pain in his leg.

He unscrewed a jar in his cloak and two translucent blue geists flew out, ramming into the nearest zombie, sending it flying into the pile of coffins. “Harvested from Innistrad,” he said, “Quite handy really.” An guard managed to clear himself from the ruckus the spirits had created and charged. Travar ducked beneath his blade and stabbed him with his ceremonial dagger. The man crumpled to the floor, as Travar's enchanted blade took in the guard's spirit.

He wasn't in the clear yet, Bianca had fended off the shades attacking her and sent a blast of black energy at him. He dove, then immediately realized his mistake. His leg twinged with pain as he landed, and he couldn't support his weight on it.

He scrambled backwards as Bianca's forces advanced towards him. He felt his back bump against the wall and suddenly felt a rush of fear as he realized he was cornered. A large black shadow streaked across Travar's vision as a guard drew back his sword. Suddenly, Travar was swept off his feet, he had been grabbed by a gigantic vulturous bird, one of Borgard's native birds, summoned by Vyth. It gripped him in its talons, its huge, greasy black wings beating around him. The bird's stench nauseated him, a foul odor of carrion and blood.

The bird dove through the window, and glass shattered around them, cutting Travar's face and arms. The bird began to dive when a crossbow bolt connected into its head with a sickening thud. It screeched, a sound like cracking bones mixed with the caw of a raven, and dropped Travar in alarm.

He entered freefall, the night sky falling away around him. The guards cursed in the distance and bolts whizzed by his head. He summoned two geists around him arms, and flew forward as they dove through the sky, allowing him to fly.

He flew off into the distance, vowing to eventually return to the man who had saved his life.