Aria: Just as lonely and isolated as ever... perhaps even moreso with godlike powers that set her beyond mortals. Unable to find friends, she'd probably make her own, Serra-style.
Ellia: Well, she'd have a consistent appearance.
Illarion: Essentially unchanged, save that he might have fared somewhat better upon Shandrovol
Larasa and Morgan: They'd be quite similar, but likely more dependent on one another. Oldwalkers have sanity issues and seem to fare best with an anchor to reality and humanity. Their anchors would be each other, which might not be the best. They might spiral in the same direction, but they'd still be at risk of spiral.
Lia Xin: Would probably be able to trivially fix her communication issues.
Lourima Viiran: Lourima would be VERY different. She's actually the interesting one here... as in my previous suppose on her, it's worth noting that she's a character on the edge. Right now, she's a pretty generally repugnant person, paranoid and distrustful. But she's just on the cusp of being a decent human being -- we see it in Kinship: though she lies to herself the whole way, she does seem to have some conscience, some empathy that she willfully attempts to stamp out because the (badly misled) logical parts of her brain insist it's maladaptive. As she is now, she's the right string of events away from stepping out of serial killer land and entering the vigilante zone. As she is now, she does have some power, but with the power of an Oldwalker? There are two ways she could go: Lourima the Anarchist or Lourima the Tyrant. Lourima the Anarchist would tear down societies because society itself is inherently corrupt in her eyes: better to make everyone realize they have to strive for their individual survival than let them rot away beneath the thumbs of those who don't allow it. Lourima the Tyrant is if she makes the choice not to simply destroy the system, but to replace it. To sweep away every other power she can find, because THEY'RE wrong, THEY'RE out to get people. But she understands. Teenage Lourima knows what Dominia needs to stop letting awful people like her father be the top dog. Never mind that she lacks managerial skill. Never mind that not every system is what she thinks of it. She has the power, she's going to make things change.
Mari Gwynn: Would never have ascended, but barring that, like Aria, she could MAKE a place if she proved unable to find one.
Ygraine: Would probably fix her scale issues and turn into a bigger, cleverer garruk-analog: looking for things that challenge her.

- Adaig: Full reality warping goddess mode. Be very afraid.

- Panahihou: Clearly a lot more secure and a lot less bitter.

- Maramawhā: Likely to have stayed in Matahouroa, preventing the situation that forced her to leave.

- Natanalok: Would probably have reached his mysterious agenda by now.

Kahr-ret-Taris: We would probably be seeing Kahr as an eternal god-king on Helkavin. He would likely have finished off the last remaining demons of the Zordikrast and continued to rule over a totally devoted human population, believing himself to be dead and in the afterlife.

Daneera: Daneera would likely have become a sort-of Clade figure, although likely less extreme in her philosophy. I do see her going around and protecting forests and probably growing new ones.

Denner Fabellian: Difficult to say. Assuming his mind holds out, he probably destroys the Shorecerers and returns Sula to its tropical splendor. If his mind doesn't hold out...gods help the women of the Multiverse...

Nasperge: Very tough to say. Honestly, I don't think his life changed much from the Mending.

Jade: Obviously, Jade would have never made the deal with Raiker. Now, admittedly, it may have been that deal that ignited her spark in the first place, in which case, the deal wouldn't have mattered for long. Either way, "Jade" as we know her wouldn't be, and "Nephractinoni" would be walking dreams across the Blind Eternities.

Syl and Chardis: These two are actually pretty interesting. Odds are, they would simply be terrorizing the Multiverse. If the Mending were never going to be a thing, they likely wouldn't have bothered conquering the Wheel, because they wouldn't have needed to. They also likely wouldn't have ended the Games, though that's harder to say.

Raiker Venn: No change. Raiker's MO remains the same, although admittedly he's probably less likely to pick on other planeswalkers.

your characters were color-shifted one color clockwise on the color wheel.

Fisco paused, and took the cigar out of his mouth while cocking his head.

"You've got a little something, right here." He pointed to his lower lip, raising an eyebrow quizzically. His prospective research partner, a rather vain woman, immediately frowned and fetched a pocket mirror from the nearby nightstand. Fisco hid his smirk by replacing the cigar and taking a long draft.

"I don't-" The woman began holding the mirror to her face. Fisco's eyes flashed red, and a spark of lightning jumped from him to the glass. There was, perhaps, half a second of startled silence, followed immediately by the sound of cracking glass.

Fisco shielded his eyes as the mirror exploded in the woman's face. Her startled shriek was cut brutally short, and he made a show of standing up. She was, of course, dead. His handiwork was nothing if not flawless. He exhaled, the smoke pouring from his mouth and nose like sheets of billowing, white steam. Then, he chucked his cigar on the ground, shrugged, and snapped his fingers.

A few minutes later, the study was in flames and he was gone.

No, he was far too brilliant a mind to treat with someone as lowly as that. That she had dared contact him at all through the looking glass all but necessitated her death. Deal with the devil, after all...

Solid, unmoving, every stone in its place, every person in theirs, Clade gazed upon the regal fortress he had erected to protect the people of this plane, and nodded. His constructs would maintain order as he brought law to the greater multiverse. Create a bulwark against the oncoming storm.

This plane had proven especially free-spirited and ungrateful. He had disposed of the bodies quickly and humanely, of course, but the culling had to be more thorough than usual. Something to note - but his work would not be stopped.

They would obey, or be removed. There was no room in his perfect system for dissenters.

In the silence that followed, Jinsen sheathed his blade. After the din of the battle, it took a moment for his ears to pick up the aftermath, and he closed his eyes.

He heard the feather-soft flight of the crows far above him, felt their anticipation, though they dared not caw. The nearby river - choked with blood and bodies and bile - was more sluggish, quieter, softer. The homes had all burned down, the wind no longer howling against them, no longer obstructed and trapped. He... He was no longer trapped. The world had gone quiet.

By his feet, he heard the heart of the last soldier he had slain slow to a stuttering stop.

And for a bare moment, blessed quiet. He heaved a sigh, shoulder drooping. It would not be long before his hands itched once more, not long before he felt stifled and bare and caged. But for now, standing in the quiet, he had his peace. For now, he would keep it.

Yeesh! The sort of overtones of Nazi Germany are *chilling*. As is the fact that, while it's obviously drawn out to the most extreme possible extent here, you can kind of see just the faintest trace of that same stalker-ish vibe in canon Denner, between his talents as a Delver and his, shall we say, somewhat obsessive concern for the female form?

Nasty, nasty bit of business, this one. I'm glad that we have canon Denner instead.

COMMENTS NOT FOUND. MEMORY SUPPRESSED.

(Again, *chilling*. Somehow, I think this ends with a lot of broken mirrors, and Beryl, Remorseless stalking the multiverse...)

So, this one is fascinating to me.

First off, of course Tryst is picking "tails."

Second, I'm sort of imagining that the Raiker here is the Raiker from "Imagine a Room," because that would provide a lot of very interesting context for this interaction.

I wonder where Tryst would go? I honestly have no idea. I know that she desperately wants to take her girl away from Phostus, but I don't actually know where she would take her to. Probably some place with no demons, or devils, or anything of the like. But that would place Tryst herself in a pretty difficult spot. What does she say, when her daughter asks why the other children don't have horns, and why their mothers look so different? Does Tryst even show her face in public, or does she keep herself hidden away? I think she'd be trading one very difficult life for another very difficult life, in a way that she maybe doesn't fully realize.

(Alternatively, I have an insane amount of fun imaging her as the den mother of the local girl scout troop. I bet some of those merit badges take on a whole new meaning...)

It's strange to see Raiker making someone happy -- other than himself, that it. "Does not compute" level strange. You've created a very convincing villain, Raven; My mind has him thoroughly typecast as such.

Without that to humanize him, Fisco does start to look pretty brutal, doesn't he?

Canon Fisco has that humanity in him -- which Aloise can see, and which he himself doesn't always want to admit is there -- which holds both his self-regard (which is substantial) and self-interestedness (which is even more substantial) in check.

Electromancer Fisco, not so much, huh?

This totally makes me think of Past In Flames.

*Shudders.*

Man, so many of these are terrifying.

This Clade reminds me very much of the Sirius white Primarch. I think the Phyrexians are even within shouting distance, you know? They're all just different flavors of ends-justify-the-means fanaticism.

Again, it sort of begs the question -- what is it that Clade can feel coming? What's the impending threat which, in his mind, warrants these sorts of drastic actions?

I'm reminded of how intriguing that question is...

Ruwin, the way this plays upon the opening scene in "Doubt" is fantastic.

Again, this Jinsen gives me the willies. I would hate to think what would happen if Kimberley came under his tutelage -- provided he didn't kill her to quiet her down, of course.

"The more you thrash, the more this is going to hurt," Gale said, dipping the tip of her needle into dark, black ink.

The captive sailor's eyes went wide. He lay naked on the wooden deck, trussed and gagged, while the screams of his shipmates echoed up from the hold below.

As Gale finished preparing the needle, her captive fought against his bindings, and tried to slither away across the blood-slicked deck.

Gale put her booted foot down on his neck, pinning him in place.

"I said, don't move," she said.

For a moment, she stood over the terrified sailor, studying her prize. He had several useful marks, the best of which was the one of his left cheek: the points of the four winds.

He was a windspeaker, just like her.

Well, not really like her, Gale thought. No one was like her. It was one thing to speak to the winds. It was another thing entirely to command them.

Still, he would fetch a good price. Speakers always did. Or he might even prove useful enough to keep.

Eventually, Gale took her boot off the squirming man's neck. Then she knelt down over him, and she made sure that he was looking her in the eyes as she put the needle to his skin.

"You know, a lot of captains don't mark their men personally anymore," she said, as she began to draw the chains of a slave upon the captive man's neck. "But, me? I think we ignore the old ways at our own peril. I believe marking is a captain's responsibility."

The man flinched as the needle found a nerve. Red blood welled-up from beneath his skin, mixing with the black ink.

"Besides," Gale said, "doing this gives me a chance to get to know my men. It gives them a chance to get to know me, too." She placed the needle on the ground, next to the bound man's head. "It gives them a chance to learn what a gentle captain I can be, when I am obeyed."

Gently, Gale stroked the terrified man's cheek, and she smiled at him.

Then, with the smile still on her lips, she slapped the bound man across the face -- hard -- with the back of her hand.

Gale noted with satisfaction that the blow had broken the man's nose, and that the dirty rag in his mouth was turning red with blood. It was only then that she stopped smiling, and her voice grew cold.

"It also gives them a chance to learn what a hard captain I can be, when I am disobeyed," she said. "I told you not to move, and that was an order. Everything I tell you to do is an order. Do you understand?"

After a stunned second, the man nodded his head.

Gale slapped him again, even harder this time. The man reeled from the blow.

"Is that how you answer your captain?" she asked.

The man tried to say something to her, but he choked on his gag.

Gale slapped him a third time. The bound man screamed a muffled scream, but this time he did not move.

"I can't hear you, sailor," Gale said. She pulled the bloody gag out of the captive's mouth.

"Aye-aye, captain," the sailor said, his voice a bloody gargle.

"Better," Gale said. Then she picked up the needle, and went back to work.

The bound man wept as she gave him his chains, but he remained stone-still until she was finished.

She was cleaning the excess ink from her hands when her first mate walked up, bloody cutlass in hand, and saluted. Gale saluted back.

"How many below decks worth keeping?" she asked.

"Two with good marks," the first mate said, counting on his red-stained fingers, "plus three more who are young and fit enough to make it worth our while taking them to the slavers in Lazuri Bay. The rest we're putting over the side."

Gale nodded her approval.

"Good," she said. "As soon as you're done, weigh anchor." Then she glanced up at the mainmast, which was still flying the ensign of the captured clipper. "And raise my colors. This ship belongs to the Black Fleet, now."

"Aye-aye, captain," the mate said. He saluted again, before running off to execute his captain's orders.

On the deck below her, the newly-marked speaker twitched. Gale kicked him in the ribs.

"You'll be a proper pirate, by the time I'm done with you," she said, without looking down. "And, once you've raided your first ship, I'll be the one to give you your first skull." Gale chuckled. "Who knows? One day, you might even have as many as I do."

As she spoke, Gale untied the belt around her black blouse, allowing the garment to fall away from her shoulders, revealing that every inch of skin upon her torso was marked with row upon row of identical black skulls. Hollow-eyed and jawless, they seemed to stare down at the cowering slave on the deck below. She enjoyed watching the look of horror which blossomed painfully on his broken face as he tried to count them all.

Every single skull represented a ship she had put to the sword. Thinking about them made Gale smile. Her marks told the story of her life at sea.

"You serve the Captain of the Black Fleet now," Gale said to the newest member of her crew, as she gathered her blouse back up and refastened her belt. Above her head, she heard ropes stirring to life, and she looked up to watch as her ensign -- a black hurricane, with the silhouette of a long-haired woman at its center -- rose up the mast of her newest ship. "Does that please you?"

Gale looked down at the bleeding man at her feet.

"Aye-aye, captain," he said, through a mouth of broken teeth.

"Good," the Captain of the Black Fleet said. "Very good."

Yeah, that Denner is dark. It sort of disturbed me writing it.

Jeez, I was getting dark, huh? Sorry about that... In retrospect, I should have called it "Heart-Broken." Still, we can all be thankful that Nasperge is a better man, and that was one instance where things went mercifully well for Beryl.

I was very much thinking of this Raiker as the one from Imagine a Room. However, to continue my "dark" theme here, I would just like to point out that Raiker never actually reveals the coin. Admittedly, this can mean several different things. Maybe he's telling the truth, and Tryst won the flip. Maybe he's lying, and she lost the flip, but he wants to do something nice. Maybe he's lying, and she lost the flip, and the other side of that portal...

Brutal. Gale the merciless pirate captain is NOT somebody I would want to cross. (For the record, I wouldn't particularly want to cross normal Gale, either!) But yeah, I hope the rivers of Wreth don't lead Gale to swamplands any time soon...