Interlude: Creeping Dread (Patreon)

Liliana gazed moodily into the Witch Bane Orb.

It was an interesting creation, the artifact that she’d bartered for with the Vampire Lady Olivia Voldaren. Just as its name indicated, the orb protected its wielder from malicious sorceries and afflictions, most often cast by witches upon the local peasantry.

But how to utilize it?

Liliana ran her fingers over the smooth surface, glass silvered from where it reflected the full moon’s light. “Would that you would simply comply with my desires,” she said.

The glowing roil contained within the orb gave no reply.

At first, she’d simply intended to channel the Veil’s power through the orb, perhaps using some form of lightning-based conduit that the local stitchers were so taken by. But her experiments on Nirn at already poked holes in that theory. It would still be her own magic drawing upon the power of the Veil, as of yet still contained within the box she’d crafted for it, and so the orb would doubtless fail to differentiate between her magic and the curse of the Veil itself.

Liliana was by no means an researcher, like many of her kind had wont to become in the days before the mending, but she had been a healer before a Planeswalker, and thus still held a keen interest in ferreting out the secrets of the multiverse around her.

Namely in the pursuit of ever more power, but such distinctions were academic.

I could be that something…more involved was necessary. Last she had wielded the Veil’s full power, she had escaped its curse by laying the burden on another Planeswalker, though she could hardly count on always having one that she’d be willing to sacrifice such so easily at hand.

And yet, curses and devilry were the exact type of magic the Witch Bane Orb was built to prevent.

“Perhaps I have been looking at this problem from the wrong direction all this time,” Liliana mused. It was never a pleasant thought, that she had wasted her time.

Time was the one resource she would never have enough of.

Even if her time could never run out.

With a sigh, she stood gracefully from the pedastle where she’d placed the orb, before walking over to the window set in the wall of the solar.

Her manor on Innistrad was…serviceable. It had the necessary accoutrements for her experiments, the necessary space for her relaxation, and the necessary graveyard for her craft. Yes, she would have liked something more befitting of her, but it was poor form to build such a lavish home on another’s plane.

It created intimations that one was considering a more…permanent residence.

Liliana was old and experienced, but she knew that at the height of her power, Sorin had stood far above her. In some ways, she even envied that the mending would not have so robbing him of his power and immortality as it had herself.

But vampirism, even is she could bear the thought of being beholden to a master for longer than it took to kill such a wretch, would not solve her problems. Nor, she surmised, would another like him be something Sorin found within himself to…tolerate.

Even in her darkest moments, Liliana still remembered what it was like to be human, to have concerns beyond her demons, to love and be loved. That she chose to ignore such memories was a choice based on pragmatism and self-interest.

She doubted that Sorin Markov remembered at all.

She placed a hand on the cool glass, looking out into the barren, mountainous expanse that was Stensia. Its austerity had once called to her, an abode sequestered from the petty concerns of the mortals below.

Never did she imagine that she would be one of those mortals again. Even now, she was beholden.

Her nails made a screech against the glass, before Liliana huffed and turned away. With a flick of her wrist, she sent her undead to clean up the mess of a lightning she’d been considering before. The parts could be salvaged, but the entire tower would have to be repurposed from the ground up. Her original plan, now that she had more time to think about it, could only be doomed to failure.

Her train of thought was derailed by a sudden chorus of howls echoing through the night. She hissed in annoyance. 

There was something rotten in Innistrad. She cared little enough to keep her nose out of it, but the return of the werewolves had proven vexing in and of itself. To say nothing of the Angels.

Her eyes flicked to the empty sky. With the clouds gone, the night was clear, the silver moon shone down over a land slowly descending back into the depths it had only begun to claw itself out of.

Though, more importantly, now might be the best time to acquire that angel feather gown she had so often mused about.

Through the air, she heard the sharp and panicked whinny of a horse, the savage roars of a wolf, lost in the throes of its inhumanity.

But, there was something else in the night as well. She saw a figure, running through the silver light, hooded and cloaked. And heading directly towards her manor house. She held back a snort. If some stranger expected succor on this night, they would simply have to die unsatisfied.

Her eyes narrowed when the stranger put a shoulder to the locked gate, pushing it open after only a moment’s pause.

Then, they kicked it shut just in time for the werewolf to slam into the metal. The gate shuddered, but she had built it to withstand such nuisances, especially considering how it did not simply fly open again from the force of the impact, as if it had been locked again.

She rolled her eyes, stepping back from the window. “Jace,” she muttered.

On one hand, her plans for the night were ruined, and she was in an ill mood. But, on the other, the cold isolation of Stensia had proven…less than relaxing.

She sighed, turning down the steps of her tower towards the main hall. With a twist of her will, the zombies patrolling the courtyard parted for her…guest.

As amusing as it would be to leave him shivering in the cold all night, she could do with some company.

Of the warm blooded variety, anyway.

She reclined onto her throne in the great hall, setting her minions to parting the drapes, and other such social niceties. For a moment, she even considered having one bring her a book, before brushing off the thought as beneath her.

Instead, she relaxed in her chair, thoughts of complex runic equations dancing through her head, until a zombie in livery escorted a much bedraggled mind mage into the room.

She almost laughed at the sight of him. Where had he found that leather trench coat he was wearing? It did not match his usual teal vest and trousers, to say nothing of the muddied and disheveled appearance.

Still, anyone less adept would have been run down and eaten by the werewolves, especially if they had only Telepathy at their disposal.

Liliana rested her cheek against her palm. “Hello, Jace.” 

After a moment, he pulled his hood back, revealing the same short brown hair and inquisitive blue eyes he’d always had, even when they’d first met years ago on Ravnica. He had a weary, expectant expression on his face. No doubt he wanted to say something, but he thought by staying silent for the moment, he would increase his chances.

She rose, taking a short walk around the man, taking in the amusing half measures he’d taken to blend in with the locals. His sense of fashion hadn’t changed a wit, that was certain.

Then she flicked him in the nose.

His hand came up, eyes blinking as he jerked back. “Ow! What—”

She held back a giggle. Mind mages were always the most amusing to fluster. “Simply ensuring you came in person, dear,” she said.

He huffed, crossing his arms. “I can make my illusions solid, you know.”

“Oh yes,” she drawled. “But I doubt you can make them squeal so convincingly.”

“I was hoping for a warmer welcome,” he shot back. Liliana had to suppress a snort. As if it was her job to babysit him in the wilds of Innistrad. “You’ve got some very disagreeable neighbors.”

“The werewolves,” she said. “They really have become such a nuisance. But the angels are far worse.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Your feelings about angels are well documented,” he said. “Personally, I would have been thankful for some Angelic assistance out there. Werewolves are annoyingly difficult to control.”

Taylor would have done better, Liliana mused, but aloud she only said. “It’s not a matter of personal opinion, but trust whomever you like.”

“I make it a point not to trust anyone,” he said. “So far, I have yet to be disappointed.”

“Did that sound dashing and heroic in your head?” she asked, an amused smile darting over her lips as she drifted back to her throne. She waved a hand. “You must be parched, then, something to drink?”

One of her thralls came over, pouring a cup of Gavony vintage, circa 1092. It was palatable, after given about a half a century to age appropriately. She had looked forward to what the town might produce now there were no more monsters breaking down their doors with the return of the angels.

But that had not, exactly, panned out.

Jace gave a glance to the bottle, discomfort writ plane on his features. “I’ll pass, if it’s all the same.”

He really was such a child about things, what were a few undead servants between old acquaintances?

She hummed, taking a sip of her wine, before waving her hand. “Well, out with it,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I came to…” He paused, glancing to the side for a moment. “To apologize.”

“Oh?” Now this was a treat. Jace was such a typical man, so protective of his pride, an apology was a rare thing indeed. “Whatever for?”

“For leaving Ravnica,” he said. “With unfinished business between us.”

She couldn’t hold back a smirk at that. No doubt he was referring to the whole maze fiasco and the mess it had grown into. “Abandoning me, you mean,” she said. “Before running off to some godforsaken wilderness plane with that walking anatomical diagram you dug up.”

Jace coughed into his fist, cheeks twitch to prevent a smile. “I doubt Gideon would take that as a compliment.”

She took another sip of her drink. “He can take it however he likes,” she said. “I only have interest in the mechanics of his body, not what he does with the thing.”

This time, Jace did laugh, a short, abrupt bark that he cut off as fast as he could.

“You seem more relaxed!” he said, a small grin on his face. “I almost forgot you could make jokes. Did something happens since we last talked?”

“I am the soul of wit,” she said, voice as dry as her drink. “As for what I’ve been up to—” She was about to say something that boiled down to ‘it’s none of your business,’ when the fabric between planes rippled.

Jace and Liliana turned as one to look into the shadows, where something had just slipped out between the border of the Plane. There was a flash of light, as pair of familiar figures walked out of the hall of her mansion.

Liliana almost laughed in glee, what a fortuitous turn of events.

“I was winning our little wager, you see,” she said. She rose to her feet, slinking down the stairs to greet the new arrivals.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Destiny said, as she took in the legion of undead retainers. “Could I recommend some lighting though?”

“It would utterly ruin the aesthetic,” Liliana replied, placing a hand on Destiny’s cheek. Mentally, for she’d picked up her own small share of tricks with that field, she sent, ‘Play along, and I’ll listen to your request.’

Destiny quirked a frown, even as her adorable pet demon shifted uncomfortably to the side. ‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing too onerous.’ Then, before the girl could reply, she turned back to her first uninvited guest of the night. “Jace, I present to you my apprentice, Destiny,” she said. “After you were so rude as to imply that I would make a horrible teacher.”

Destiny quirked her lips, no doubt the words ‘you are a horrible teacher’ were running circles in the girl’s head.

But she was a smart thing, so she kept her mouth shut, for the moment, at least.

Jace opened his mouth, before closing it, looking back and forth between Liliana and Destiny, the latter of which, it might be noted, was wearing a black cloak much like his favored form of attire. No doubt he was drawing a hundred conclusions from that fact alone, each and every one of them wrong.

“That’s…nice?” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Liliana replied. “Did I interrupt your sales pitch?” Jace twitched. “You have some grand design you need my assistance with, don’t you?” She smiled, resting her knuckles against her temple.  “Please, tell me more.”

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A/N: The stage is set, the actors are in their places, the curtain rises on the Plane of Innistrade, where everyone is searching for the one thing that will set all of their problems to rights.

All the while, unknowing that the true prize has already been won, and all the remains is to wait.