Lore:Trial by Fire/Chapter 1

"So what you’re telling me that there are a number of ‘Planes’ besides our own, that this planet isn’t the only host of life outside the monsters on the moon? And you’re also telling me that you’re the messenger of a being who wants to give me the power to freely walk between these places, as some sort of dimensional ambassador?

Please forgive me when I say I think you are insane."

―Katanas DeValle, upon being tapped as a Planeswalker

Sentry Headmaster’s Office, WinterShield, 12:45pm, August 11, 2142

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“You’ve done quite well these last few years, Mr. DeValle, which is why I think a promotion would do you some good - effective immediately, you’ll be WinterShield’s new Sentry Liaison, effective rank Captain.”

Those were the words spoken by, in my humble opinion, the greatest of the three Sentry Headmasters, Victoria Elena Rosalyn. I’ve yet to meet a soul as kind and understanding as hers, which, combined with her radical methodology and shrewdness, makes her a superb leader and excellent administrator. She has a certain knack for tossing her hair into a radiant display of blond whenever she laughs, and her blue eyes always seem to sparkle with a secret knowledge.

You just wouldn’t think that someone as lovely as she is capable of taking out an entire armored division barehanded. That’s a memory I’ll always treasure.

You are familiar with Sentry, beyond our meeting on that unfortunate train? No? Sentry is a mercenary organization originally commissioned to handle rogue magi, keep the political balance in check between nations, enact time-critical search and rescue missions, that kind of thing. We also provide a first-class education, an orphanage, and many other useful public facilities. Castles are the locations where we train and educate our members. They are equal parts fortress and university, and many of our number calls one home.

Back on track, however.

There were benefits. The unexpected promotion to Sentry Go-For didn’t really make a lot of sense at the time, but I accepted it for what it was – an opportunity to work behind the scenes and be closer to our Headmaster, wrapped up into one.

A little paperwork suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

I saluted, trying and failing to hide my amusement. “It’s an honor, ma’am! I swear on my life that I’m never going to let you down, that I’ll never give you up, and that I’ll never desert you, ma’am!”

When she laughed, the whole world just seemed like a better place. “Mr. DeValle, you’re quite the charmer, but I’m afraid that won’t be enough to get you out of your clean-up duties. Don’t think I hadn’t heard about that, young man,” she replied, hiding a sly grin behind her hand.

Even I know when to admit defeat, and I assure you that it isn’t from lack of effort. Saluting again, making a better effort to hide my merriment, I took my leave before she decide to add an additional clause to my punishment.

Clean-up duty isn’t such a bad thing, I’ve found, if the reason you get it has something to do with upstaging teachers at their own game, but I’ve always felt that under-performers need a reason to work harder, and there are fewer, more efficient methods than public humiliation.

Before I can get to that, however, I needed to take care of a few errands, another series of classes, meeting with friends, the usual for a day such as mine. I won’t bore you with the details, because they aren’t really pertinent to story...until a little bit later. That’s when everything changed forever.

Quad, WinterShield, 4:44pm, August 11, 2142

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Towards the end of my day, before dinner, I tend to spend a little bit of time in the quad when it’s nice out, doing little more than relaxing, reading, sometimes even just resting under the shade of a tree. It was a nice day out, a perfect breeze, just enough clouds.

In a way, if not for the weather, I’m entirely uncertain we’d be having this conversation at all, because shortly after I’d settled into a comfortable position against my favorite tree, I immediately noticed something was wrong.

Of the dozens of other people who were roaming the Quad, walking, talking, laughing, joking, sitting...I was the only person who seemed to be moving, as though time as stopped for them. A curious phenomenon, one which I even thought might have been scripted for my behalf as a strange prank, but I quickly discarded the notion - I’m not so egotistical as to believe that for more more than a mere moment.

As I rapidly try to make sense of this odd occurrence, a voice speaks up near me, prompting me to turn and face the speaker, who appears to be a young woman wearing light blue robes with even lighter blue hair cascading behind her. “Good afternoon, mister DeValle. My name is Kisara and I am an emissary of Freya Vanadis, the Creator, leader of the Ethereal Plane. Might I have a word with you?”

There comes a time in life when you are presented with something so absurd, so unlikely, so ridiculous that even the most logically minded individual simply....freezes. I would love to say that I had elegantly accepted that strange offer as it was given, without reservation, without concern, but alas, the first thing that I did was the least desirable thing I should have done.

Namely, I asked her for her phone number.

She blinked, confusion apparent, and I mentally kicked myself for allowing myself to slip, even for a moment. “I...I must confess, I don’t know what that means. Is it a common greeting amongst Hume?”

I shook my head, gathering my thoughts and smiled cautiously, aware that, deep down, I was not entirely certain I wasn’t going insane. “Apologies, Ms...Kisara? I’m just a little disoriented. You see, from my perspective, and feel free to correct me where I err, time appears to have frozen and, unless this is a very potent illusion, I’m having a communication with an extraterrestrial being.”

"The reason why you seem unaffected by the surrounding temporal stasis is simple, mister DeValle. As I stated before, I represent the Lady Freya Vanadis, who has taken a great interest in you as of late. She sent me to meet with you and ascertain your willingness to meet with her personally on matters of great import...matters which could affect this plane for decades or centuries to come."

I don't immediately answer, not entirely certain I can think of anything worth saying, which Kisara appears to take as an invitation to continue. "Mister DeValle, I don't mean to sound too forward, but...would you come with me, to see with your own eyes what you are being offered? My lady awaits you, and she would be able to provide answers that I alone could not."

I feel my hairs stand on end as she begins casting magic, pure, potent magic, and a sliver of fear runs through me as understanding dawns over me. This isn't energy drawn from the world around us, carefully manipulated and distilled. This is the raw energy of creation I feel around her, and she appears as troubled by its casting as you or I might have taking a deep breath.

If I were to posit a guess, I would say that I was speaking with a very powerful primal avatar, except...she's appears quite Hume-looking.

Before I have any longer to consider what that means, everything goes dark as her spell completes.

Planar Gate, Lower Court, Ethereal Plane, 2142

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Splendor. That’s the first word that comes to mind when I open my eyes and see where I am, and I am, for a moment, speechless. It’s simply...imagine a field of flowers, dozens, hundreds, thousands of flowers, where each petal is more vibrant than the last, where conflicting colors are held in a kind of eternal balance with one another, neither overwhelming nor gaudy, pleasant to the eye from all angles. A field where a glance leaves you breathless, but a closer look would leave you incoherent, and I could see myself losing days just noticing each new detail.

It is beautiful in a way that words simply cannot express, and I have yet since spent countless sleepless nights trying.

Kisara allows me a moment to be drawn into the picturesque scenery before motioning with her hand to the sight before me. “This is the Lower Court of the Ethereal Plane, one of many areas of majesty. Once a mortal has stepped foot unto this plane, they see the mortal plane much, much differently than before. Forever will the world around you be more vibrant, and forever will you find details easier to notice.

You will see great beauty in everything, everywhere, and everyone. Time flows much differently here, meaning you’ll be able to enjoy the plane to its fullest without fear of becoming a memory to your kind.”

She then holds out her hand to me, smiling warmly. “I promise that there will be plenty of time for you to admire the scenery. Let us away to see the lady, as we have kept her waiting long enough.

Fate has chosen you, mister DeValle. I hope you shall not disappoint her.”

Courtyard of the Planar Gate, Nether Plane, 2145

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I look over at Rubedo expectantly, mostly seeing if he’s kept up thus far, and I’m pleased to see that I have his rapt attention. I stretch out a bit, and he gives me a curious look, likely as to why I’ve stopped talking. Instead of answering him right away, I smile and wink at him, tilting my head towards the Overlord’s castle, the dramatic, aptly named, if uninspired, Chateau du Suzerain.

He gets the hint quickly, and as I begin to walk towards the ominous palace, he scurries after me, staying close. We say nothing as we move, but I notice his eyes darting from side to side fearfully. Dusk is beginning to draw upon the plane, and despite its expansive desert wasteland appeal, there are quite a few creatures that roam the night that even I dare not cross.

Upon reaching the castle, I take us to the storytelling room, a section of the palace I had built to my specifications. It’s a simple, round room, of muted colors that cast the room into bleak shadow as a story becomes dark, or brighten it as the mood deems. A thick, brown carpet consumes the floor, while sumptuous sitting chairs, placed in a circle around a larger, slightly taller-backed lounge chair, complete the best example of living architecture I know.

I motion for Rubedo to take up the chair to my right as I settle into my ‘throne’ with a theatrical flourish, earning a nervous laugh from the boy. I reach over and ruffle his hair, as much a gesture of affection as it is to assure him that, at least within the castle walls, there is nothing to fear.

Little white lies are truly the glue that binds society together.

He looks like he’s about to say something, but I hold up a finger, grinning playfully as I interrupt him. “Ah, the story’s not yet done. If anything...” I start, the room’s ambiance darkening, creating a small ring of light that casts shadows upon my face.

“It’s only just beginning.”

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