Note: The following story is based on the MtG comic Ice Age by Jeff Gomez and Rafael Kayanan, and published by Armada
Dominaria, the Ice Age. 2900 years after the
Brothers War.
Leshrac
Nightwalker hovered slightly above the surface of Dominaria's Null Moon, wisps
of shadow trailing from his midnight black cloak. Four balls of corrupted fire
orbited his bone-white hair, while the hair itself wavered like a pale flame,
wisps of smoke even seeming to curl from his eyebrows. Apart from his leathery,
grim face and hands, the planeswalker seemed barely human, composed entirely of
contrasting light and shadow.
In front of
him stood an ornate metallic structure. It looked suspiciously like a temple.
Perhaps the old wizard has finally gone mad, thought Leshrac. But he did claim to finally have an answer to
why their ability to planeswalk had been reduced to a mere twelve planes.
Twelve planes, cut off from the rest of the multiverse. ‘The Shard of Twelve
Worlds’ it had been named. Probably by Faralyn, mused Leshrac. Pretentious
bastard. He glided inside.
It was not
often that a Gathering was called. Leshrac immediately sensed the fivefold
energies of Taysir, supposedly the most powerful planeswalker that ever lived.
Not that he ever did anything useful with his vaunted power. He was as stuck
here as the rest of them. He stood on a balcony, wearing his infamous purple
turban. His lover, Kristina of the Woods, stood next to him, pale skinned and
freckled, seeming to Leshrac like waves of tranquil green power. Leshrac
frowned. She was stronger than last time they clashed…but no. Not her. There
was second figure, winged, hovering in the shadows, emanating similar energy.
But the green didn't quite manage to stifle her fiery core. She must be the upstart
half-elven planeswalker, Freyalise. Hmm. She had…potential. Yes.