[NoR] - [01] - Contract Evaluation

Two suns shone weakly over the horizon, the extreme angle forcing the land into near-perpetual dusk. The ice was thick, providing a solid ground beneath the multiple layers of snow coating the landscape. Ancient Glaciers flowed ceaselessly through the few rocky outcroppings, disguising their long trek with the passage of time. A brisk wind tossed sleet rebelliously against the monoliths, as if trying vainly to push them back. A moon hung high above, shimmering brightly as it reflected the dual lights beyond.

Snow hardened slightly under a passing shadow, softening imperceptibly as the light returned. The darkness slid silently and tirelessly through the wastes, keeping perfect pace with the form beside it. The man was defiantly bare, showing next to no signs of the cold. His breath fogged before his face, yet his flesh was softly tanned and free of frost. His sharp green eyes scanned the horizon, seeking a familiar locale known only to him. His shaggy hair was swept back in the wind, as was his hood. The pauldrons over his shoulders hung lightly over his netting, matching his gauntlets and greaves in design and fabric. His Loincloth hung over a long skirt, serving to hide his footfalls, which never truly hit the ground.

With a broad smile and a quick reminisce, Razel came to a stop.

(Taken from a Journal of Razel Korr, Planeswalker;)

It was the summer of my sixteenth year when I fell through the world. My people, as I recall, were wanderers, constantly seeking respite from the biting cold that enveloped our lives. The world was forever ensconced in a harsh winter, ice and snow more plentiful than the very air itself. Our days were cold, and our nights frigid. We dug through the layers of rime for trapped beasts, which was more fruitful than it may sound. In order to survive the harsh reality of our world, many creatures bred at an alarming rate, and died just as quickly. The frozen carrion was food for many things, not just ourselves. One such scavenger just so happened to find me during the summer of my sixteenth year.

I was the son of a hunter, raised from the womb to traverse the snow and seek the dead. I was taught the ways of our people, the tongue of our fathers, the styles of our weapons. I learned to build defenses against the rime, as well as the best way to dig beneath our feet should the shelters fail. It was a day like all that had come before it when I was to undergo the rite of passage, sent alone into the wild to find and bring back a corpse for the feast celebrating my hopeful return. I set forth during the wee hours of the morning, waving what would be my last to my family. The entire clan wished me well, and saw me off. I recall the suns shining weakly through the clouds, softening the transition between the normally blinding white and the subdued grey of the sky above.

For hours I wandered the hills surrounding our posts, seeking any sign of disturbance in the snow. I followed the valleys along the cliffs, searching for something that may have fallen from above. As I passed beneath an overhang of glacial ice, a subtle blue glow revealed my prize. A leaking of life lighting my way. A fellow forager must have come to the edge of the ledge above, probably out of curiosity. The additional weight must have proved too much, as the now deceased creature could attest. I wasted no time in digging it free, dragging the large beast out of the frost packed deep around it and hoisting it up on my shoulders. A smile inevitably stained my face, betraying the satisfaction I felt at my apparent success.

The trek back towards the village was going well, with my path more or less still apparent. I was well on my way when I heard the noise. It was quiet, deep and resonant. Something hungry. I froze in place, knowing from previous encounters precisely what it was. The throat issuing that frightening call belonged to a hunter, one of the few large predators left in our world. If I remember, we called it "Frigir-Bakesh"; The Snow Stalker. It was a monstrous, giant beast, a ton of muscles and fur carried through the ice by paws laced with claws. I dropped the corpse and looked around hurriedly, hoping that it would go for the body instead of myself. I began to back away slowly, waiting tensely for any sign of its location. Again I heard the stalker's cry, this time much closer…and behind me.

I turned in a flash and saw it bounding across the tundra, steam billowing from its maw as it came. My tribe had drilled in the proper response to such situations, a memory I now know to be invaluable as an automated response.

I ran.

I ran fast, and I ran hard. I leapt over the body, rolled through the snow, and leapt to my feet. I saw the canyons to my right, and decided quickly to seek shelter in one of the numerous caves dotting the hills. I hoped that the Stalker had left me alone, instead seeking the easy meal of the body, and decided to check with a quick glance over my shoulder. It remained behind me, quickly gaining on my position. In mere moments it would have me. My heart pounded hard enough to shake my body, my blood boiling with fear and desperation. I turned back to the path before me, and instead felt the ground beneath me disappear. I had run right into a fissure in the glacier. Time seemed to slow for me as I fell, allowing me adequate time to look down at the jagged spires beneath me. I counted the seconds as hours while I descended, each slipping back into nothingness after they had come. I felt the first point on my skin and lodged my eyes shut, bracing for the pain. I never felt the pierce of the cold, instead immersed in a horrifyingly oppressive pressure on all sides, pressing me inexorably 'forward' as I fell. As I began to realize I hadn't hit the bottom, I assumed my death and forced my eyes open.

The pressure continued for what seemed like an eternity, while my eyes seemed to have decided to take up drinking. What I saw was impossible, my vision telling me things I can't have known. Stars collapsed on realities, streaks of colors that aren't melted seamlessly into feelings of smell that tasted like memories I have yet to make. I shut my eyes again, which seemed to end the encounter. I felt the ground introduce itself to my shoulder, forsaking any semblance of subtlety. I hit the floor hard and rolled into a wall. It was a conscious choice to keep my eyes closed for as long as I did. I was initially afraid the visions would still be there, and part of me was still convinced I was dead. Another part of me hoped the whole thing was just a hallucination, and that in my panicked state I had 'seen' it all while somehow missing the spikes at the bottom of the chasm. It was this part that eventually won out with the simple reasoning that should it be right, there was still a stalker after me.

I opened my eyes, and doubted them for the second time that day.

Razel shook his head, returning to the present. The incident had been so long ago...literal lifetimes had passed since. The chasm before him was barely recognizable as the same he had fallen through, but he knew it from the rest. Ignition sears the places that witness it with raw, burning mana. A pleasant smile passed over his lips as he remembered the simplicity of his former self, before the academy deigned to seek and end him. With another smile he slipped between worlds, emerging without fanfare or incident impossible distances away, on an entirely different plane of existence. He visualized a simple robe, the fabric falling softly from nothingness to cover him in a less conspicuous garb. With a solid step on the cobbled stones, he strode out of the alley and into the village square.

The market was a blatant contrast from the frozen waste. The locals milled about, chattering amongst themselves whilst they went about their day. The sounds of exotic livestock mingled with the overture of commerce to make a cacophony that was music to the ears of those who frequented the bazaar. Razel’s footfalls clicked on the hewn stone thoroughfare, subdued beneath the oppressive noise. A short few steps took him to a nearby building, the sign above the door crested with a sigil betraying the allegiance of the shop-keep to a local guild. The door opened to an inconspicuous shop, shelves running along the walls to encircle the tables of goods within. Small trinkets glimmered in the shadowy light of the shop, some providing a faint glow entirely their own. The shop-keep himself was in the back, ignoring the door in favor of something which was obviously intensely fascinating. Razel stepped past the bell hung at the threshold, eying a carved puzzle box in the corner. The bell chimed, enchanted to warn the owner should a potential source of income, or even just a looker with a lot of money, find its way in. A few of the other items in the room chirped back, responding to the alarm. The Owner smiled as he put the object carefully back onto the shelf he had taken it from, Turning slowly to greet the customer.

“Welcome to Derrin’s Pawn, is ther-”

His words cut short as he recognized the symbol embroidered into the simple robe before him.

Orzhov!

The guild of deals! Derrin swallowed loudly. His shop was rented Orzhov property, and lately business had been less than stellar. A local Rakdos fray spilled over into the shop next door, and when he tried to take cover a stray lightning bolt had struck him. The medical bills were outrageous, and since then he hadn't managed to cover his guild dues. The Orzhov weren’t known for their patience, but their punctuality was another story.

Razel smiled blandly at Derrin, awaiting the rest of his greeting. Derrin fidgeted nervously. Razel kept staring. Derrin simply fidgeted. Finally, Razel spoke up.

“Is there..?” Razel motioned with his hands to get the shop-keep going.

“Oh! Uh...Is...Is there anything particular you’re, uh...looking for? Sir?”

More fidgeting.

“Yes.”

Derrin worriedly looked around, unsure of what to do.

“Can...Can I help you find it?”

The planeswalker strode towards the counter, casually grabbing a wicked-looking artifact off of a table as he passed. Placing it before the owner, Razel continued to smile wanly.

“How much?”

Sweat began to bead on the back of Derrin’s neck as he recognized the item on his counter.

“For...for you sir? Free. B-But be careful with that. These Thought Prisons have a nasty habit of biting the hands that use them.”

Razel’s smile slowly shifted from disinterest into genuine deviance.

“I’m aware of the dangers, Derrin. That’s the reason I want one.”

He placed his hands on the counter, leaning in.

“You’re late, Derrin.”

The shop-keep swallowed once more.

“S-see, there was a Rakdos incident, and the guys next door got hit, and...and...well, people got scared off, but...I got medical bills, too...”

Razel kept smiling.

“Derrin, The Church has sent me to gauge the profitability of your little business venture. We allow you to use this space to sell your goods on the condition that your fees are covered in full. Lately, you haven’t kept up your end of the deal.”

“But, but I have to-”

Razel held out his hand, quieting the owner.

“Don’t tell me,”

He picked up the object on the counter, cradling it gently before Derrin’s face. The sharp spikes caged the brilliant gem trapped within. Razel silently sent a pulse of mana into the stone, releasing a faint glimmer of purple that drew Derrin’s eyes.

“...tell this.”

Derrin whimpered softly as he felt the object start to pull at his mind. Without his consent, the words began to stream from his mouth. Explanations, reasons, legitimate or otherwise. All possible ways for him to disobey his agreement spilled out of his lips and into the stone, which itself grew cloudier and cloudier with each syllable. The deluge of thought ceased as abruptly as it started, and Derrin collapsed briskly over the counter, his head hitting the polished stone loudly. A small trail of saliva crept from his face.

Razel picked up the artifact and walked it to a shelf behind the counter, placing it just out of Derrin’s reach yet well within his view. He reached over and took a ‘not for sale’ sign off of some other random object, hanging it from the spikes.