Liliana Vess Defiant Necromancer

The Ashmouth was, as to be expected, an unpleasant place. The largest infernal gateway on Innistrad, it was a huge chasm deep enough to glow with magma from below. Ash-ridden smog rose from it, mixing with the dark clouds above that kept the area in perpetual gloom. Adding to the dimness were the mountains of the Geier Reach that seemed to claw at the belly of the sky. There was a faint miasma of sulfur and rot with every breath, and the ground underfoot was gritty and barren of plant life.

To be honest, it didn't seem like a place where any kind of life thrived.

That wasn't strictly true, of course. There were the Ashmouth dragons that nested in the mountains, waiting for weak or unwary travelers to devour. There were the Ashmouth Hounds, large, skeletal beasts that burned with an internal fire and left flaming footsteps in their wake. There were Ashmouth Stallions; large, black carnivorous stallions that glowed with an unholy blue light. Then there were the devils, spewed out from the pit according to some eldritch pattern only the demons understand.

And, of course, there were the demons. Pure manifestations of black mana, they took on hideous forms that seemed to be taken by humanity's most awful nightmares, beings of hatred and malice and power.

Even if Liliana had taken the time to explain to them what would await them in the Ashmouth, she would have found herself completely underestimating the horror and chaos they found when they walked through. Because they once again found themselves on a battlefield, with scores of angels in gleaming armor and bright white wings were battling giant demons and bands of red devils. But even just a brief glance at the field showed the angels were winning. They outnumbered the demons by a fair margin, in the grips of holy fury and ecstasy both, revitalized by the return of Avacyn and once again obeying their old edict: battling the forces of darkness to protect the innocents of Innistrad. "How nice of them to finally show up," Liliana snarked as the portal winked out behind them. Still her eyes didn't linger long on the battle, but were cast upwards towards the sky in the direction of Thraben.

She didn't have long to wait. What was, at first glance, dark smear against the gloomy clouds soon resolved to be a host of flying demons, led by a monstrous creature with wings large enough they looked like they could blot out the sky, massive curling horns that reached his shoulder, and arms that terminated not in hands, but curling scythes. He had only been ten feet tall when he'd escaped the Helvault, but during the flight he'd resumed his natural height of nearly twenty feet, a veritable giant of a demon.

And why wouldn't he be? He was the unquestioned lord of the demonic host on Innistrad and his size was a reflection of his strength and power. Liliana didn't know what magics he'd cast to arrive at the Ashmouth so quickly, but she was almost grateful for it. Now that she was here, she just wanted this over.

Griselbrand and his newly-freed horde dove down from the sky to the battlefield, Griselbrand landing hard enough to cause minor tremors around him. He roared a challenge, which every other demon and devil on the field echoed, and immediately swung an arm around to bisect an angel. Suddenly the numbers were much more even and the outcome of the battle swung towards doubt.

Liliana didn't care. She wasn't here for a battle between angels or devils, they could murder each other for all she cared. She was here for Griselbrand. Finally, after months of searching, he was only the length of a battlefield away.

She reached up to brush her fingers over the burnished links of the Chain Veil and then, without a single word, walked into the fray, hands already glowing with power, the writing on her skin blazing with purple light.

It was time to end this.

[Last one! Thanks to everyone who read this and most especially thanks to chef_chocobro for going through this massive undertaking with me! NFI, NFB, OOC is great. This follows this post and this one.]

The thing about selling your soul - at least in Liliana's experience - was that it wasn't what the stories had made it out to be. Contrary to all the stories, it wasn't that after her death, said soul would become a plaything for demonic forces. That would have been fine; Liliana was immortal and eternally young. So long as she didn't get herself killed (Stark), that bill never would have come due.

( But nothing was ever simple, including - or perhaps especially - selling one's soul. )

Annoyed, Liliana kicked the container into the pit after them, then forced herself to calm. Okay, so Griselbrand wasn't in the Ashmouth. But he did have a cult...the Skirsdag, presumably?...and they might have more answers. It was another avenue to try at least.

...Another day. First she needed to go home and bathe. Her hair smelled like sulfur, her skin was gritty from the ash plumes, and her head was starting to throb as several days of frustrations compounded upon each other. A bath, bottle of wine, and bed were the order of the day.

She Planeswalked back to Fandom, leaving only tendrils of inky black vapor behind...missing the patch of mist that solidified into the form of Henrika Domnathi.

[NFI, NFB. The snippet in italics taken from James Wyatt's "Liliana's Origin: The Fourth Pact."]