Liliana Vess Defiant Necromancer

She still lived.

She felt exultant. She had known delight many times before. The day she had regained her youth. When she killed the demon lords Kothophed and Griselbrand, hearing their death screams. Each of those moments had felt like cheating; the best kind of cheating, where you get away with it and still win at the end.

( But this moment was even sweeter )

A noise from her bed drew her attention away from the window. There was Ignis, not a bat, but something Chandra had called a 'foxicorn.' Which was accurate enough she supposed. He was standing on her bed, making cranky noises at her. Liliana wasn't sure if he was upset about how long she'd been standing, or if he had sensed the direction of her thoughts and didn't approve.

Well, one of those was easily remedied, and putting in terms of 'calming Ignis' tendency to fuss' was much more palatable than acknowledging that she was still too weak to stand unaided for long. She crossed her chamber and climbed back into bed; Ignis immediately scampered to her and laid down, cuddling by her side with his head resting on her chest. She began scritching behind his floppy ears. "Perhaps it's time I did some rethinking on Jace's offer, hmm?" she asked. "Perhaps my eyes have been opened to the power of friendship after all."

[NFB. Mostly establishy but open for calls or texts, much of the text taken from "The Promised End" by Ken Troop]

Jace had left, marching out into the storm. He hadn't gotten out of the gates before he'd turned back around, meek and apologetic, to be let into the manor once more and put to bed. This morning, he, still wild-eyed, and Ignis, still annoyed but determined, had left for the High City of Thraben.

She hadn't wanted Ignis to go back out in this weather, or to accompany a mad telepath to confront an insane angel, but she couldn't deny that his absence from Vess Manor was useful. Today, they were undertaking the riskiest experiment yet; the overlap of the storm and his absence too useful to ignore.

Liliana could almost see her reflection in the spectral-glass vessels where the wires led, and in the latticework of the witchbane orb on the windowsill, and in the conductive tubes that led out the window and up onto the roof. The etchings in her face were just visible through the Veil, once more covering her face. The lines in her skin matched the menacing light of the storm clouds outside. Lightning flickered appropriately.

Two demons still needed to die. But she had to make sure she wouldn't die herself when she managed to face them. The Chain Veil was a potent weapon, but potentially deadly to its wielder. If this worked, she could use the Veil safely. She could keep the artifact's power where it belonged - in her hands - without having to deal with the agenda of the millions of souls that made the Veil their final resting place.

And she could rid the Multiverse of her demonic creditors once and for all.

"Are we ready?" Liliana asked.

( What could possibly go wrong? )

***
( And elsewhere in Innistrad... )

Just as soon as Sorin's pet angel, Avacyn, was dead.

[Liliana's section adapted from "Innistrad's Last Hope" by Doug Beyer, while Nahiri's is spliced, diced, and stitched back together from "Stone and Blood" by Kelly Digges and "Emrakul Rises" by Kimberly J. Kreines. Previous post here; next post here. NFB, NFI, OOC is wonderful, as are Liliana's choices when left alone. Warning for (as always) for length.]

Stensia, Morning
Since leaving Markov Manor, Jace had been consumed by the journal: what it said, what questions it asked, what answers it gave. Both men had agreed that clearly something greater was at work here - after all, they'd found the journal in Markov Manor, which had been destroyed by some as yet unknown force, and the journal discussed many of the weird issues plaguing Innistrad currently: the madness of angels, the monstrousness of werewolves, the twisting transformation of villagers...and sometimes their villages as well. It seemed like each step across Innistrad they took, they found evidence of some new fresh horror at work, and they'd barely been at this for a full twenty-four hours.

Fortunately for them both, he'd been released from the tense delusions of Markov Manor; his composure and thoughts had cleared. He was fully back in the land of the sane once more.

Jace knew that Ignis was impatiently waiting for him to pack up the journal so they could continue their trek, but he couldn't help but linger over their breakfast at the inn they'd overnighted in. But how could he go on, when there were so many fascinating noted to uncover within? Intricate field drawings filled the pages in front of him. An angel's wing—each feather described in painstakingly detailed line work. A gridded table of field drawings of delicately shaded circles under the boxed heading "Material Composition of the Heron Moon." A full-page image of a part-man, part-wolf, depicted in profile. This journal was as much art as it was scholarship.

( Entry 433, Harvest Moon )

Okay, maybe that was enough reading for the morning. With a hard swallow of the last of his coffea, Jace tucked the journal into his belt and went to see if Ignis was getting anywhere in negotiations to rent some kind of conveyance.

***
Stensia, Afternoon
Their horses didn't like the marshes. At first, Jace thought it was just that they didn't like the dampness, the uneven footing, the chill mist that seemed to find every gap in clothing. But as they continued, it became obvious that it wasn't the marsh specifically that they were leery of, but something within it. Finally, right after noon, the mists thinned a bit and they found themselves looking at a twisting monolith. It was approximately his height, the foundation formed from raw stone pulled from the earth that quickly turned to a hard-edged, twisting shape. Staring down the axis of its tip, Jace noted that the formation pointed to another just like it a couple hundred meters away. It in turn pointed to another, and another, until they disappeared from view in the distance. Looking closely, Jace saw that the very trees themselves had begun growing in the direction of the monoliths.

"Ignis! Ignis, look at that! This monolith is unmistakably the same as those we saw at Markov Manor, and I'm certain I saw the exact same image here the journal!" He missed Ignis' reply, barely even noticing the tone it was delivered in (a scathing drawl), because he was quickly diving back into the text. "And you, our paper companion, what did you know about this?" He eagerly thumbed through the pages to the image of the same twisted stones that he remembered glancing over the night before, when he was still puzzling over the Kamigawan script. An entry followed:

( Entry 643, Hunter's Moon )

The moor was silent, save for a rising buzz of swamp insects and the restive movement of their horses. Ignis was asking him something or other, tone a bit concerned now, but Jace didn't answer. He had more reading to do.

***
Kessig, Evening
They had followed the stones - cryptoliths, the journal had called them, all the way from Stensia to the border of Gavony, but then had turned and ridden south towards Kessig to see if the lines of stones could be found there, too.

Indeed they were, all uniform in height and size, equidistant apart.

As our colleagues in Kessig had seen the renewed savagery of lycanthropes, here in Nephalia we too have recorded signs of the moon's unease (see Table 6-32). The oceans themselves have risen to record high tides in addition to a change in their direction—

Jace pored over the charts on the previous page's ledger with a critical editorial eye that would have made Lavinia proud, had she seen him do so more than a handful of times as the Guildpact.

—despite experiments performed in triplicate, far exceeding tolerances for measurement error. The gravitational force governing the movement of the tides appears to have shifted from the moon itself to a location very close to the sea—

"Wait a second. Hang on," Jace said indignantly to the handwritten pages. "I've seen Kiora move the entire Halimar Sea. Or at least try to. And...and even if it was something that could move the tides, it would have to be huge. There's no way such a thing could have gone unnoticed!" He gave the book a cautionary glare, as if warning it to not turn tricky on him.

Each of my studies seems to blossom into more inquiries. For every answer, three questions...

More questions, endless questions.

More clues, still with no answers. Jace clenched and unclenched his fists, filled with nervous energy. The evidence was infuriating - nothing to hear, grasp, or know on his own. Even his own eyes seemed useless. He had no choice but to let the journal lead him along.

"Why aren't you here, in person? I have so many questions..." Jace gave a longing sigh toward the journal. Silence. "Of course. Wishful thinking."

The text of the pages stared back at him, defying him to reread their final words. "I know, I know. We've found a trail in the stones, I'll—-er, we'll follow it." He gave a guilty glance to Ignis; he had spent more of the day talking to the journal than he had his flesh-and-blood companion. "I just...I wish I knew better what we were looking for? Trail or trap, what have you left me here?"

Either way, they'd find it in Nephalia.

[Once more into the breach, dear friends! This post spliced, diced, and julienned from "The Drownyard Temple" by Mel Li. Ignis modded with permission from the wonderfully game and always enthusiastic chef_chocobro. Warning for length, because of course there is, I'm adapting very long "short" fictions, okay? NFI, NFB, OOC is cherished. Follows the events of this post. Also, warning for gore/body horror under the Entry 433, Harvest Moon cut!]

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."]

Liliana needed a costume for her own party and she'd taken a single step into the new shop in town before deciding, absolutely not. She would patronize one of her own modistes about the Multiverse, thank you. Which, of course, had meant that Ignis would need to accompany her for his own costume fitting, and so the two of them have ventured from Fandom to a mid-sized city in Stensia, a province of Innistrad, not far from Liliana's own manor house. Oddly enough - though she had not offered an explanation - Liliana had chosen to travel via planar portal with Ignis, rather than planeswalking, and had clung tightly enough to his hand has they'd stepped through that her knuckles had turned white, relaxing only once they were safely on the other side.

Their immediate stop for lunch in a nearby tavern was for his opportunity to try some local cuisine and had nothing to do with any emotional reactions on Liliana's part at all, thank you. Because obviously she hadn't had one.

Between explaining the designs, choosing fabrics and patterns, and the unending round of measurements, their trip to the dress shop had taken several hours and Liliana had just been about to suggest they return to Vess Manor for dinner when the tailor that had been working with Ignis had entered the private sitting room they'd been escorted to to inform them that 'there was a gentleman looking to speak with them.' Intrigued, annoyed, and suspicious by equal turns, Liliana had given permission for the man to be allowed in - only to discover that it was a vampire looking to converse.

"My lady, Olivia Voldaren, invites you to a late tea at the Voldaren Estate," he told them in smug tones. "How very honored you must be to attend."

[NFB for distance, and for that guy!]