The Hushmage's Ideal
Author's Note: Enjoy the story and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of Magic: The Gathering.
Summary:
A dying Dominaria, as observed by a practitioner of one of its age-old arts.
…
She awoke with a start that morning to the sounds of unquenchable thirst and squalid hunger – the moans and cries of hundreds upon thousands of denizens crawling out from beneath their storm-battered, hastily-pitched shelters to meet the torment of a new day, knowing full well that their very survival through the night was an act of god. Naturally the word stung her tongue as it came to mind. It was one of her most hated words, for it characterized the folly into which her kind was descending. Further and further they sank into darkness, yet the overall impression was that they would be saved from damnation at some point in time. "An evangelical intervention will occur" or "Just you wait and see" were the general assumptions of most people, but she believed that they were merely religious slogans sputtered by zealots trying to resuscitate their long-dead faiths.
The root of the problem was simple, and dashed any remaining traces of hope in her heart: time was up. All things had to come to an end, and that period was dawning. For centuries, civilization had struggled on the plane of Dominaria – ravaged by ancient thrashing tides, hit by cataclysm after cataclysm, and enduring the onslaught of constant wars which pushed it to the brink of apocalypse. Through it all, various sectors of humanity had been preserved, but at the expense of the weaker breeds. Time was not on their side…Indeed it was, in fact, promoting a slow and painful death.
As she rose from the ice-cold floor – soggy dirt, riddled with crushed pebbles, snapped twigs, and dried bones from a dinner previous weeks before – she willed her ears to close off to the outside world. Within seconds, every utterance, lie, chant, and prayer was forced from her eardrums in a rush not unlike that of a river flowing into the open ocean – "cushioning the impact" so to speak. In this state, she was deaf to the noise that otherwise unceasingly made itself clear each waking moment of her existence. She was finally at peace – or at least as close as she could get to it without going six feet under, and that prospect was not at all comforting either.
Kneeling over a collapsed portion of the entrance to her cavern hovel, she collected some muddy water in a small tin basin from a hole in the wall. Although she could be called one of the "lucky ones" for having any access to fluid sustenance at all, she was forced to ration what little could be harvested, as there was no guarantee that the supply would last indefinitely. As such, she restricted water usage to its bare drinking necessity. By now, after having lived in the same cave for seven arduous years, she was absolutely certain that she smelled worse than an anurid carcass. It really made no difference given that the rest of the human race was practically in the same boat as her. It seemed like the only species that thrived in the onset of the temporal chaos presently tearing apart the plane at its seams were the thallids, sentient fungi that quickly propagated themselves via "sporesowing," as well as the elusive slivers, which she understood to be highly adaptive creatures sharing a hive mind of sorts.
The sun was in the process of surmounting the horizon just as she took a sip of water. It tasted foul, but she continued downing it regardless in light of the promises of fatality offered by the alternative. Still, death was a welcome temptation on occasion. After emptying her cup, she set it aside and peered across the wastelands below the cliff atop which she currently resided. Clouds were hovering in front of the sun, forming a tight "cage" around it that rendered the star bleak and grey amidst a dusty yellow haze. Any luminescence that managed to penetrate the smog was instantly devoured by jagged mountain peaks, the spires of which curved inward, as if to hide the untold horrors lurking among them.
It was a sad sight…These lands were, in the past, alive with healthy trees and wildlife, the elegant chorus of nature itself. Now all that remained was danger and decay. Mold crept onto the last structures of human settlement, transforming them into ruined parodies of their former selves. Drought reaped the earth, and growth of vegetation became impossible as a result. Time was up. The clock had stopped ticking, and with its halt, doom was assured.
The plight of the world suddenly resounded before her, louder than ever…Her spell had worn off. Each twisted tale of melancholy that was being suffered anywhere came knocking at the gate, a haunting echo. Her head pounded with throbbing persistence. Her neck was on fire. She had trouble breathing, and the strain caused blood to pool in the center of her brain. Her heartbeat jumped, and she could feel her grip on reality loosening – her vision spun, the ground beneath her feet melted away, and vibrant colours bombarded her from every direction. She saw herself as a young girl, a scene playing across the wilderness, an overcrowded cemetery, followed by the expressions of agonized soldiers as they braved the desert. Images were flying at her at such an incredible speed that she had no opportunity to interpret them. The delirium was relentless.
The most hellish of sounds implanted themselves in her memory, and those she had already witnessed made a frightening return: Metal scraping against metal…The whine of constructs as they fell on top of their creators at expiration…Malnourished elves and beasts swept up in a hurricane…Bitter autocrats inflicting wounds upon their subjects with the crack of a whip…Oh, how deliverance would be the greatest gift!
Index finger to her lips, it was silent once more. From her other hand, clenched in fist, stemmed a concentrated burst of blue mana, awash with mental energy. Her breathing became less rapid, and her focus was gradually restored. Pausing briefly, wavy black hair cutting across the opaline skin of her face, she uncurled her fingers and allowed the raw magic a chance to evaporate into the air. She need only open her ears, and the flood would resume. At that moment, she remembered wise words bespoke prior to her training:
Trade secret #1 of the Voidmage's Handbook: You've got to learn to block things out.
…
-Fin-