Ravnica: The Scion of Mat'selesnya

Chapter 1

She was unity. Hers was the heart of the Guildpact. Without her, the laws that bound the guilds of Ravnica would have fallen into chaos long ago. This wasn't just a Selesnyan belief. It was history.

---------Fonn, half-elf leved, speaking of Mat'selesnya

0 Z.C.

Twelve…

One sweet, lilting voice broke in waves over all of the beings gathered together. At once, it produced a hush and stilled the roiling and tumultuous crowd. Even the dark Devkarians, the fearsome Cisarzim, and the holy Razia herself paused to listen. A second voice joined the first, followed soon by a third, a fourth, a fifth…More voices joined until there were a dozen in all. Twelve dryads faced the crowd, their voices melding into one and as their voices joined into a stimulating chorus, their actual bodies were melding together as well. Slowly yet surely, they were literally succumbing to the belief that all would one day join the Conclave, becoming truly unified in mind, body, and spirit. When the transformation was complete they had transformed into a giant female shape, beautiful beyond belief. Long golden tresses spilled around the creature, covering her entire body, clothing her in a natural covering of pure gold. Light streamed from her body, light that was so bright, only her face could be seen through the brilliance. Her emerald eyes seemed filled with grace, holiness, and innocence, and only the purest could withstand her penetrating stare for more than a few moments. Her lips curved in a soft smile, causing the weakest present to tremble in pure ecstasy or holy fear, while the strongest seemed to feel almost light-headed. A few moments of silence descended on the gathering, for everyone seemed to be in awe of this wondrous, wise, and benevolent being. The Archangel Razia, the only one to be seemingly unaffected by the powerful goddess before them, was the first to break the silence.

"You have a proposition to make?" the angel asked, her voice strong and commanding.

"Yes, I do," said the woman, speaking for the first time in a voice distinctly different from Razia's, "I am Mat'selesnya, formed from the purest and holiest dryads of the Selesnyan Conclave. My song will weave all guilds together to bind all, from the lowliest goblin to the highest angel, to this guildpact."

"No! How you do that? That not possible, no magic that strong!" growled Cisarzm.

Mat'selesnya turned her glowing eyes on Cisarzm, and after just one second, he was looking at the ground in shame.

"I trust that answers any doubters," said Mat'selesnya, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips once again, "Now, is the guildpact truly ready, and have all bound themselves to this contract?"

"Yes, all have signed and all that remains is to create a magic of binding, a magic so strong, none will dare cross the precepts set forth in this guildpact," replied a balding man in blue and white robes.

"I will form that magic, in fact, I will become one with the magic! For as long as I live, all will be bound to this pact, and any who break the pact will be punished by the holiest of all powers," said Mat'selesnya.

"Yes, and those who seek to undermine the guildpact or slip under the spells that bind it in any way will answer to my justice," spoke Razia, her voice echoing throughout the field.

Mat'selesnya's eyes flashed, and as they did so, the entire area was bathed in blessed light, blinding all, except for maybe the archangel. Szadek, the Lord of Whispers, hissed something under his breath, his voice producing a medium between fear and anger, but he kept his counsel to himself. Mat'selesnya opened her mouth, and a song so beautiful it stirred even the darkest hearts poured forth. At last, Mat'selesnya's song was finished, and she paused, as if she had exerted for much more than just a few moments.

"All have agreed to the guildpact, and so shall it be. Any who break the laws will be broken by the power that I have drawn from the hearts of all here. Let peace reign for all time, and may all walk in the light of holiness," Mat'selesnya finally spoke, almost singing instead of speaking.

The contract the balding man held began to glow with a green light as the bright and holy light that had engulfed the area disappeared. In another few moments, the green light coalesced into a single, giant emerald, which promptly sailed through the air, and fastened itself to Mat'selesnya's forehead.

"It is done then, the magic of the guildpact will be bound in me for all time," whispered Mat'selesnya in a trance-like state, "But I leave yet one more gift, a gift to all who are bathed in the holy light, and maybe to some of those who are not."

She waved her hand, and a glittering ball of sparkling energy, somehow seeming to have been created from her very essence, appeared in the air. It floated to a cluster of dryads, not unlike the ones who had given away their identities to become Mat'selesnya herself.

"Why you give gift only to friends? Not fair, I say! Not fair!" roared Cisarzim.

"She will give gifts to whom she pleases, and you will keep your mouth closed!" said Razia, her eyes flashing fire.

"No! Me not calm down! Me crush everyone with hammer!" yelled Cisarzim.

Before anyone could react, he raised his hammer, and swung directly at Mat'selesnya's head. Mat'selesnya did not twitch and eyelash, even as the hammer swung nearer and nearer. At the last moment, a silver light encased her entire body, and as soon as the hammer touched it, it disintegrated into dust. The Cyclops stared at Mat'selesnya in terror, his mouth moving but no sounds coming out. Mat'selesnya shook her head wearily, a pained expression on her face, causing everyone to feel guilty, whether they had done something to harm her or not.

"I am tired…so very tired…I will not stay here in the world much longer…I must meditate, protect the souls who join the Great Beyond…Take care of my Scion, my sisters, for it is my gift to you. Care for it, I beg you, for as long as it takes you to nurture, though you may grow weary. And when it has come to its fullness, it will bring you great joy, though I fear I foresee great sorrow must come to pass before the joy," said Mat'selesnya, her voice growing fainter and fainter.

The dryads gingerly touched the light, to find it soft and palpable, and easy to hold. One of them, Laitara by name, cradled it in her arms as if it were a child. Mat'selesnya smiled, and reached out to touch the light gently, stroking it as if she were stroking the hair of a newborn infant.

"Sleep well, my dear, and though you may not see me for ten thousand of years, know I will always be a part of you," she whispered, just as her body erupted with a silver glow.

The glow surrounded her body and solidified into a hard casing. Branches sprouted from the casing, thrusting themselves into the sky in every direction. Multi-colored leaves shot from the ends of the branches, until Mat'selesnya could no longer be seen. All that was left was a beautiful silver-barked tree full of luscious leaves. For the last time, Mat'selesnya's voice spoke.

"This is Vitu Ghazi, the Tree of Life. Tend it well, my sisters. Tend it well, all you who are holy and live in the light. In time, it will produce fruit, blessed fruit that shall protect those who live in holiness. The light…bless…all of you…"

The light Laitara held seemed to shimmer, and a few shimmering drops sprinkled from it onto the ground, as if it were crying.

"Shhh…it's alright, dear Scion of Mat'selesnya, you will be safe, and even in her sleep, the great Mat'selesnya will watch over you," whispered Laitara.

The light seemed to consider that for a moment, and then, at least to the eyes of those watching, it curled up in Laitara's arms and relaxed.

10,000 Z.C.

Ten thousand years in the future, Lieutenant…no…now Shift-Captain Agrus Kos shook his head as he looked at the lifeless body of a young male elf. Like all the others, this one seemed to have died from an inexplicable cause. Other than being abnormally pale, there seemed to be nothing wrong with this victim. Also, like the other victims, this elf was only a child, at least according to elvish standards, and he had the same pale, golden hair and eyes as green as emeralds as the other unfortunates had possessed.

"Another one, huh Linall?" sighed Kos, turning to the honey haired yet stern featured woman beside him.

"Yes, the labmages have not assessed the causes yet, but I'll bet all they'll assess are a lot of dead ends once again," said Linall in a stern, military-bred voice.

Linall, officially known as Lieutenant Trianna Linall, was a pretty, slender woman with braids the color of pale honey and lips that would shame even the most beautiful of roses. To some, mostly the inexperienced and a few who were experienced but just plain stupid, Lieutenant Linall looked to be a soft and weak woman. Those who harbored these thoughts and acted on them usually ended up with some part of their body broken, a fat lip, or bruises the size of golf balls all over their body. A couple unfortunates were even given "extended leaves of absence due to extraneous yet unknown causes", but Kos and many others certainly knew these leaves had something to do with letting their mouths run to freely around Linall. If there was anything Linall abhorred most, it had to be those talking too much and too long about matters other than the case at hand, especially if they were talking about her looks too freely.

"I assess that your assessment will be right," said Kos in a tired voice, wearily rubbing his head, "And all this just gives me more paperwork. Just what I need…For once I'd like to just handle a case instead of writing about it! All this paperwork makes me want to tear my hair out by the roots!"
"That might be hard to do…" murmured Linall with a teasing look at the prominent feature of his forehead, his receding hairline.

Kos scowled at her, and growled, "When you're one hundred and eleven years old, I'd like to see you look this good! Besides, I'm a Shift-captain now, you should learn to respect your superiors."

Kos grimaced as he said the word "shift-captain", as if he were tasting acid or bile in his mouth. Ever since his promotion, he had essentially had to leave behind all actual field-work, and was forced to sit for at least twelve hours a day in a cramped cubicle, filing and filling out gigantic amounts of "darn paperwork." That he had even been allowed to witness this crime scene had been a special concession made to him by his superiors, due to the "abnormal level of similar crimes in the Tenth District". As if he even knew what that meant anyway…

"Oh, pardon me for my…forwardness, Captain," said Linall, smiling mock-sincerely, "But I wasn't talking about your, uh, follicle problem, I was talking about you getting the superiors to let you actually work on a case. Now that you mention it, though, tearing your hair out might not be a good idea, considering you only have a limited amount remaining."

Kos's scowl deepened, but he bit back the retort that had popped into his mind. Most likely, when he was a Lieutenant, he would have had no problem telling Linall what he thought of her statements. Now that he was a Shift-captain, he found himself slowly but surely becoming more polite. Thinking of that, however, put him into an even worse mood, and caused a growl to form in the back of his throat.

"You don't sound well, Captain. According the code of the Wojek, I believe you should return to your proper duties at once and leave these cases to professionals like myself," Linall smirked.

"I've been solving cases since before you were born," said Kos, his growl turning into a bark, "Don't try to tell me about proper duties!"

"Sir, with all due respect, it sounds like you need a nap," said Linall, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

The seriousness in her face, however, served to incite Kos' already volatile temper to a fever pitch. Newly found tact or not, there were certain discourtesies that could not and would not be tolerated!

"I'll do as I darn well please, Lieutenant! You are dismissed!" roared Kos.

"But sir, Captain, it is my case, and as such my duty to inspect further aspects of the crime," said Linall, somehow managing to sound as if she were talking patiently to a five-year-old, "Please, go get some rest, a drink, a wife, something to calm your nerves."

Kos stared at her, his jaws working but only infuriated gasps came out. Linall continued to face him with a calm, level stare, never flinching or backing down.

Finally, Kos was able to speak coherently, "I suspend you from the crime scene!" he practically screamed, "As a senior officer, I am taking care of this…job!"
"But sir-," began Linall, the first hints of discomfiture on her face, "You can't…"

"I can, and I will!" said Kos, getting his temper under control, yet speaking icily, "You're lucky I'm not suspending you from the case entirely!"
"B-but…you can't…your superiors…" stammered Linall.

"You are relieved of your duties for now, Lieutenant," said Kos, his voice still icy, "Best go before I decide to inflict harsher penalties."

Linall sighed patiently, still trying to act as if he were only a child, and walked sedately away, her head held high.

"Move it!" barked Kos.

To his slightly surprising and somehow embarrassing satisfaction, she scurried away from the scene in response to his command. He turned to the stunned labmages who only a few moments before had entered the area where the crime had taken place.

"What are you staring at? You wanna join her in suspension?" he asked, a wicked grin on his face, "Get to work, I have a case to wrap up!"

With many protests of innocence the labmages scurried to do their jobs.

Hours later, Kos was tempted to pull his hair out by the roots as he had threatened to do before as he headed to one of the local bars, the Iron Minotaur. Once again, like all the other reports, the cause of this murder had proved to be inconclusive. All the mages could say was that the elven youth had died of sudden yet inexplicable cardiac arrest. There was no evidence of any violence done to the elf; his heart had just stopped. Kos sighed because he knew that whenever there were cases that could not be explained by science, there always had to be some type of magic involved. But what kind of people would use such dangerous magic?

Ever since the near fiasco involving the large bicentennial Selesnyan Conclave, where the ambitious Golgari priestess Savra had corrupted the Selesnyans and turned their quiet-men into killing machines and Szadek had appeared and attempted to suck the life of Mat'selesnya herself, the entire Selesnya Guild had withdrawn within itself. Besides, much as he hated to admit it, the Selesnyan's didn't really do violence, and in all fairness, the whole quiet-men episode had ultimately been Szadek's fault, not theirs. Of course, he would never suspect any of the Boros Legion, his own guild, of using that kind of magic. Besides, even Boros Guildmages didn't have that type of power.

The Golgari might have been able to do it, what with their views of life and death as a cycle. Ever since Jarad had taken over the Guild, however, and the forces Ludmilla had assembled under Savra's commands had been forced into submission, the Golgari had actually been pretty quiet. Szadek had been captured, and was locked safely away in the strongest Boros containment chamber, so the Dimir could not possibly be involved.

The Simic and the Izzet were far too concerned in the health of the planet and the success of their experiments, respectively, to have any interest in just randomly killing blond haired, green-eyed elves, even if they could have created an injection to simulate cardiac arrest. Gruul were leaderless and scattered, and if they murdered, it wouldn't be with magic or in sneaky, underhand ways.

The Orzhov only killed and/or tortured those who owed them debts, and Kos seriously doubted every single one of the twenty-odd elves murdered had a debt to pay to Orzhov Guild. The Azorius, of course, were the law, and he doubted that unless they had been planning to murder certain elves for thousands of years, they wouldn't have even gotten past the debating stage yet. That left the most obvious choice, the bloodthirsty Rakdos. They killed for the pleasure of killing, disregarding age, race, gender, or guild. And that was wherein the problem lie. The Rakdos would not pick specific targets; they would capture, torture, and murder anyone anytime. Besides, victims of Rakdos bloodsport, as it was called, were horribly mutilated after death, often whole limbs ripped off their bodies, and they were always covered in blood. The elvish victims had no signs of violence done to them, other than the unexplained stoppage of their hearts.

As these thoughts floated through his mind, Kos had unconsciously taken a seat in the bar and had somehow ordered a drink. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, angry at himself for going through such a…well…logical process. Before, he would have gotten to the root of the problem right away. Twenty or more minutes of thinking and he still hadn't deducted a single clue to solve even one aspect of the mysterious murders. That's what this whole stupid Shift-Captain business had done to him. As he drank more and more, however, his thoughts became clouded and soon he had drowned his troubles in oblivion…

After an amount of time Kos could not remember, he found himself sitting bleary eyed, face to face with commander-general Migellic. To his dismay, Lieutenant Linall was there as well, that aggravating look of infinite patience on her face. There were others too, but he couldn't sort them out from the haze that had descended over his mind. Suddenly, he realized Migellic was speaking, and probably had been speaking for some time. Slowly, the words penetrated the fog that seemed to have formed an utterly impenetrable barrier around his brain.

"….and as a result of this, much valuable time has been wasted in Lieutenant Linall's investigation. Plus, as I have said about a million times, getting completely and utterly drunk is completely against the mandates of the Boros. You know the angels look down on that sort of thing anyway. Even if they aren't here with us at the moment, I'm sure they know what we've been doing. What would Feather say if she were here?" said Migellic's voice, though it seemed slow and somewhat garbled.

Kos missed some of the words, but he distinctly heard the name of his angelic friend, Feather, and his head perked up.

"Feather? She's a good looking' lass, ain't she?" he drawled, not even knowing what he was saying, "Wish she were here now…"

"I do too," said Migellic severely, "She would whip some sense into you. How many times have you done this, Kos? Years of good service aside, where would you be now? You'd be out of gold, out of work, and out of luck. From now on, I expect you to deport yourself as a model Shift-Captain. You listening to me, Captain Kos?"

"Yea, yea…" murmured Kos, vaguely feeling like he had missed something important, "Don't port wine into a model building until sundown…"

Migellic sighed half-angrily, half-wearily.

"I don't have time for this," he muttered, "Linall, escort Captain Kos home, and make sure he goes to bed."

"Me sir?" asked Linall in distaste.

"You have a problem with that?" asked Migellic, sizing her up with a hard eye.

"No sir," said Linall quickly, "I'll make sure he doesn't get out of bed if I have to tie him to the bedpost."
"And I won that battle…hic…Szadek didn't have a chance against me!" cried Kos loudly, pointing up into the air in a triumphant gesture.

Linall sighed as she helped Kos to his feet, "Come on, Kos. Best get home and get to bed. The sooner you face the consequences of too much alcohol consumption, the sooner you get back to work."

"Back to work…Yea, I'm the best there is…ain't no one better!" said Kos with a laugh.

"Of course there isn't," said Linall in a soothing voice, "Now, come on, Captain."

Deep in the Golgari underground, a male elf sat brooding in the small room he occupied. His long black tresses fell to his shoulders, and his dark eyes glinted with a dangerous light. A skull mask was flipped backwards so as to reveal his thin, pale face set with glaring, icy blue eyes. He didn't need the mask now anyway; he only used it when he was hunting or searching for a bounty. It was rare when he was not doing either of those things, but now was one of those rare times. In fact, he was strangely just sitting and thinking, something he rarely did. He was brooding over the increasing number of murders over the past few months. If they had just been holy, Selesnyan fools who cared for nothing except their precious Conclave and their stupid songs, then he might not have been as worried. But a few of the rare blonde-haired, green-eyed elves belonging to the Golgari Guild had been murdered as well. Killing sanctimonious fools was all well and good, if not done too often, but if this being was powerful enough to destroy even Devkarians, the dark elves of the Golgari clan, then he…or she…or it was a force to be reckoned with.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he also felt a small amount of pity for the Selesnyan elves as well. He tried to convince himself it was because he shared a common race for them, but in his heart of hearts he knew it was his attraction to Fonn, the half elf leved, that made him pity all the elves, not just the Golgari ones. He shook his head in frustration, this wasn't how a Golgari was supposed to think or feel, especially not the leader of the Golgari Guild. The Golgari viewed life and death as an endless cycle, each leading into the other, life often mingling with cruel death. Yet here he was, feeling sorry for those he had died. And the deaths weren't violent or that noticeable either, not the kind of deaths one would blame the Rakdos or even the Gruul for. The Izzet, with their fancy experiments and compounds, could have come up with an injection that would have left no visible marks and stopped the elf's heart cold, but why had it only been elves? And why only blonde haired, green-eyed elves for that matter? Besides, Niv-Mizzet, the dragon guildmaster of the Izzet, would never allow such cold-hearted callousness. If he wanted anyone killed, he would do it in a passion of fiery rage.
Jarad, for that was the name of this particular Devkarian elf, shook his head in frustration. Somewhere, someone was most likely plotting another death. And if no one stopped this killer soon, who knew what tolls this mysterious murderer could take on the Golgari…and the Selesnya as well? Jarad gripped one of the knives he kept hidden under his clothes, tightening his hand on the hilt. Wherever this murderer was, Jarad swore in his mind he would find him or her, and bring that person to justice, no matter what it took or whom he had to go through.

A man swathed in dark clothes glanced furtively about as he hefted the squirming, wriggling sack he carried on his back into a more comfortable position. He grimaced something lashed from the bag and hit him on the back of the neck, wishing he had placed a more potent sleeping spell on his victim. Fortunately, the victim could not escape the bag, and that was the main thing. The figure froze as a 'jek passed by, making his nightly rounds. The 'jek suddenly paused, as if he sensed danger in the air, but soon he sighed, muttering to himself as he passed out of view. The figure let go of a sigh he hadn't realized he had been holding. It's not that he couldn't have killed the 'jek easily, it's just he was fairly certain the prisoner in the sack was the one his masters wanted. If he lost his prize, his masters would be displeased. They might be so displeased, they would strip him of rank, dignity, maybe even his life. Besides, life wouldn't be worth living if he were stripped of his rank anyway, for he would be jeered, laughed at, and trampled underfoot by one and all.

After checking to make sure the coast was clear once again, the figure darted across the open street and into a back alley, upending a trashcan. He froze when he heard the sound of footsteps. Silently cursing his carelessness, the black clad figure raced down the alleyway and into the shadows of an abandoned church. He paused as the footsteps neared the church and slowed.

"I heard something around here…" said a male voice, "Don't know what it could be."

"This place is full of ghost, probably one of them. I still say you heard things, Lorus," said a cool female voice.

"Ghosts don't randomly upend trashcans, Jilad. I know what I heard!" growled the male voice.

"Come on, Lorus, let's go. There's nothing here, okay?" laughed the female.

Apparently, her laughter convinced the man, and he sighed in defeat.

"Alright, let's go, but if it was something, it'll be on your head," he growled.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," giggled the woman's voice as both voices faded out of earshot.

The figure cursed himself mentally once again. That had been too close, he was getting careless, and the masters did not abide carelessness. If those 'jeks had caught him and taken his prize…no, he wouldn't think of it. Best to report to his masters now. Carefully he untied the sack, but for all his trouble, a thin, wiry arm shot out and a fist collided with his nose. Almost casually, he grabbed the hand in a vise-like grip and pulled a young elven male with blond hair and startling green eyes out of the sack.

"I wouldn't try that again if I were you," laughed the man.

"Filthy coward, sneaking up on me in the dark! Are you afraid to fight a true Devkarian warrior!" roared the elf, struggling in the man's grasp.

"No, I'm afraid I am not. Unfortunately for you, my masters wish to see you, and I had to keep you whole for your special audience with them," said the hooded man, almost giggling in glee.

Even if this elf weren't the one his masters were looking for, he would have fun with him afterwards. That is, if his masters allowed him to stay alive after all his failures. The elf tried to uppercut the dark man with his free fist, but the man caught the other hand in an iron grip as well, sinking his nails into the elf's flesh. The elf cried out in pain as blood oozed from the wounds, but the hooded man only smiled. Suddenly, a dark chill swept through the room, suppressing even the elf's cries of pain. A thin, filmy cloud descended into the abandoned church, a church the Orzhov had left in disrepair because the decorations hadn't been quite exactly to their liking, or something like that. As the cloud dispersed, a humanoid figure in a color somewhere between black and deep purple swirled into view. The elf made gurgling noises in his throat, too afraid to speak. The captor of the elf knelt on one knee, forcing the elf to do the same.

"My master, I have found another one, as you have requested," said the captor in a subservient voice.

"I tire of mistakes, Delmad, why is this one any different?" hissed the new arrival in an eerie, frightening voice.

"I promise you, this one has the spark you seek! I can feel it myself!" said the captor, almost laughing, "Now may I have my reward?"

The master contemplated the horror stricken elf and the man cloaked in black for a moment, and in the darkness, they could almost feel its terrible, wicked grin.

"Oh yes, you shall have your reward. Both of you!" laughed the master.

The elf screamed, and soon the elf's captor joined him as a cloud of darkness enveloped them both. If the cloud hadn't engulfed them and destroyed them in seconds, their screams would surely have brought someone running. But as it only lasted a few moments, no one heard anything.

"Worthless fools…" muttered the master before disappearing in a translucent mist.