Viri
Staring into the maw of the Nephilim, my life flashed before my eyes. The first time I walked through a guildgate; the dread realization as we put the pieces together; our failed confrontation of Niv-Mizzet; and finally, this. Death at the mouth of a mindless ancient, with no one left to write our tale into legend or warn Ravnica of its impending doom. How had our plan fallen so far? What could we possibly do to remedy this?
Why?
I gave a relenting sigh of utter defeat as it placed my head between its jaws.
Ravnica. How does one describe it?
The guilds make things complicated. They all claim benevolence, but in reality, none of them are as good as they sound. I learned that the hard way later on. But when I first came to Ravnica from Innistrad, the massiveness of everything baffled me. I was young and naïve, laughably so. I'm surprised that I lasted at all, let alone as long as I did. Guess that's dumb luck for you.
But as confused as I was by Ravnica, there were others who had it worse than I did. In different ways, certainly, but it was still hard. As the Guildless say, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.
I made it. But it didn't matter in the end.
Walking to the heart of the city, I was dumbfounded.
People thronged through the streets like it was nobody's business, ranging from elves to goblins and everywhere in between. Back in Innistrad, the biggest metropolis was Stromkirk, a Victorian-era sham run by the vampire nobles. Even that city was nothing compared to this. Not only in terms of size, but technology. Paved streets, electric lights, engineering feats I could never imagine from my country hometown. Strange beasts were led around by stranger people, and sometimes vice versa. Having entered through the market district, I mistakenly assumed that the whole city was like this, and wondered how the heck anything got done in this place.
After shoving my way into the main streets, I was greeted with a refreshing sense of order. Things ran a lot smoother here, the traffic regulated by flashing lights and strapping officers. I crossed a street and dropped my pack at the corner of a building, pulling out a map. I identified where I was-the intersection of Orzhov Avenue and Court Street. Where the heck did that weird word come from? I hadn't a clue. But in order to get to the College of the Heights, where I was to begin my studies in heliomancy, I had to trudge all the way down Court and then make a left on Sage's Row. After that, it should be dead ahead.
Trusting my instincts, I surged down the sidewalk with a fresh energy in my step. I was certain that I would reach the college without incident, and I could start classes as soon as I arrived. Boy, was I wrong!
"Hey!" I cried as some blind idiot bumped into me. He was wearing a bluish-black cloak, with the hood pulled low over his face. I turned after him, and as he looked back at me in a frozen moment, I caught a glimpse of his face. Pale face, slicked-back hair, and wide blue eyes. I was held by the sight for a long moment for a reason I couldn't discern. But then he turned and was off, faster than a vampire from a revolt. And believe me, that's fast!
From behind me streaked three other men swathed completely in black, hot on the first guy's trail. Suddenly I realized that the fear in his eyes wasn't fear of me but of his pursuers. Ever the goody-goody, I tore after them, my elven frame weaving me through pedestrians at a breezy speed. Well, half-elven. Long story, I'll explain later.
The four dark-robed guys ducked into an alley on their left. Regaining my cautiousness, I slowed down at the alley's corner, peeking around it warily. The first guy had backed up almost to the wall, and the other guys had surrounded him.
"You are far behind your tithing to the Orzhov," grated the middle one. I shuddered despite the humid day-either that thing was undead, or I wasn't an elf. Elven intuition is spot-on when it comes to necromancy. We have a natural anti-affinity for that kind of magic; I mean, have you ever heard of an elven necromancer? I thought not.
"I-I'm working on it," stuttered the first guy in a breathy voice. He backed up even further, until he brushed the brick. I could see his hand inching to his belt, as if he was about to pull a knife on these things. Like that would help.
"I'll pay you by next week, I swear," he blurted, panicked sweat beading on his forehead. "I've finally got a paying gig, but it's not until tomorrow, I just need more ti-"
"We have given you enough time!" rasped the middle wraith again, pinning the poor guy to the wall with a bony hand. I realized then that they weren't just dressed in black-they were literally ebon-black, down to their fleshless fingers. "You will pay now, in this life or otherwise. If you cannot, then that is not our concern. You will pay."
I could see death's touch creeping up the man's neck in gray tendrils, causing him to wince in nihilistic pain. I reached into my satchel, fingering around for the right pocket. I had to do something.
"Illuminati!" I belted suddenly, rushing into the alley and thrusting a golden powder out in front of me. The stuff sparked into light, blindingly bright and scalding to the touch. The wraiths shrieked as the purity burned them, crumpling to the floor in agony. I seized the man's hand and bolted back out of the alley, only turning to see my good work when we were safe at its entryway. The smoldering remains of the undead were still burning away into golden dust, but their otherworldly screams had ceased. The adrenaline turned into euphoria, and I turned to smile at the man I had just saved.
"That was a close one, huh?" I said breathlessly. He nodded simply, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees.
"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at me as if he didn't trust me. I decided not to take it personally-after being attacked by those things, I could imagine that he would be careful around things that appear too good to be true.
"Viri Shyleaf," I introduced. "Soon-to-be student and, hopefully, future alumni of the College of the Heights. And you?"
"I can't say," he replied almost apologetically. Almost. "As you just saw, I'm not exactly famous for the right reasons."
"Are you famous?" I asked incredulously. Famous people back where I came from were usually in charge of the undead, not pestered by it. He gave me a sly smile.
"If I was, I wouldn't be in this line of work," he purred. He nodded at me, still eyeing me as if he didn't trust me.
"And what work would that be?" I asked tactlessly. "Oh, wait-let me guess. You can't say." He shrugged guiltily. "It's okay, I understand. Some things should be left unsaid, y'know?"
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "for saving my neck back there. That's the last time I take a loan from the Orzhov."
I blinked at him. How could you owe to a street? He stared at me for a long time, not sure if he was confused or shocked or both.
"...I take it you don't know what that is?" he questioned. I shook my head blankly.
"I'm new to Ravnica," I explained. "Just moved from Innistrad. Who are they?"
"You don't want to know," growled the stranger, kneading his brow. "The holy facade is what it is: a facade. They look nice enough compared to the other guilds, but don't get any closer, because that's only the surface. The whole operation's-you know what? I've said too much already."
"I don't want to know," I agreed. He smiled at me, nodded, and was off into the crowd. I blinked at the space where he used to be, trying to pick him out in the throngs of people, but he was nowhere to be seen. With my elvish eyesight and photographic memory, I'd never lost someone in a crowd before. How had he done it?
"This town is weird," I grumbled to myself, turning and heading on my way.
