This is a little idea I came up with for a writing exercise. I like Magic the Gathering Lore, and I think several of the cards can be turned into little stories. So I went onto Wizard's of the Coast's Gatherer website and clicked on the random card buttom until inspiration struck. I figure this will help me write on different things and situations. Granted, they're all going to be related to Magic and fantasy stuff, but I think it'll still help non the less.
This first still story is about the card Crystallization from the Alara Block. It costs one Green or Blue Mana and one White Mana. It's a creature enchantment that makes it so a creature can't attack or block. Also whenever the enchanted creature is targeted by another spell or abiliy it's exiled.
Corpse #8909 lurched across the battlefield. It wielded a large chunk of sharpened metal that it had pulled out from its stomach upon its rebirth. It had no mind or soul of its own. It was brought back to the world by a young necromancer looking for a way to strike back at his former magic teacher. He used the dark magic that had been forbidden to him to raise an army of the fallen.
The dead that he controlled were once warriors and death dealers. Struck down by another army also long dead. The necromancer did not care for the creatures her rose up, they were only a means to an end to him. They would clear a path to his former master so he could show him how much more powerful he had begun.
Corpse #8909 was breaking ahead of the rest of his fellow zombies, moving as quickly as his decomposing legs would allow. When it was given new, unholy life Corpse #8909 was given the directive "Kill all that oppose me" and sent on its way. The undead felt one of its eyeballs being pierced by a barbed arrow; this was ignored on account of the zombie not even knowing what pain was.
Another weapon buried itself into the necrotized flesh of the creature only seconds after it had been pierced by the arrow. It was the sword of a human warrior. He was young and full of anger and spite towards the necromancer and all of his creations. The warrior would do whatever it took to bring the demented magic user to justice, while smiting any and all of his unholy creations.
Well he would have if Corpse #8909 drove itself deeper into the sword being held by the stalwart youth. The young warrior's eyes filled with fear as the zombie rose its mangled arm holding its rusty weapon. A scream died on his lips as the undead soldier hacked deeply into the young man's head. The fiery light in the warriors eyes died out as the dead man swung again at his head.
The undead creature moved over the now dead warrior and continued to lurch toward the now visible tower in front of it. It was an old brick building surrounded by thirty more human soldiers just as ready to smite whatever monster that crossed their paths. Some readied swords and shields while others, on the tower, notched arrows and prepared to fire again on the encroaching horde.
The undead besieged the small force blocking their path with the ferocity that their master instilled in them at their creation. Several of the creatures were put back to rest by the brave warriors, but the undead quickly overran them with their greater numbers.
Only a small group of the human men were left after only a few minutes of combat. They were back to back, each of them waving their weapons in front of them in a vain attempt at defense.
A lone undead broke from the ranks and started to advance quicker than its brethren. Corpse #8909, again, rose its rusted armament and began to swing on the terrified men in front of it. It did not care for their lives, or their families. It could only move forward and kill. Just as fresh blood was about to be shed a bright blue streak of light drove itself into the arm of Corpse #8909. It could not move its risen arm, nor drop its weapon. The only thing it could do was look at the now smiling faces of the men in front of it.
A tall, older man had appeared from the top of the tower. He was dressed in blue and green robes with several runes and other magical symbols woven into the fabric. His face was completely serene, the undead army that had appeared did not seem to bother him. His long wrinkled finger was pointing at Corpse #8909.
The man turned his attention to another of the zombies and another bright light erupted from his finger tip. The light stabbed into one of the other countless ghouls and began to work its effects. A blue crystalline substance was taking over the creature's body. It slow movements went still as the final part of its body was replaced by crystal.
Soon even more magical bolts sprang from the old man and transformed the undead marauders into glass-like figures. The unaffected zombies were not fazed by the transmogrification of the other undead, but they were having trouble moving through the translucent bodies the other zombies had become.
The old magician yelled out to the group bellow, "Now you fools! Strike now!" The warriors didn't need another reminder, and attacked the corpses with reinvigorated ferocity. The crystalized bodies that were struck by the warrior's blades shattered almost instantly into chunks of glass-like crystal. The men made quick work of the rest of the undead with the help of the occasional volley of magic spells from the mage above them.
After an exhausting fight, all of the dead were put back to rest. The remaining soldiers dropped on the ground, their bodies spent from the battle that had just commenced. The old man in the tower smiled to himself after seeing that all of the undead had been slain.
He knew that his former student had been responsible for this attack. He had told the boy that if you wanted real power you would have to work for it. You couldn't just cheat your way through years of experience.
The old man pondered about the remaining crystal on the battlefield below. He wondered if he could repurpose the shattered creatures as paper weights, or maybe a chandelier.