Chapter12 The Ravager
I think I pushed the boundary of rate T with the jokes in this chapter. And no, I don't think I cross the line.
Warning! the chapter contains a suggestive theme. A LOT OF IT.
Have fun!
…
Comments
: Nice. Thx.
Thx.
…
Previously
"Nahiri. That name again. Lord Sorin. Is she your wife?"
"Shut up Snow, the adults are talking."
…
In the North, the legend of the weeping bastard had spread like a wildfire. It all starts with a rumor, as any good legend should. A Stark bastard of an unknown mother died when he was eight and got buried in the family crypt. Some say that the lady wife of lord Stark prayed to the Seven to kill the boy. Some say she poison him herself. Whatever the reason, everyone and their mother in the north now harbored a deep hatred for the southern faith more than ever. Even in White Habor, the only northern city that worships the Seven, the faith is on a shaken ground. It did not help that the Manderlys, one of the most faithful followers of the Seven in the North, started worshipping the Old Gods along with the Seven. Even as powerful houses as they are, all it takes is one man in the right place at the right time to destroy everything they had built. The fat lord Wyman knows it better to compromise and live than stays defiant and die.
Then it happened. The great white wolf came. Some say it was born from the dead bastard's vengeance. The other says it was sent by the Old Gods to right all the wrong. The white wolf burned the sept down and kill everyone with a seven-pointed star on their body.
The great white wolf has grey eyes as cold as the winter itself. Its strength is more than twenty men. It starts off as twice a full-grown man, of course. Then two grows into five, five into ten, and ten into twenty. The change is as natural as the development of a story goes. The wolf's other aspect changes as well. At first, it was some frighten septon knocking over an oil lamp, then it becomes the white wolf that lit the fire, ten in turns into a fire breathing wolf.
The white wolf soon became a symbol of the first men's vengeance. All the wrongs that had happened to them since the invasion of the Andals had been brought up. In the north, the white wolf gained a status of a minor god in its own right. The mountain men of vale started to leave a white wolf skull at the burnt down sept of the settlement they raided. House that claimed to be a descendant of the first men, such as the Blackwoods and the Daynes, now faced with a dilemma, follow the white wolf or call it blasphemy. The unseen consequence of the action would be dire, indeed. For if they accept the white wolf, they will be in direct conflict with the faith of the seven of their neighbors. But if they call it blasphemy, then they might need to face the Whitewolf itself when their time comes.
And who knows when does the white wolf will return. All they know, deep within their heart, is that one day it will and all wrong will be put right. Just as the old gods intended.
…
Meanwhile in Tarkir
*HOWL*
*ROAR*
*WHINE*
A loud thud echoes through the valley as a thirteen-year-old man is sent flying to the wall. His body is buried deep within a hard rock which is clear evidence of a monstrous force that had been inflicted on him. He shakes himself loose with no effort but a wounded pride.
"Why do you have to hit so hard, mother? Are we having a spar or are you trying to slowly kill me?" The young man kicks up his spear and catches it with ease. He twirls it around and goes back to his preferred Iron Gate stance.
"Stop whining, Jon. You are thirteen, a man grown. Your enemy will never go easy on you, so though up or go be a bitch somewhere else." His attacker also readies her much longer spear. She stares at him with a determination. "And no, you cannot do that either. No son of mine will be allowed to be a bitch!"
The Kord family. A collection of individuals that share the same abilities. That's it. A duo of two planeswalkers, one doesn't know how to be a mother and the other doesn't know how to be a son. How do both survive until now is easily understandable. The two belong to a group of powerful individuals that can access the plane's mana, can leave the plane at will, and always keep to themselves are likely the reason. How do they still function as a happy family, however, is a mystery of the multiverse.
They trade blows after blows as their spear crashes against one another. The mother is always at her peak performance and has plenty of stamina to back it up. The son, however, doesn't have that luxury. He is too inexperienced to utilize his gift to its maximum, and he still afraid of her mother. The latter proves to be his undoing, for his lack of confidence gives way to an opening that his mother is so eager to punish him.
Moving at superhuman speed, Arlinn Kord parries her son's parry in what she called a preemptive defense. Her boy is good, for a normal warrior, but not good enough for those who are gifted like them. His mind is still developing, and his thinking is too straightforward. Every time they fight, she always two moves or more ahead of him. He will learn, in time, and he will be beaten until he does.
She flicks her wrist to change the angle of her attack. What that should be a light jab to the head becomes a strike to the hand in an instant. To her joy, she doesn't catch Jon off guard. The boy let go of that hand and use the other to pivot his spear to counterattack as he dodges the incoming attack. It would work too if not for her anticipated kick on his chest that sent him flying. Again.
"Again!" She commands for what must be a hundred times. Her son willingly obeys. Good for him. Practice makes perfect after all. And Jon will have a lot of practice from her indeed.
…
All the while the mother is beating the living shit out of her son, the spirit dragon observes silently. They are lovely enough he supposed, but their martial training is disturbing his peace. He cursed his vampire friend that somehow talked him into taking these two in. The boy needs a guide, he said. You can guide him into your image, he said.
This is not how a family should be. Observed the spirit dragon. They just beat each other until one of them, it always the young Snow, surrenders. How will the boy learn anything? A parent should set up an environment for their child to grow into. Like his Tarkir, for example. The harsh land breeds a harsh inhabitant. His five children are vying for supremacy and grows strong in the process. That is how a parent should raise their child.
The only thing Ugin needs to figure out is how to stop them from killing each other and work together as one.
"Mortal children…" Ugin sighs. Guiding these hopeless two will be very hard work indeed. At least they can live for centuries. He still has time to correct their flaws.
Maybe a mortal perspective is required to, as the human love to say, speed things up.
…
Time flies when everything falls into a routine. Jon's training is getting more and more intense.
*ROAR*
*ROAR*
Explosions after explosions rock the barren wasteland just outside Ugin's sanctum. Spear clashes with spears as its wielder tries to outmaneuver each other. One of them is Jon Snow. The other is a shirtless man with beautiful long black hair. On his face is a magnificent manly beard. On his chest is a scaled tattoo. In his hand is a barbed spear with a broken tip. Some might think that his weapon of choice would be a disadvantage for him when facing Jon Snow. The result, however, is a complete opposite. The broken spear is fast, much faster than Arlinn's attack. His raw power is lesser than that of Arlinn, but his speed is twice as fast. Also, he could breathe fire so Jon cannot even catch him off guard, not when his opponent can counter him at his own game.
Jon finds himself losing control of the battle since the first moment of their spear clashed. Sure, he has enough strength to finish the fight if he landed the hit. His opponent is not his mother, so he doesn't fear to hold back. He can tap into Tarkir's plentiful mana and end the fight with one swing. His full might can fall a mighty regent dragon, his opponent is nothing.
If only he could land a good hit. Too bad he is sparing with Sarkhan Vol, the man, the myth, the legend himself.
"You are too slow, brat. Speed always beat strength." Vol parries Jon's attack with ease and capitalizes on the gap in his defense to cut him in the face with a broken blade. It is a minor wound that would be completely healed within a day or so, but it hurts his pride.
Jon uses his pain to fuel his rage, increasing his power behind his strike. Still, it is too slow an attack against Vol. His mighty attack is redirected with little effort by his opponent. Every time, it misses its target just by a hair width, but that hair width is enough opening for his opponent to punish his falling.
Vol dodges a jab that aims for his head. He dugs low and dodges another head swipe and twirls his spear behind his back to parry another strike. Still laying low, he launches his broken spear at Jon's face, forcing his opponent to be on defense. Simultaneously, his hand shifts into that of a black dragon head. Dragon fire spews out of its razor jaws. It burns bright like a guiding star. It sears Jon's skin and disintegrates his cloth.
"Hey. That's cheating!" Jon screams even though he is unfazed by the fire. It doesn't harm him, but it distracts him enough.
"Your enemy will not fight fair, brat. You rely too much on your strength. You will not survive the fight against a faster and more cunning enemy." Using the distraction that he caused, Vol slams the butt of his spear at Jon's chest and swing a wide arc to cut across his chest. The wound is deep but not fatal. Nothing that he cannot heal from anyway.
"Use your strength to exploit your enemy weakness. Hit them hard. Hit them fast. Take what you need and leave. That's the creed of the Mardu Horde." Vol unarms him with a precise strike at his wrist. He then cut Jon in the thigh, making the boy falls to his knee.
"A true warrior will not reveal all his tricks at once. You lost is guaranteed when you do." Vol kicks him in the chin then slams his heel on the top of his head. It knocks the young pup out cold.
The training session has come to an end with Jon being unconscious. It seems harsh for a young man to experience this torture, but it has become Jon's routine for the past few months. Ever since Ugin takes another two planeswalkers under his wings, every day is so eventful in the Sanctum of the Spirit Dragon.
…
"Do you need to be that rough, Vol? I mean his mother is right there, watching us spar with her son." Asked a woman in blue. She sits on a stone bench. She had been observing the fight since it starts, and her analytical mind had already formed a plan on how to guide the boy along his path.
"You don't have any right to say anything, Narset. Your Deflecting Palm shattered his arm in the last spar, remember? Moreover, Arlinn asks us to not hold anything back. Who are we to argue with a mother on how to raise her son? The brat does absorb lessons like a sponge. He is improving but he needs to sharpen his mind." Vol sits down beside the woman. He is panting and sweating profusely. "You should worry about yourself. Tomorrow is your turn with the brat. Just don't break him too much. Ugin said it will stunt his growth if his bone is broken too often."
Ever since two of them had taken the Spirit Dragon offer, their life had never been the same. The mother and the son are weird. Vol is also weird in his own way. They are friends but not really. When you add Arlinn to the mix, all conventional relationships break down.
"My. My. Aren't you two a cute couple." Arlinn silently emerges for their behind. "So. How does Jon do today? He seems faster but you still going circle around him."
"He got a speed alright. It's his mind that needs improving. We need to work on that." Commented Vol. "Give him a few years and we might need to team up against him."
"Oh. Good then. Speak about teaming up. I'm sure our lovely Narset can show you a trick that I taught her." Arlinn playfully tugs at Vol beard.
Narset blushes red while Vol's becomes pale as he realized what Arlinn has in store. The shewolf has already sunk her fangs in their flesh, and there is no way they can escape.
"What about the brat?" Vol points at unconscious Jon.
"Nah. Leave him. Let the old dragon sort that out." Arlinn reaches over and grab Narset by the hip and drags Vol along by his beard. "It's not liked his place will have any visitor"
…
Unbeknown to the three planeswalkers, Ugin does observe the situation in his sanctum. Delegating the physical training of the boy to the three of them is one of the best decisions he had in a while. The boy needs to be strong, in a physical sense, before he can attempt to tap into Vaevictis Asmadi power. Atarka is a solid proof that his cousin's power is very dangerous had it fallen into wrong hands. And in this wild and untamed multiverse, a power of this caliber will always fall into a wrong hand. Those who doesn't desire power doen't live long as a planeswalker, after all.
A few more years then he can properly train the boy to use his potential responsibly. For now, he only limits his involvement in teaching young Snow about the prominent planes. It will prove useful when the boy realizes the true potential and uses the knowledge for good. If the boy chooses otherwise, then he will destroy Snow himself, shattering his soul and wipe all the memory of him from the face of the multiverse. He will not risk another elder dragon on the loose.
Still there is much more immediate thing that bothering him. Something concerning three fully grown planeswalker who treat his home as their playground. It is not that he is grateful that he was saved by Sarkhan Vol thousands of years ago, but the three of them don't give his place the respect it deserved. They joked around and sometime takes off their cloth and pushing their bodies against each other.
Sex. Ugin believes it is called. A wasteful ritual for procreation for humans. Why can't everything just spawn from an elemental vortex as his children did is beyond him. He doesn't have anything against the activity, but the way it is happening is ineffective and unoptimized. Vol sometimes doesn't finish it properly inside. It was not like Vol doesn't know how it's done, but he does it anyway. But even when he does, it would not be that effective. Their body, even though are still human, are too different. The ignition of the spark alone was a hindrance enough for any planeswalker to have child. Coupled with Vol's dragon blood, Arlinn's wolf spirit, and Narset constant consumption of medicine, their chance of having a child is almost zero.
"Mortal Children." Ugin sighs. They always do things the hard way and never listen to their elders. Not that he wants to be involved in this meaningless activity of theirs. At least young Jon Snow is not involved.
It would interrupt his training time, and Ugin would not allow that.
…
Time seems to fly when everything is in order. The life of Jon Snow is no different. Before he realized it, many more months have passed. He is now a fine young man with a body to die for. His height is just shy of six feet. His muscle is like it was a god statue on Theros. His Stark and Targaryen feature is enhanced to the extreme. With access to the plane mana, he is akin to a deity walking among mortals. Had he not lived among those who are similar to him, he would be worshiped by now.
Jon wakes up early for today is his nameday. Probably anyway. He is turning ten and four today and his family promises him something special. Family. A word he doesn't think that he really knows the meaning when he was the Bastard of Winterfell. Sure, there was Robb and Sansa and Eddard Stark, who he now doubted is his father, but he never felt he was loved as much as of now.
In Innistrad, he met his mother and by extension lord Sorin, and also sweet and fierce Thalia. In Tarkir, he met Surrak, Sakta, and the Atarka clan of which he didn't see for about a year now. He is not sure that it would be saved for him to ever return to the clan considering that Atarka tried to use him as a glorified power source. After he moved in with Ugin he met uncle Vol and aunt Narset.
Who would have taught that a collection of five planeswalkers would result in a family like this? An unorthodox dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless.
*Cough* *Cough* Suck that Gatewatch *Cough* *Cough*
He breaks his fast in the dining hall. It was a collective effort among four of them to make one portion of the cave into a cozy habitable area for humans. Ugin had played a good host and provide them with a spirit construct for labor work. They carved a mighty hall of stone out of the sanctum wall. This is not Winterfell where the wall is heated up by natural spring. This is not Ulwenvald where the den is eternally in the shade and everything is out to kill them. This is not Atarka land where dragons are looming over your head. Well, there is always one dragon looming over their head here, but then again that dragon is Ugin.
The spirit dragon is so ancient he only sees a big picture and become detached all the little things. His action must have a purpose, which means he will never understand rest and recuperation. Jon also suspects that Ugin has no idea how human works, but he tries not to think about it. Thinking something too loud and the old wrym will pick it up from your surface thought.
Jon happily sits on his usual spot of the dining table. The spirit construct brings his food to his table right at the moment he sits down. It is very convenient, he had to admit. It's good to know a neigh-omnipotent ruler of the entire plane. This would be a paradise had he not receive a routine beating during day to day spar.
"Happy birthday Jon!" His mother emerges from shadow. "Do you sleep well last night?"
"I do mother. Where is uncle Vol and aunt Narset? I thought they told me they going to be here in the morning." Asked Jon as he digs in the food in front of him.
"Ugin sent them on some mission in Zendikar. I believe it something to do with an Eldrazi prison. Don't worry, they will probably be back before you know it." Arlinn brings up a wrapped gift in the shape of a long pole. It takes Jon no time to know it is a spear. "Anyway. Vol, Narset, and I decide to get you a present. We called in a lot of favor to have it made."
Jon unwraps the gift as soon as his mother hands it to him. It is an all-metal spear of Innistrad design. Two meters in length, it is magnificent. Furthermore, it is made wholly from a metal unknown to him. If he has to guess, it some alloy of etherium from Esper and darksteel from Mirrodin. If how to acquire the material is a mystery enough, how does it made is even more enigmatic. A metalwork that length would be a nightmare to make for any smiths, let alone those who had experiences working with two different metal from two different planes.
Considering that Mirrodin is now New Phyraxia, he wonders what kind of favors do the three have to call to have the spear made.
"Wow." That's all Jon could say. He feels like he is dreaming. He never had a present before, not even when he lives with Arlinn in Ulvenwald. It is not a surprise though, considering they were literally living under a rock. Atarka clansmen are a practical lot and there is no tradition of gift-giving. They firmly believe that if one wants anything one should at least fight for it.
It's just too good to be true.
He can't take his eyes off this cue.
It is a heaven too touch.
He loves this spear very much.
"Jon!" His mother's voice breaks his sweet daydream. "We have a company."
He looks up just to see Sorin staring right into his soul. Behind the vampire is an elder dragon looking at him curiously as if he was analysis his response to the foreign object.
"Lord Sorin. Lord Ugin." Jon bows.
"Snow." Sorin replied. "That's a magnificent spear. It must have cost a fortune."
Jon looks at his mother and finds that she is smiling with pride. The way she does it makes him start to doubt whether he is worthy of such a gift.
"Anyway. I have a job for both of you. Something is going on in Innistard that I want two of you to check. There is a visitor, a necromancer that overstayed her welcome. Track her down and find out what she wants. Find out her motive. Keep her alive if able, but don't hesitate to kill if you need to." Commanded the vampire. As soon as he finishes, he planeswalkes away.
…
Custom Card of the Chapter
Card Name: Brutal Training
Mana Cost: {W/U}{U/B}{B/R}{R/G}
Types: Enchantment
Card Text:
Tap target creature: Put three +1/+1 counter on that creature. That creature doesn't untap during its controller's next untap step. Activate this ability only once during your turn.
Flavor Text:
"Hurt. Agony. Pain. Love it!"
Rarity: Rare
