Make Your Own Luck
"Dragons seek war.
I bring it to them"
The battle lines drawn, stacks of enemies faced off against each other. The dragons were to the north, sequestered in the mountains that breathed smoke, ash, and fire. The very ground seemed to rumble with each inhalation, take off, and landing. Tarkir was a battleground, war-torn and ravaged so that the earth was still torn open, the crevices scars that remained still fresh no matter how much time had passed in between fights.
Opposing the dragons was a relatively small force of black and white warriors. They had their own minor field advantage, with beneficial lands - plains and swamps - spread around and behind their army. Despite their good fortune, however, it did little to help these vastly outnumbered warriors. They were a rag-tag team, some Mardu, some Sultai, and some Outjai, all of whom became united - and would only remain so - for as long as the dragons were a threat.
The general who was leading their force was grim. The hardened scales of her armor reflected the harsh desert sunlight and only served to enrage the dragons further - the thought of their cohort being slain and then disrespected in this way was almost imaginable in their ancient brains. Dragonscale was her name, the general whose very presence was supposed to bolster the spirits of warriors under her command. She had sworn fealty to the side of the humans in this war against dragons, and she was determined to defend her army until its very last stand.
The sky filled with angry cries and shrieks of flame. Another attack. The humans braced themselves, scared for their lives.
Smoke stung their lungs and a cone of flame erupted from the mouth of a dragon flying overhead. The warriors avoided the attack as best as they could, despite the flying nature of the dragons giving them the advantage. More of their force were harmed in the assault. Three died, bringing the number of soldiers down to ten total. Dragonscale knew that if she did not act now, there might not be another chance. She tried in vain to reach her weapon high enough to strike one of the monsters overhead. Flames licked the sides of her body. Thank the gods that she was protected by the dead body of one of their own. Her armor was the only thing that helped her stay alive.
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The warriors readied their weapons; after the most recent dragon assault, soon they would find their opening chance to attack. The battle was raging on and the warriors were trying to stall as long as possible until their reinforcements arrived to land the final blow. Now it became a game of waiting, hoping for the right moments to draw near.
Finally, the signal they were waiting for. A single reinforcement, one individual with the strength of ten or more, she would be the key to securing their victory.
One by one, the warriors knelt down in the soft ground, allowing their own energy to be drained. Straining to the point of near-death was crucial if this spell were to work. As they meditated, they became united as one, their strength combining. Light swept through each individual and joined all of them together as one. Then the light disappeared and when the warriors broke apart, grunting and gasping from the effort, another entity was revealed among their numbers.
She was huge - with wings that stretched far from her shoulder blades. When she unfurled them completely, the skies parted to the colour of a beautiful orange-pink sunset. There was a cheer from the warriors, as their strength was renewed by her appearance.
The Seraph of the Masses was so beautiful and ethereal she had the presence of an illusion. As an angel she was awe inspiring and the smaller dragons, though many in number, were all rather weak individually. Dragonscale smiled and poured more of her own strength into bolstering the troops whom had all come together to convoke the Seraph's appearance.
The battlefield was changing drastically.
Now, the warriors stood a chance.
All hope was not lost.