#innistrad

“Lady Feyn, over here. How about this one?”

A cathar opened the blue leather book and began to read. Behind her, an armored angel approached, awkwardly folding her wings and turning to avoid brushing against the narrow bookshelves flanking her on either side.

“Remember, Hayna,” sighed the seraph, “we’re looking for solutions on the longer and colder nights. Not - another fencing manual.

“I know. That manual was very informative, though. You seemed to like it, at least.”

“Perhaps…What have you found?”

Hayna pointed to an illustration of a brilliant soldier on the page she was reading. “Right here, and the lines beneath, too - ‘Commander Sunrise was such an inspiration to his troops, it was as though the sun shone for him and his forces alone.’”

Feyn frowned as she took the book from Hayna, an expression which only deepened as she read the passage herself. “Hayna, I fear this is referring to a more metaphorical source of warmth. Leadership, loyalty, and the like.”

“Well, I’d say Lady Sigarda fits that bill! General Thalia, perhaps? Or maybe even that new archangel that’s been floating around?”

“Lady Liesa is not…Ahem. These kinds of inspiration do not solve the chill.”

“They don’t? Then what was the deal with Avacyn?”

Feyn’s mouth set in a thin line as she ignored the potential blasphemy and replied, “Avacyn’s light was more magic than moxie. No one on Innistrad was ever powerful enough to match hers.” A pause. “And, it seems Commander Sunrise’s story is likely a work of fiction, besides.”

“So. A dead end, then.”

“It would seem so.”

Hayna’s face fell, for but a moment. Then, she brightened once more. “We’ll just have to keep looking, then! Maybe try the spearsage section over there? I’ll catch up.”

“You’re not coming?” Feyn asked.

“In a bit. I just want to be thorough with this book, first. Hey…maybe Commander Sunrise has some secret technique later on that we could use!”

Feyn offered Hayna a soft, understanding smile. “Keep up the good work. We’ll find something.”

If you're at all interested in the idea of a custom format, I recommend checking it out.

Oops, sorry, I forgot to answer this earlier.

“…You have done your best. I give you leave to rest…So, what do you think!”

The older angel frowned at the winged messenger. “I think…perhaps it needs some more work, Feyn.”

“Oh, of course, Lady Eveline! I wouldn’t dream of joining the Goldnight choir with a half-finished song!” chimed the more enthusiastic of the two. “I just wanted to show you some of my works in progress, see what you thought?”

“Mmm-hmm. Well, like I said, it…Did you say ‘works’? As in, plural?”

“Yes!” Feyn pulled a long sheet of paper from her robes, much to Eveline’s dismay. “I have several more I wanted to run by you-”

“Unfortunately,” Eveline swiftly interrupted, “the salvation of Innistrad comes first. Much to do, after all.”

“Oh. Right. Well, is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, no. Lady Gisela is already rallying our forces as we speak. I need only join them. And you, need only continue on your own mission.”

“No, really, I’ll tag along!”

Eveline held up one hand facing Feyn. “No. Your job is to ferry messages. Not to sing. And not to throw your life away on the end of a vampire’s blade.”

“Yes. You are right…” Feyn’s enthusiasm at last seemed to wane. “But, let me know if you’d like to hear some of my other projects…?”

“Certainly. And with Avacyn restored, there will be time aplenty for that. But not now.”

“Right! And, maybe you could carry one of my songs with you - in peacetime, I mean!” Feyn gestured to the collection of scrolls dangling from Eveline’s grip.

“Of course. Take care, now.” With little fanfare, Eveline turned and flew away from Feyn, who waved uselessly after her.

“Good luck! Good…”

Feyn trailed off. Her grip tightened, not on her sword, but on the paper. In one fluid motion she crumpled it, wound her arm back, and hurled it an impressive distance into the open air. As it plummeted, she gave a wistful sigh.

“You’re right. This was a foolish idea.”

Having 5 or less life does genuinely feel like you're teetering on the edge of defeat and you need a sudden advantage to turn the tide of battle. This sudden surge of courage and fortune by people on the brink of extinction is just so inspiring.

“Mr. DeVere, wait! I have an important message for you!”

“No, Sonia! Get away from me!”

With the sun setting behind him, the rider fled on horseback down the narrow canyon, away from the courier sprinting after him. His escape was proceeding swimmingly until the messenger leapt with superhuman strength, grabbing onto the horse’s saddlebags.

“M-Message for you, sir!” Sonia stammered, struggling to maintain her grip on the canvas.

“No, Sonia! You’ll-” was all DeVere managed, before Sonia disrupted his horse’s balance and tripped it. The steed stumbled to the ground, wounded, as the two humans regained their own footing, wounded but alive.

“Are you all right, sir?” Sonia asked.

“All right!” DeVere echoed. “You’ve almost certainly killed my horse! When I…We don’t have time to argue. Fine! What’s the blasted message?”

“It’s from your physician,” Sonia smirked, eagerly handing over a letter with the seal already broken. “She’s diagnosed you with lycanthropy.”

“You read my…I already know I’m a werewolf! That’s why I ran, to keep away from you! Anyway, what did she say about a cure?”

Sonia blinked. “There is no cure. And it seems the good doctor agrees with me.”

“What I expected,” DeVere sighed. “But none the less frustrating. I’ve gone through three good horses this year.”

Sonia nodded in understanding, surprising DeVere. “I know how you feel. Why do you think I’m delivering all these messages on foot? It takes all day just to get to the next town.”

“All day…” DeVere’s gaze snapped up at the finally absent sun, before returning his attention to the conversation with a resigned sigh. “Oh, what do you know?”

“More than you…Grrr…think…SIRRR!”

With a massive paw, Sonia ripped her now ill-fitting tricorne from her head, the motion shredding the rags still clinging to her torso. Meanwhile, DeVere fared little better, hunched over in pain from his own transformation. Soon two lycans rose and howled at the moon before turning slow, to hungrily eye DeVere’s downed horse.