#planar posting

The Undercity groaned. Endless channels of blue-ish black stone supported by rotten mortars and moss stood at such a meagre distance from the surface. Any single person could simply come down, and yet they did not.

Fossora shambled through a dilapidated servant’s quarters. Her lumbering bones pushed, heaving out of the loam-like gravel that sank and swam like mud. Whatever transfigured this stone was unclear, perhaps an illusion, but it mattered not to Fossora. The freshened corpse had found a sudden purpose in and amongst her daily nurturing of the Golgari Swarm, rumours of a space within the city that had been broken down. The Gruul had turned this small chunk of the surface, only about a kilometre wide, into open fields once more. No longer was it dank or quiet, no longer was it flourishing in a fraudulent light cast down by the eyes of a lord uncaring, it was free. But into it, the city bled. Sewer tunnels turned into silent spillways, crevasses dug themselves out where the buildings could no longer intermingle for support, and the servants quarters led endlessly outwards, soul after soul freed and blossoming in the authentic sunlight. Fossora knew its purpose well, to visit them and find their sickest people. To subvert all expectations is the most efficient method of earning favour afterall. To show kindness against the force of an endless, roaring herd shall transform it into joyful swarms.

The chance had not come as expected. Sunlight had not even reached its aging bones when a boy, coughing and wheezing, presented himself from behind a ruined block. Covered in the tattered remains of a boar, he took in the face of Fossora, stalling out. Her jawbone drooped, her joints swung on mould. It was piloting with parasitic tendrils around her each and every limb, and took a strange breath before speaking. “I mean… harm-none. Let me… fix you.” His response was silence, a resigned spasm of breaths before lying back down, his body growing limp. “Leave me to die. I will not turn into a tool for the city. My death will mean nothing to you.”

“No… live. Return to your… wilds.”

Her left palm shifted towards him. A gentle creaking sound came from every small movement, clicking and shifting as the beginnings of magic wove their ways around him. Great strings, tendrils even, of green emerged from around him, filtering in the low-light like paper toys wrapped in foil, pulling away at what wounds he had. They peeled, the fleshy marks pulling out and away like tape being gently pulled away from somewhere it had not meant to be placed, and fresh skin flourished beneath them. Wound after wound pulled away, gently popping as they fled the skin entirely into small flickers of mana like paper when it’s caught aflame, raining down on other shores somewhere to be properly dealt with. “Breathe without… your clogging lungs.” Fossora’s voice was meant with no response. The peaceful hum of the Undercity continued, her spells glimmering ringing faded away as the light readjusted, from pulses of light flowing around the surfaces of the room like waves in a rockpool to the cooled blue hue it always took when light could barely reach it. Perhaps he had fainted from the shock! Perhaps his body was always too feeble to accept life once again?

I squished my hands in the mud one last time, flattening it out. Sweat – I did not know before now that I could sweat – practically poured down my body, soaking my robes. I was glad that I had dismissed my armor before I started working. Though that did nothing for my wings, which were filthy with mud and dirt and swamp water.

Swamp water.

By my fellow goddesses and my mother’s wilds, I didn’t know for sure how long it had been. A few months? A year? It was hard to say. I had been busy doing the work, not marking the days.

What was easier to say was that it was finally done. After a lot of field research and flights to different planes, after asking questions of the Dea Pronoia and other goddesses who remembered swamplands, after finding plants stashed away and hidden, after literally changing the course of a river to have a proper offshoot...

Swampland now returned to Thyrsus.

Thank you, Grixis and Alara, I thought as I looked over my work. Thank you, Thunder Junction. Thank you, Innistrad. Thank you, Arcavios. Thank you, Capenna. Thank you, Tarkir. Those six planes and the information from them had been the most helpful in this endeavor. Everyone who cared for those planes, mortal or undead or immortal or something else, had helped in some way with restoring my home.

Kholkis rolled around in the mud that I had just tamped down. I laughed and reached down to pet the hatchling behind the horns. “I know, isn’t it so exciting?” I asked, a little rhetorically. “We have a swamp again! Let’s go get Drakôn and make sure this helps her.” Kholkis let out a low trill and curled up around my arm, snuggling against the crook of my shoulder. Already she was growing, her wings becoming more powerful and her coils becoming longer, in ways she hadn’t on other planes or in the non-swampy parts of Thyrsus. That meant that at least part of my theory worked.

I spread my four wings, beat the mud and dirt out of them, and took off into the sky and towards Drakôn’s hiding place.

"We both know the answer to that question, Gessy."

He snorted. "Shut. Up. Burnwood. You're already in for it once I figure out what to do with you."

"And lose all of this?" She teased? "All of that lovely mindscape I made?"

"I don't care. You're stepping into some extremely dangerous territory, messing with the bond like that. Don't act like I didn't figure that out."

She mentally shrugged. "Oh well. What good are boundaries if you don't try to encroach on them? Like, oh, I don't know, that Jund lady? You're already washed up, you basically just held the flashlight for Lazaro. What, you stab a few devils and you think unstabbing a few people will help? Angels, you really are pathetic."

"Diana, I swear to whatever fucking gods are out there. I am going to make it painful when I rip you out." Gesserith stood up and started on a jog. "Your days are numbered."

"You know you'll miss me." She prodded further. "Who was there for you on all of those lonely nights? After funeral after funeral? Hit after hit? Shadowstep is lovely, all those memories are fun to watch, but she'll never really understand. Not like me."

"There are others."

"Others that hate you, Gessy. What, you tell them someone died, and they just move on? They don't care like I do. I still love you, you know. I'll always be here for you. Unless you remove me."

"No. You're lying to me," he denied. "There are enough people there to where I don't need you anymore. I am my own man. Finally. I am a fucking father, Diana. Eat my nuts."

She scoffed. "Woah there Edmund, starting to sound like your dad there."

"I sound nothing like Gouvle," he evaded.

"Aww, that's cute, you're really trying to think that. Kudos, really."

"SHUT UP, DIANA!" he shouted. Others passing by gave him stranger looks than they usually did. 'He must really be losing it', they thought. He pursed his lips. "He loves me more than you ever did."

"Do."

"I do not give a flying rat's ass. I'm finding a way to remove you. Regardless of what it does to me."

She smiled. "Whatever you say, Gessy. I know how you really feel." The cephalid went silent.

Skathos was not an island defined by its flowers. Within a mile of Hythonia’s cave, everything was completely petrified due to her status as an ancient gorgon and avatar of Pharika. And beyond that mile, besides her sister’s garden, the land merely grew wild and according to its own whims and desires. Even in Gorgia, gardens were small and usually filled with vegetables and herbs rather than flowers. This was why the appearance of flowers at the entrance of Hythonia’s cave was so notable.

The ancient gorgon leaned down and scooped up the white six-petaled flowers. It was obvious that they were enchanted, preserving the scent. She didn’t recognize what kind of flower it was, but she had never paid much attention to flower types before regardless. Hythonia ran her clawed thumb across one of the petals and smiled despite herself. There was something so...romantic and simple about her courtship of the shadow kami at the moment.

The snakes crowning her head hissed and wiggled in small circles as the shadows deepened around her. But she smiled, because she knew exactly who it was. “Haruko,” she murmured, turning back on her coils to where she expected the spirit to appear.

The golden mask of the ancient kami manifested from the deepest shadows, followed by the skeletal limbs emerging from beneath her umbral cloak. She raised her hands and signed. It was a sharp gesture, a letter sign darting forward like a striking serpent. “Hythonia.”

Hythonia reached out and cupped the “cheek” of Haruko’s mask with a clawed hand. “It’s just us tonight,” she murmured. “No city, no family members, no witnesses or people to be mindful of. Shall we make the most of it?”

Haruko did not bother with another sign. Instead, the kami gently grasped Hythonia’s wrist and tilted her mask into the gorgon’s palm. Though the golden mask itself was featureless, Hythonia recognized the gesture as a mimicry of a kiss.

Hythonia chuckled and pressed her forehead to the “forehead” of Haruko’s mask. She intended to see just how much they would learn about each other. “I agree,” she whispered.

The shadows curled in to embrace her. In turn, her coils curled around skeletal limbs.

I've been trying for years now to make things better for people on my home plane. Over the past year, I've been able to make more progress on that than ever, even getting many people previously not considered...well, people to be recognized as such legally. I've even been making amends for my own past as much as I can in accordance with the terms of a condemnation that I sought out and in accordance with the rules put forth by a member of my plane's own governing individual.

But even with the progress, all I can see is the work I still have to do, and it gets disheartening. I'm worried that all of the work that's been done will be undone by people with money to throw around. I'm worried that everything will backslide as soon as I'm dead and gone.

I hope you have a calm, unremarkable day.

-K

Blessed tidings to you.

We can sympathize with the amount of daunting work that lays ahead. Seeing that the road is long can most certainly make it seem as though you've only walked a few steps instead of the leagues that are behind you.

The truth of the matter is that there is always work to be done, and there always will be. There is little that you or I can do about this fact. This is simply the way of things. There will be those who will want to drag everyone backwards and they will be fought by those who push everyone forwards again. It will always be a battle.

Legacy is hard to keep. The best that any can hope for is making sure that the next generation to come after us are suitably prepared to inherit the world we make for them. I and my peers get to have the luxury of living long enough to see the generations unwind around us, while others are not. But this is why we in the Church of Dusk have such an emphasis upon the matter of families and the matter of one's own blood ties. Blood is legacy. Blood is history, inheritance, it is the future and the past wrapped into one thing. That lends to the divinity found within it. It is the one thing that connects us all, from the great, pious, and powerful Queen Miralda down to the lowliest peasant worker.

If you have children, prepare them well to pick up where you left off when your time has come. If you have not yet had them, consider it sooner rather than later. Having many children is also a good way to try and ensure a legacy is secured; sometimes, children can be unruly or rebellious, so it is good to keep your options open. So long as there is someone to be another torchbearer.

If you are unable to have children, then we recommend adoption or surrogacy as options, or simply being more involved in the lives of younger members of your family. Perhaps there are some nieces or nephews who could use guidance and advice. Some younger cousins, maybe. But prepare some part of the next generation for whatever legacy you wish to lead and maintain. That is the best that you or any of us can truly do.

But do remember also that you have undoubtedly made great leaps and bounds. Do not forget to look at the path behind you when the road ahead feels too long and lonely. And do not forget to look around and remind yourself that you are not as alone in your battles as you think. Even as the Saint herself left Torrezon and secluded herself within the golden tomb at Orazca, she knew that she was not alone. That there would be others to help pick up the torch and carry her message.

Btw am I gonna get diseases from this? That’s a church thing right.