Duel of the Gemini

Arrival

Dark, cold, empty – this was the description given by every Planeswalker of the Void Realms, the endless reach between the realities. The Planeswalk was the ultimate change, every time a chance to start over, new worlds with limitless possibilities. The Void was the opposite, the ultimate mockery of their power. The Void was constant, unchanging. A vacuum of light, force, sound and life, the Void revoked reality itself. Sorin’s mind tumbled through the expanse, propelled by the force of his spell. His physical form had been reduced to an imprint, less alive than his shadow. They would be reunited at the gate to the next world. Had Sorin the will to speak, he would have found his voice gone, not wanting of air to carry it but altogether lost to the Void, along with the very essence of his former self.
This darkness offered no allegiance to any of the five colours, no connection to the forces of magic that threatened to consume him as his powers grew. A dark Planeswalker suffered the ferocity of its emptiness no less, nor a light-walker any more, when making the journey between planes. His survival depended entirely on his own strength and the skill of his cast, and not the source of his power. Slowly, Sorin’s consciousness drained, sinking into obscurity, until finally the shift in the darkness was unperceivable, and all he could make out was the occasional glimmer of light on the endless black expanse.
Light burned his eyes and forced him to wake. The new morning had brought with it the powerful sun of a primordial world, unhindered in its descent by taint of industrialisation. To be unconscious during arrival was not uncommon, and in many ways preferable, as the return was considerably more painful than the departure. This did however leave him vulnerable to attack for many hours. Thankfully, few of Zendikar’s many predators stalked their prey in the pre-dawn.
The sound of very large trees falling accompanied the afterthought to that assurance: it was morning now and the predators were awake. The crashing came again and Sorin was forced to correct himself: the trees weren’t falling, they were being knocked over, and by the sounds of it, stepped on.
In the distance a wall of thick-trunked trees marked the division between the field in which he had landed and the edge of a dense forest. From what he could tell, the crushing sounds were rapidly approaching that division. Looking around, he saw nothing but savannah-like plains in any other direction. Standing up into a defensive stance, Sorin reached up and pulled out the dagger from the harness strapped across his back. It would do little good against whatever was moving towards him, but right now he didn’t have a choice. Fresh out of a very poor Planeswalk, Sorin had retained none of the mana he had collected from the Orzhov temple-grounds, and this field offered nothing to any mage not of a White or Green mana-type.
The last of the trees gave way with a tremendous crunch, defeated only by the thunderous roar of the creature that had demolished them. A gigantic balloth, as tall as the giant trees even on all fours, typical of a primal forest planet such as this, the prize pets of Green Planeswalkers. Sorin had fought them before: with even minimal mana a beast twice its size would have fallen instantly under a basic shadow-moon spell, his personal favourite for creature kills against life-mages. This, however, was a real emergency.
The beast roared again and sped up, moving straight into the expanse of the field. Sorin knew fighting this creature would be impossible; the force of the impact would be such that he wouldn’t even feel it before it killed him. The creature looked over its shoulder, once, twice, swinging its head back and forth. All at once the reality of the situation dawned on the Black Planeswalker: he wasn’t the prey, the creature was! It was running from something, something about to come out of the battered tree line.
The bird was long and thin; about half the size of the balloth but still large enough to swallow a person whole. It flew on strange, leathery wings that curved forward towards a sharp, skull-like head and a long mouth filled with jagged teeth. With a sickening shriek the bird began to circle the balloth and dropped low in front of it, cutting off its path. As it dove, Sorin clearly saw a rider mounted on a harness, who was yelling something indecipherable. With two lazy flaps of its massive wings, the bird climbed higher and continued circling the balloth.
Four thick ropes appeared out of the broken tree-line, each wrapping itself around one of the great beast’s legs. The beast gave a dull, moaning roar as the ropes were pulled backwards, bringing it to the ground. At the same time, the bird began its descent, coming into land several feet in front of Sorin. The rider did not dismount, but instructed the bird to walk, clumsily, toward the Planeswalker. Taking advantage of the closer look, he could see that the rider was not human. Humanoid, for sure, but something much more sinister, something he was very familiar with. The rider, and without a doubt the members of the small hunting party that was currently tying up the enormous balloth, were all Zendikar vampires.
‘Vampire’ barely did justice to describing the creatures before him. They were human in shape, but far more animalistic and bestial. What was more, Sorin knew from stories that they did not sustain themselves entirely on blood – though it remained an all-important dietary staple. The Zendikar vampires were renowned hunters, and ritualistically consumed vast quantities of meat from the well-inhabited forests surrounding their swamps.
The lead vampire spoke, first in his language, and then crudely in Sorin’s. Though missing several key words, a few sharp gestures in the direction of the spare seat on the bird-creature’s back served as translation enough to inform the Planeswalker he would be riding back with them. This was no less a guarantee that he was their prisoner than it was an indication that he would soon be dessert, following the balloth-laden main course.
After an hour in flight Sorin felt grateful that he had been found at all. Making his way to see Liliana Vess would have proven to be nearly impossible without such transport. The endless forest that stretched from Zendikar’s rapidly expanding coast to the rarely-stationary mountains would have been all but impenetrable without a dark mana source to replenish what he had lost in the Walk. It was then he realised how absurd his thinking had been until now: his current situation was no coincidence. Any Planeswalker could detect another entering a realm they inhabited, and any half decent magi would have felt the mana burst that accompanied his particularly un-graceful entrance into this one. He therefore assumed his arrival had been detected and scouts dispatched to meet him. On their way, they must have gotten hungry. It was with ironic pleasure that Sorin recalled the balloth bursting from the tree line: clearly it had been the beast, and not him, that had been ‘discovered’ in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Night fell and the forest faded into the deep obscurity of an endless tree canopy, unbroken until the first lights began to emerge in the distance. As they drew close, he could make out clearly the large fires set up by the only creatures that didn’t fear attack by the forest’s hostile wildlife. Without warning, the City of Malakir emerged from the depths of the swamplands. Sure enough, the rider pulled sharply on the bird-beast’s reins and they began a rapid descent into the heart of Zendikar’s darkest core.
To call Malakir a city was a generous over-statement to what was in reality a sprawling mess of tents and wood buildings typical of a race of nomadic hunter-warriors. Music and noise, arguments and haggling filled every corner and in general demonstrated a propensity for violent conclusion. The hunting party was welcomed with loud cheers as the waiting crowds spied their catch. Sorin tried to ignore any feelings of disappointment that his arrival was less significant to them than that of their next meal, grateful only for the fact that he wasn’t their next meal. One group did care about his presence: a circle of large vampires each carrying an impressive blade, giving them the unmistakable appearance of city guards. Without speaking, the leader threw a large coin purse to the bird-beast rider, who immediately returned to the adorning crowds.
The guards lead Sorin to a large domed hall at heart of the city. As they approached they could hear the sound of a bolt sliding free and saw the steel doors covering the entrance pushed open from inside. Out  stepped a tall, thin man dressed in blue and black robes, walking fast. The man was cleanly shaved, with cruel eyes and lips pressed close together. The guards made no gesture but immediately moved to clear a path for the man.
An ear-splitting scream cut through the silence, louder than anything Sorin had ever heard. The sound was deafening; worse, it was hurting him! The noise got louder until finally he collapsed on his knees clutching his ears. His hands had no effect – noise was coming from inside his head. Within seconds he was in the dirt, completely immobile. With one eye open he saw the stranger’s brightly polished boots step past him. Eventually the sound subsided, and the pain in his head began to relax. The nearest guard, seemingly unaffected, reached down to pull Sorin roughly to his feet. A push came from behind and the Planeswalker willed his feet to start walking again, leaving his mind to wonder what fresh surprises awaited him inside the tented hall.