Hope
This story explores the creation of the Guardian Angel, Avacyn, and the fickle vampire who made her.
Clouds blotted the mountains of Stensia as Sorin looked across the landscape. From the top of Markov Manor one could see all the way to the Lake of Herons, where the moon shone down like crimson stained glass upon the timid hamlet of Thraben. Smoke coiled up towards the sky from fires that dotted the small wooden fortifications.
Of all the human settlements, Thraben was the largest, but even it was pitiful in comparison to Sorin had heard news of humans fleeing across the moors to the village looking for shelter, but their flight would prove their undoing.
Floors below, the leaders of the twelve bloodlines sat in the parlor, enjoying conversation and Sanguine Cordial, plotting their largest raid on humanity’s last bastion. They would strike at the Harvest Moon’s peak and let all creatures of the night know who truly controlled Innistrad.
He knew that this kin were misled, they had forgotten their history. His birth at the end of the old famine marked a new beginning for his world. One where people would not have to die of hunger, or turn against each other to survive.
What once was would soon be again.
Vampires draining each other of life force, the bloodlines vying for what little humans remained only to turn on their own. Nothing left but a plane of ghosts.
The clouds parted and the moon broke free of its cover. He shuddered. The sudden brightness brought back old memories, of another plane sundered by a force much greater than famine. The Eldrazi, beings from the void who consumed whole worlds, visages so terrifying they still crept at the back of his mind.
Tendrils coiled and uncoiled, limbs bifurcated so many times they looked like a tree of horrors. The bony mask of Ulamog. The piercing eyes of Kozilek. The unending lattice of flesh that was Emrakul.
But they were gone now. Gone forever, sleeping beneath a far off land, never to trouble his home. A wild place sacrificed for the good of so many.
Sorin closed his eyes, his scowl faltered. From his cloak he drew a crystal shaped stone, smooth and free from erosion. A “hedron”. He turned it over in his hand, slowly, methodically, tracing the same circles he’d made a thousand times. Even on this chilly night, the stone was warm on his palm, still infused with the mana of that forgetten place.
I left her there, with those monsters.
There it was again. Remorse. Pitiful for a vampire, but he was more than that. He had a duty, to protect his home, just as she did. The words rang in his ears louder than ever.
"Any hope is better than none. Always."
If Thraben were to fall to the vampire clans this evening, who would have hope? Who would watch over Innistrad as it crumbled?
He wouldn’t let this happen. For the first time in millennia Sorin felt more than his survival instinct. He would protect his world at all costs. Even from itself.
The moon loomed overhead, slowly creeping towards its apex, like a blood red pupil constricting, an omen of what horrors were to come.
Sorin rode through the mountains towards Thraben on a horse stolen from one of the Voldaren leaders. Anything that could slow them down. Anything to buy him more time.
Upon reaching the moors, fog seeped from the ground, the moon staining the land a sickly pink like torn flesh. It would be in this shroud that Sorin would hatch his plan. A glamour, to conceal his appearance and gain the trust of any patrol that might be watching the gates.
His body became frail, hunched, old but wise. His eyes inverted, his sclera a yellowed white, his irises a muddy black. His hair receded, and a small white beard protruded from his chin. His dark cloak cracked and dulled, forming a shawl to encapsulate the illusion. The horse he kept the same, no need to waste any more energy turning such a frightful beast into an ass, for it would be left at the bridge.
The only thing left was a name. There would be no explaining away a Markov wandering amongst the townspeople, so he settled for something to fit his tired, feeble, and crotchety visage.
Ugin. He smirked. Old Ugin, from the moors. For a flash the smirk became a devilish grin, but it subsided soon enough as the mesa rose before him and the fog lifted and the moon looked larger than ever. His disguise did not hinder him and he made haste across the bridge clinging to the shadows.
Just as the moon reached its perilune, Sorin approached the front gate. A guard shouted out into the night, his voice quivering.
"Who is there? Identify yourself!"
Sorin let out a sickly cough and moved out of the darkness.
"Old Ugin," he replied. "I live in the moors near Stensia."
The guard was nervous and impatient.
"There’s no room here for you old man, we’ve already let in enough people in as it stands."
Now it was Sorin who was becoming impatient.
"I need not shelter, but I bring a warning."
"We will not let you in only to spout nonsense and scare the refugees," the guard spat.
"I listen to the moors" Sorin pleaded, "they whisper that the vampires will strike this town tonight, the Harvest Moon should be more than enough warning."
The guard fell silent but Sorin peered inside his mind, his fear pushed against his probing tendrils.
I can’t let him in, I can’t have people scared, I can’ lose my family. I DON’T WANT TO DIE.
If Sorin was to get through in time, he was going to have to be more forceful. His voice kept the same tone, but the cadence, the softness, poured over the guard’s mind like syrup.
"You must let me in, I cannot be delayed any further. The head of the guard must hear about the attack."
The guards thoughts were stuck in his web, and his fear was replaced by hesitant acceptance.
"You may pass," the guard whispered dryly, "but please be quick."
The red haze over the city, between the fires and the moon’s ever watching gaze, was oppressive. Sorin weaved his way through the huddled masses, faking a limp, keeping his eyes on the ground to avert suspicion, hobbling toward the guard’s tower at the center of the city.
Two guards flanked the door to the wooden structure, torches were abundant at the door and at the top of the tower. The guards eyed him with caution.
"May I speak with the captain of the guard?" Sorin inquired, each word pressing on the minds around him.
"Of course," the guard replied dully.
The door closed behind him and the captain quickly turned around, surprised by was before him. In the instant it took the man to meet his gaze Sorin had reverted to his true form, his hand resting gently on his sword.
"We have a problem, human."
The captain stood aghast, ready to bellow for his troops. But once again, Sorin seized control of his mind, this time to speak.
If you try to shout I will kill you before you draw breath, I am here to help, not to hurt.
Sorin released his grip, and the captain exhaled.
"What is this problem, vampire?”
"The clans have come together and are planning to destroy Thraben tonight, they’ll be arriving soon enough."
"And why do I have the privilege of knowing this?"
"Because this attack will not only destroy you but the entire land," Sorin whispered.
Again the captain was stunned, his first thought was why this had to happen on his watch. Sorin appreciated the irony, but now wasn’t the time to share a joke. They had to prepare.
"Where is the safest place in the city?" Sorin inquired.
"We frequently patrol the catacombs below the graveyard to remove any…" he faltered.
"Yes. Assuming that tonight they are clear that is the safest place."
The catacombs would be the place to evacuate the elderly and children. All able bodied men and women would be needed to fight off the onslaught.
"How will they strike first?"
"Most likely they will send Falkenreath scouts as harbingers of what is to come, they will be able to fly over your wall and begin the slaughter. The others will follow suit."
The captain shuddered, his head dipped.
"We’re all going to die, aren’t we?" he said, his voice hushed.
The words rang in his ear. The girl from so long ago, from the plane they lost. But in that time and place had much larger things to worry about, bigger plans.
The pain, the hopelessness…
In that moment ages past the girl had been given hope from a woman she hardly knew, and fought until the very end. If he was to watch over Innistrad, he had to give them that same hope.
"If we win tonight, humanity can live to see the light of day."
Slowly, he looked up to Sorin. His eyes were cold.
From the moors came the stench of blood, the moon still high in the sky painting a ghastly light on the hamlet of Thraben.
The guards had finished their evacuation of the less capable citizens and refugees into the catacombs, the militia was ready at the fence to stop the vampires incursion.
Before he had left the captain’s office, Sorin once again took a new form. A simple glamour changing his hair, skin, and eyes to a more tasteful pallor. He grasped his sword in one hand and his hedron in the other, turning it slowly as he looked across the moors. From the top of the tower he could see the mountains of Stensia, the peaks like bloodstained dragon teeth.
He worried that the resistance would not be enough, that he had not given them the hope they needed to survive. He looked up to the moon, then back to his hand, listening for some nonexistent inspiration. He did not want to destroy his kin, but he knew humanity’s end spelled disaster for all.
The hedron hummed, as it did on occasion, reminding him once more of the land he sacrificed.
That was what the other side of hope, for without sacrifice, others cannot keep hoping. For the greater good, some must be lost. Humans must die, as they always have to sustain the vampires. And vampires must die, so that they do not wipe out their life source. But he needed something to tip the scales. He needed a savior.
There were none among these people that could be the champion of Innistrad, and he could not stay on Innistrad forever killing his own. So if a savior could not be found, they would have to be created.
Quickly Sorin made his way to the base of the tower then to the edge of the town that sat upon the lake. In the distance he heard the shrieks of the Falkenreath fliers approaching the barricade. Not much time was left.
He needed something through which to channel his magic, something that could conduct the mystical energies he needed. Once again, his gaze made its way to the moon. Thought to be made of silver, it could be blessed to repel evil.
And so, with his hedron in his hand, he focused his will and reached with his mind, extracting a piece of the moon and bringing it to the earth. The massive shard was crude, nothing as beautiful as the lithomancer had created, but it would serve its purpose nonetheless.
At the same time, Thrabens forces were being driven back to the same spot, and humanity was prepared to make its final stand. Sorin had to finish his ritual.
He called out to the soldiers, “People of Thraben, look upon this stone, and know that it is the source of your salvation!”
The soldiers and vampires alike were confused. He had to convince them.
"You must have hope, all of you. Know that I do this for all of Innistrad!"
In a flourish, he conjured all his might through the stone, his mind reaching out for the hope of the people of Thraben. And in a blinding flash, the moon was white as snow. He saw in his minds eye the hedron unfolding, and her visage inside.
Her pale skin and white hair, her hope, her sadness, her sacrifice. He poured all of this into the form emerging from the light. And she was beautiful, a beautiful angel.
Her voice rang like bells, freezing everyone.
"I am here to smite the evil that has come to plague this land, submit or be destroyed!"
He looked at his creation as the vampires stared upon him in horror as auroras exploded across the sky, angels pouring down to defend the town.
The ensuing slaughter was sickening for Sorin to watch, but most of the bloodlines retreated from the town, the fallen crumbling to dust.
The angel flew down to Sorin, her spear, forged from stone of the moon, raised above him.
"What is your purpose here vampire, I do not sense great evil in you," she stated.
He clenched the hedron in his fist and turned to look at her.
"Any hope is better than none," he replied.
She stared at him for a while, searching his face. But she knew her response.
