This is a series of vignettes centred around a fictional Tavern in the Magic Multiverse.
BUSINESS was brisk. Patrons clamoured at the observation deck, at windows, doors, and any other place that gave them a good view of the action. Already spells were slung and minions summoned by the planeswalkers to provide them some advantage over their opponents. It wasn’t so much a brutal battle but a delicate contest of wills, deception, and trickery. Each of the six combatants seemed to make use of blue mana, the mana of mental acumen and intellectual superiority, to a certain degree. Thus what would have otherwise been a glorified catfight was a pretty ballet of balance danced by the six performers. Even the more posh patrons to The Tavern clinked their glasses as they cheered on the combatants.
As it turned out, the winner was the one that laid low the most. This particular planeswalker sought to be the least threat until he had assembled the pieces of his secret design, after which he brought down all the other ’walkers almost simultaneously with a careful combination of two summoned minions and a pile of steel. But then, in what may be considered an act of mercy, he didn’t incapacitate one of his opponents, instead he helped the man up with a firm grip and shook the man’s hand. The other four combatants, including the Magus, lay in heaps on the ground. Though hardly injured, their bodies felt weak akin to having their life force drained out of their souls.
The two standing planewalkers went back to their cold box and took out a bottle of drink each, touched the glass to the other, and took a good swing of the contents before basking in the ovation of the spectators.
One planeswalker said to the other, “We should do this more often.”
The other planeswalker said, “When I have the time. I’m too busy subverting nations for personal gain.”
“Well said.”
* * *
But what Jéne E. said was most definitely a lie. It wasn’t a battle for sport. Between planeswalkers, that would have been a waste. It was actually a battle for supremacy over a disputed plane, observed by a hidden council that at this very moment was congregating in an undisclosed location.
The first person said, “So the Magus lost. Where does that leave us?”
A second person said, “It’s a pity that he’s not as strong as we thought he would be. Then again, he has his own agenda regardless whether or not he participated in the fight, and will probably turn against us.”
A third person said, “You mean he didn’t enter the battle to win?”
The second person said, “That is my belief.”
The first said, “We can’t let things like this happen. We need control of this particular plane.”
A fourth person spoke, “If the Magus doesn’t agree with us, then we must elect a new champion. We can’t rely on someone with no dedication.”
The council agreed.
The second person said, “Hiring another planeswalker to do dirty work is going to take some time. For the moment, we have to stick with the Magus and make sure he doesn’t suspect that we’re going to abandon him.”
“Or kill him,” said the fourth person.
The second said, “I don’t know how long it will take, but I’ll do my best to recruit our new champion in the soonest possible time. You mark my words, we’ll have control over that plane one way or another.”
The council again agreed.
A fifth person said, “The perpetrator of The Tavern won’t be pleased if something were to happen to their protector. How do we solve that? He could easily muster the planeswalkers that visit his establishment and attack us.”
The first person said, “He doesn’t know where we are. We’re safe.”
“Are you sure?” questioned the sixth council member.
Everyone turned to the speaker.
The sixth added, “Jéne E. Ilk is a resourceful man. I see him as a real threat to our goals if anything were to happen to the Magus. If we really are to bring down the traitorous Magus, we have to deal with everyone he knows, including Jéne.”
“That,” said the second council member, “could be a bit of a problem.”
>End of story.
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