The Beginning
Sorin Markov and content related to Magic: The Gathering is copyrighted to Wizards of the West Coast.
Sorin (the furry) is mine.
This is sort of an background story for my fursona, Sorin. If gives a small insight into how he became what he is and what he does. I hope you all enjoy it. Any and all thoughts are welcome.
We all have a story to tell. Some have tales of love. Some have epics of valor and triumph. I have none of these.
I opened the door to my small car and took a deep breath of the mountain air. It had been months since I'd been able to get away from the small hardware store and I had been looking forward to this trip for weeks.
The air was crisp and cool in northern New York. Spring was coming to a close and fall was on its way. But it was still early, which meant that the day would prove to be pleasant. With any luck, the entire weekend would be as nice.
Having already prepared my pack, I simply pulled it from the trunk of my car, locked the vehicle, and set off into the woods.
To this day, I wonder how my life would have been if I hadn't taken that first step.
Three hours later, I had my tent pitched on a small flat piece of ground. A short distance away, a cliff gave a gorgeous view over the forest almost to Canada. But I didn't have time to enjoy the view at the moment; I was too busy collecting branches for my fire.
That was when he came. His first signal of approach was the snap of twigs underneath of his feet. My ears twitched at the sound, alerting me to his presence. At the same time, a wind carried a scent, a foul smell that instantly made my skin crawl and my fur stand out.
He was suddenly before me, holding himself erect like a noble on his own land. I jumped back at the sudden appearance and let my pile of wood crash to the ground.
The human's hair was pure white and fell to his shoulders. The wind gently blew it around his sharp face. And in that face, the most fearsome set of eyes I had ever witnessed. His gaze drilled into me, and for a moment, I dared not move.
"What is your name?" he asked. His voice was light but sharp.
I stammered under the question. "I'm... I'm Scott."
He looked at me, his eyes constantly moving along my body, as if analyzing me. He started to pace in a gently circle around me. I turned, keeping my front to him. This seemed to please him as he smiled. "I am Sorin Markov. You seem... tense."
"Sorry. Just a little wary of meeting strangers in the middle of nowhere."
His footsteps stopped. "What do you know about the universe, Scott?"
I paused, momentarily perplexed. The situation had started strange, but now it was bordering on weird. "Just what they taught in high school."
"What they taught you in high school is wrong," he said. "I am a Planeswalker with limitless power. I'm willing to offer you some of my power." He held out his hand.
My breath caught in my throat as time seemed to slow. I couldn't think for some reason. The man's words were strange, yet they held a sense of firmness that I couldn't deny. Beyond my will or comprehension, my hand extended, clasping tightly with his. Then everything went white.
The light tears my eyes open. Light pierces my eye and I blink, turning my head away.
Slowly, my mind picks up and fills with the visions I had just seen. The dreams are coming more frequently; they're always the same. It's always that day, always that same offer.
I turn and let my feet touch the floor. A cold chill travels from the wood through my pads and into my legs. I ignore it. Something stirs on the bed behind me and I look over my shoulder. It's just one of Harly's whores that I bedded earlier in the day. I ignore her as well.
Within minutes, I'm on the rooftops looking over the bright city. My straight black coat falls around my crouched body, combining with my black clothes to hide me from anyone that would chance to look up. It's a good night for hunting.
But even though it's good, my mind doesn't leave my dreams. Markov always said that nothing happened without purpose. A simple breeze could be the warning of a fireball. The crunch under your foot could be a slingbow trap. So what was the purpose of the dream?
A far-off cry touches my ear. My senses focus, traveling through space, ignoring everything else. Running... Screaming... A knife blade...
I turn from the lights of the city, running across the rooftops. The gaps are nothing to me. My mind is already dipping into the dark, recessed area of my mind where the world does not matter.
The scene below me is taken in in a moment. He has a knife to her throat and she's stripping, currently working on her pants. I glance at the shadows and through the rest of the alley. There's no one else around, which means this is a solo job. I chuckle lightly. This man is a fool to do such a task alone.
"You should have gone to a whorehouse if you wanted to score."
The man turns suddenly, pulling the woman with him, and looks up. "What the fuck? Get out of here."
I let my body lean forward slightly. I fall, my coat flying around me like wings. When my feet hit the ground, I crouch, letting the impact disperse through my body. The action that some would consider suicidal clearly throws the attacker off-guard because he steps back with wide eyes.
His arm goes slack for a moment and the woman takes the opportunity to turn and run. He starts after her, but I move quickly to grab his jacket and throw him against a wall. His body slumps lightly.
I turn and start to walk away. "Do a better job next time. I prefer a challenge."
Something cold and hard pierces my shoulder. I stop and turn, looking into his wide eyes. My hand reaches over my shoulder and painlessly pulls out the knife. "That was a bad idea."
The man starts to panic and runs. I give him a second's start before I rush forward and grab his hair. His head snaps back as he slows to a stop and screams. "People like you make me sick. If you're going to whore, do it honestly."
My hand begins to glow black. His hands clutch at mine, trying to break my grip on his hair, but it's useless. White lines start across his head and spread downward. There's a crackling like breaking glass as his squirms gradually slow. The sound grows until the crack-like lines cover his body and he's frozen in a silent scream. His body breaks, falling like shards towards the ground that vanish before they're able to clink against the concrete.
For a moment, the air is silent. My heart slows until the sounds of the city once again reach my ears. In the dim light, I look at my claws, which have a few drops of blood on them. I bring my claws to my mouth and lick the blood. An iron taste fills my tongue.
A good hunt. Why do I dream?
So? More? I have some other plans if you want it.