So. Another fanfic. This time, in the Magic: The Gathering Multiverse...yeah, I know. I should probably wait until I've got one of my other three stories finished before posting this one, because that would be the smart thing to do. But I'm not, because this sucker was demanding to be written ever since the Ixalan stories.

But on the upside, I at least have this one completed before posting. I should probably start doing that with my fics, huh? Y'know, guarantee I've got material to post when my brain decides to nope out to Nopeville.

Anyway. For context, this takes place immediately after Hour of Devestation in the Amonkhet storyline, when the Gatewatch fights (and gets their collective asses kicked by) Nicol Bolas. It's going to focus primarily on my fanwalkers (see: all the main characters are fanwalkers), and is set on a fanplane of mine called Etrides. It's...well, you'll see soon enough. Also, warning: Maera swears. A lot. She doesn't really have much in the way of language filter, so be prepared for cursing. And if you don't like reading stuff with a lot of swears...well. I just told you. If you read this and complain later, you have no excuse.

I do not own Magic: The Gathering or anything else created by Wizards of the Coast. This is just what happens when you let me run wild in that expansive Multiverse...and maybe add a few planes and planeswalkers here and there.

Birthright

Chapter One

Defeat

SLAM!

She—or I—hits the wall. People stare. Too many people, too many thoughts, can't think...

Stumble. Crash. Blood.

Damn. Her blood. No, wait—my blood.

Memories, too fresh; a dragon, her friends being played with like prey. Her own spells turned against her. The pain of drawing too much mana...far too much...more than she can handle.

The blood. It's all over her side. Her front. Her arms.

No. Arm. Where's my other arm?!

I lean up against the all. She's bleeding bad. Her glasses are badly cracked, I can't see out of them.

Hurts.

Stumble, catch myself, keep going. Have to get back—

Hands. Strong hands. Worried face—words. Asking something?

She tries speaking. Tastes blood. Have to leave, have to find help...friends dying...

Collapse. No, don't fall unconscious, no, don't—

-XXX-

Maera's eyes snapped open.

I'm not on Amonkhet.

If she was, she'd eat her shoe.

Groggy, she reached around for her glasses. Clumsily, since for some dumb reason her right arm was numb... The eff did that 'walk do?

After some fumbling, she found the glasses and put them on one-handed. Then, rather than trying to sit up, assessed her condition.

And screamed.

"What the fuck happened to my arm!?"

Running footsteps came down the hall. The half-faerie was staring down at her right side, in horror.

Her arm. Her right arm was completely gone. Where it should've connected to her shoulder, there was...nothing.

Someone was speaking next to her. The words sounded muddled.

She passed out. Again.

-XXX-

The second time she came to, someone was sitting beside her.

Maera groaned. And squinted; her glasses were off again.

"How are you feeling?"

She looked to the voice. The speaker was blue—which meant he could be one of a number of races. The half-faerie paused before replying.

"Like shit. You seen my glasses?"

He handed her them off a nearby table. With a grunt of thanks, Maera slipped them on with her left hand, glad that at least part of her wasn't ripped to hell.

The man sitting in the chair next to her bed was vedalken. Typical of the species, he was tall and slim—if they were both standing, Maera suspected he'd be able to use her head as an elbow rest. Dammit genetics, why couldn't I have gotten the height genes?

The vedalken had his black-and-acid-green hair pulled back in a braided, the sides of his head were shaved. He was wearing a dark blue or black leather jacket, cargo pants, combat boots, and a pair of fingerless biker gloves. One of his eyebrows was pierced, and around one eye socket he had a tattoo of a broken semicircle that was just a few shades darker than his skin.

He was...different.

Sure, his appearance wasn't exactly what she was used to expecting of vedalken on other planes, but that wasn't what stood out to her. It was his eyes.

There was a light in them that Maera was all too familiar with. And endlessness that went deeper than most beings' souls.

Planeswalker.

"So—" She coughed, her voice hoarse. After a pause, she tried again. "So...what plane is this?"

The man frowned. "What?"

Maera pinned him with as withering a stare as she could—which, given the fact that she was lying in a bed and probably looked more like a warmed-over corpse than a human, wasn't very. "You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't."

Maera just stared at him for several long moments. Finally, she said one word.

"Planeswalker."

The man blinked, looking like she'd just slapped him across the face. "How did—? Who—? How do you know?"

Maera pointed at her face with her remaining hand. "Your eyes I can see it in your eyes." She croaked. "You can probably tell it in me, too. You've got a Spark."

The man studied her for several long moments, then nodded. "You're being surprisingly trusting."

Maera shrugged. Then hissed. " Scheiß."

He reached out a long-fingered hand and put it on her shoulder. "Be careful. You just lost an arm."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "No, really? I couldn't tell." She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "Yeah. It's a long story."

"I'll bet."

She snorted. "I'm being more trusting than usual right now for a couple reasons." She said as the vedalken sat back in his chair. "One of them is that I'm currently tired to the point that I'm pretty much stoned."

"And the other?"

Maera eyed him. "Where- or whatever this place is, I'm guessing it's yours." The man nodded. "So it's a safe bet you're the one who brought me here."

"You planeswalked into the middle of a busy thoroughfare, covered in blood, and wearing clothes that don't belong on this world outside of holodramas." He replied. "Chances are people either thought there was some kind of hallucinogen in the air scrubbers, or that you were escaped from a mental institution."

Maera grunted. "And you felt the 'walk from a mile away."

"More or less."

She grunted again. Goddamn it, everything hurts. Granted, despite the fact that she felt like she'd been shoved in a barrel and tossed down a river, she didn't hurt as much as she thought she should have. He must have some damn good painkillers running through me right now.

Of course, that didn't stop her body bitching.

The man shifted. "In answer to what plan you're on, Etrides." A beat. "You can call me Grimoire."

Maera looked to him and shot him a tired smirk. "Some name. Your mother give you that, or is your real name just that shitty?"

'Grimoire' frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Maera snorted a laugh. And regretted it because of the stab it sent through her chest. "Sorry. I just handle stress and pain by upping my asshole level." She took a breath, hissing as the stump of her shoulder throbbed. "Usually doesn't help the pain part...but it's a great outlet."

The vedalken deflated, rolling his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, the next time I find you wandering around covered in blood." He paused. "By the way, what the hell did you do to fuck yourself up this bad?" Maera was rubbing her eyes, glasses pushed up out of the way, when she abruptly stopped and stared at him. Her companion gave her a baffled look. "What?"

Maera blinked a few times before replying. "Well...I've met a few vedalken before, and they had a bit better of a language filter than mine. Frustration or not."

Again the eye roll. Grimoire crossed his arms. "And you're surprised...why, exactly?"

Maera shrugged, once again regretting it as the wave of pain returned. Dammit. "Just...surprised, I guess. And stoned on painkillers." She grunted. "If this is a preview of your personality, I think we'll get along swimmingly."

The other 'walker let out a long-suffering sigh. Heh. "I'm not sure if I should feel comforted by that..."

A snort. "Bro, if you'd seen some of the assholes I hang around with, you'd be running for the hills." A pang hit her in the gut. "...'course, chances are you won't be seeing them at all..." she muttered, softly.

He cocked his head. "I'm sorry?"

Maera shook her head, admonishing herself. Don't think like that, moron. For all you know, the others could've ended up on Etrides too. Just not the same place you landed. "S'nothing. Bunch of friends and I...we sort of bit off more than we could chew." She pointed to where her right arm was supposed to be. "Sorta what led to this."

Grimoire gave a nod. "Right...anyway, you should probably rest." He said. "I don't know how much blood you've lost, but it looked like a lot and I'm not sure if I've got enough artificial blood on hand to make up for the difference. At least, until your body can replenish what you've lost."

Maera grunted. "I feel like an anemic."

"No offense, but you look like one." A pause. "For that matter, you look more like a corpse than anything." He stood. "I'm going to see if I can scrounge up some supplies from some...ehh, people I know. You get sleep. It'll take a while to recover from whatever flung you here, modern medicine or no."

Maera nodded, indeed feeling tired as hell. She didn't bother questioning who these 'people he knew' were; there'd be time for that later.

He left the room. Maera was back to sleep in minutes.

-XXX-

Much to her companion's dismay, Maera was out of bed the next day.

"You should still be resting."

Maera grunted. She pointed to the mass of regen patches and bandages wrapped over the stump of her shoulder. "These seem to be doing their job." One handed, she attempted to pull her hair back into a ponytail. "And I'll keep the IV with me...goddamn it, fucking hair..."

"Here," Grimoire sighed. "Give me the tie." She did so, and he started pulling the mass of chestnut hair back. "...you realize you have enough hair to knit a scarf from?"

Maera snorted. "I like my long hair."

The other 'walker grunted. "There. That should hold."

"Thanks." Maera checked that the needle to the IV (Eugh, needles..) was till in her left hand before standing, using the IV as much for balance as to keep it from rolling away and ripping the needle out of her hand. Immediately, she felt woozy and stumbled.

"Watch it!" Blue, six-fingered hands caught her shoulders, keeping her upright. "Now you know why I said to rest. Your body's still barely started healing."

Maera scowled at him. She didn't like admitting it (Thank you Mom for letting me be a stubborn ass growing up,) but he wasn't wrong. Even just trying to stand had her head spinning, stomach doing backflips, and she was shivering and felt cold and hot at the same time. It's like I have the flu, only I'm not sick. "I can walk."

"Right into the floor."

"It's either that or pee into a bedpan, and I frankly enjoy the ability to use the bathroom on my own thanks."

Grimoire rolled his eyes to the overhead and let out an exasperated breath, but still kept hold of Maera's shoulders. "At least let me take some of your weight. I know from experience that IV stands don't make for very good crutches."

Maera grumbled something unfriendly, but still accepted the vedalken's support. She looked around. "Nice ship. Get it the same place you get your clothes?" Grimoire raised an eyebrow, and Maera let out a sigh. "Seriously, I'm just curious. This thing seems kind of...big for just one person. Must've been a bitch to pay for on your own."

Grimoire made a sound in his throat. "I...didn't. Not directly, anyway." He replied.

"Okhay...then where did it come from?"

"I came from Trikelius Prime Transportation Systems, thank you very much!"

Maera jumped with a yelp, almost toppling herself and Grim over. She hissed as the IV needle was yanked out of her hand. "Son of a bitch...the hell was that?!"

"Well. You weren't joking when you said she wasn't from around here, Grim. I've never seen that reaction to a talking ship before."

Maera blinked, then pointed to the ceiling and gave Grimoire a deadpan look. "Who the hell's that?"

Grimoire pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maera, meet Sleipnir." He sighed. "Sleipnir, this is Maera. Try not to get into a smartassing contest."

"No guarantees. I do love to annoy people."

Again the vedalken groaned. "Shut up." he turned back to Maera. "You don't have AIs on your plane?"

Maera was trying to get the IV back into her arm. "Well, yeah, but...they're not exactly sentient. Not yet, anyway." She swore around the needle in her teeth. "Damn it...stupid needle."

"Here. Let me." Grimoire eased the needle out of the hand Maera had transferred it to and carefully got it back into place, making sure it was stuck back down on her hand. "What kind of plane are you from?"

"Hopefully one where there's computers. I really don't want to have to explain how the 'net works."

Maera flipped off the ceiling. "I call it Terrestiel." She replied. "I'm not sure if that's the actual name or not; never managed to figure it out."

"I've never heard of a plane without a name before."

Maera shrugged, then winced as her shoulder stung in protest. "Meh. Neither have I, but it won't be the first time something weird happens in the Multiverse. The whole place is one giant pile of strange."

"Reminds me of someone else."

"Shut up, Sleipnir."

"Well? You do remember that time when-"

"Sleipnir."

"All right, shutting up."

Maera snorted a laugh. "At least you never get bored."

Grimoire rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

Again she laughed. "Anyway, Terrestiel is...pretty unremarkable." She said as they entered the cockpit. She slumped down into the nearest seat. "It's the size of a whole universe, but so far we only of one planet that evolved sentient life. Or, life in general, for that matter."

Grimoire tapped something into a wall panel. "There's got to be more than that."

"There is. Or I hope so, anyway." She sat back, sighing. "And on that one planet we know has life, only about half the population believes in and can use magic." She shrugged with her good shoulder. "Over seven billion people on a planet, and half the population doesn't even know that the other half isn't even human. Kind of funny, when you think about it."

"Or depressing."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine," Maera snorted. "Anyway...we're nowhere near the tech level here." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Personal computers and stupid 'smart' phones, yeah, but we're still using freaking jet fuel for space flight."

Grimoire paused in what he was doing. He blinked at her. "What."

"Yeah." Again Maera did the half-shrug. "Which is probably why the farthest we've gone from our planet is the moon." She peered up at the ceiling. "So yes, I know what a computer is."

"You poor things. Grim, please tell me we can help? It sounds like her plane needs help."

"No." Grimoire pulled a pair of mugs out the wall alcove and came over to the half-faerie. "I didn't know what you wanted, so I just got coffee."

"Thank the Eternities," Maera grabbed the mug out of his hand and inhaled the steam. It smelled like haven. "The last plan I was on had no freaking idea what coffee was. Or tea. I wanted to scream. How can a city run without something caffeinated?"

"Where were you, anyway?" Grimoire asked as he took a seat in one of the pilot's chairs.

Maera held up a finger as she took a swig of the brown miracle water. "After you tell me how you got this smartass." She knocked the bulkhead with a foot.

"I have a name!"

"Yes, and you're still irritating."

"My name is Sleipnir! Grim!"

"Inheritance." Grimoire replied, ignoring the AI's protest. "My parents were...ahh, traders would be the best way to put it. Sleipnir's an old sloop that was built before the aether break."

Maera stopped midway through taking a drink of her coffee. "I'm sorry, the what?"

Grim frowned. "What's wrong?"

Maera shook her head. "It's just...I've only been to one—well, a couple other planes that have aether." She sighed. She hmmed into her mug. "I wonder if if they're..."

"I didn't think there were other planes that had aether streams." Grimoire said, fingering the handle of his mug. "How'd—"

"Grim, we have company."

"Well, we did come here for fuel."

"That's not the company I meant, Grim. I mean the kind of company you, well..."

Maera looked to Grimoire, and her eyes widened in surprise as she say his face go ashen. He set his half-full mug of coffee to one side, the beverage forgotten as his hands flew across the console screen. "Sleipnir, can you go to FTL?"

"If you're asking if my tanks are full, yes. If you're asking if it's a good idea to do a cold jump into the nearest aether highway, then no it's not a good idea."

"I'm not asking for a cold jump. Just if you've got enough antimatter to get us out of here."

"Then yes. Granted, we won't be able to stay at FTL for very long before dropping back to sublight."

"Then it's a good thing we're not going very far..." The shock on the vedalken's face was gone, his focus shifted to whatever...people he was trying to avoid. "Get ready to undock. Unless they're managed to figure out that I'm not just another tourist, shouldn't take too long..."

"I've already asked for permission. So far, no red flags yet."

Grimoire grunted "Good." Something dinged on his console, and he glanced at it before a slight nod. "Permission's been granted. Let's move, Sleipnir."

"On it. You have a course?"

"Laying it in now."

Maera was listening to the exchanged, watching Grim's hands as they flew over the console. "I'm going to hazard a guess that these guys are not friends of yours."

"Not exactly, no." He didn't look to her, his eyes scanning something on a readout. "Old associates. Ones I'd rather avoid."

"You get in a bad business deal or something?"

"You could say that." Maera felt the floor thrumming as the ship shifted into motion. "Looks like they haven't recognized us as of yet."

"Good. I don't want holes in my hull."

"Being the one who needs to breathe, I'm inclined to agree with you." An alert beeped in the corner of the viewscreen.

"Incoming transmission."

"Thank you," Grimoire's tone was deadpan. He tapped a code into the control screen in front of him. "Patch it through. I've got the video scrambled."

"Good."

The alert went way and a woman's face appeared on the viewscreen. Maera scooted her seat back, hoping to get out of range of the camera on their end.

Grimoire turned to look at her. He shook his head. "It's fine," he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Far as she knows, this thing's a tourist yacht with a busted camera. I've got an illusion cast over the hull, and I doctored the manifests."

Maera raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he turned back to the screen. He cleared his throat before speaking, his accent changing to something...stuffy. "Ah, sorry about that. My video's on the fry on my end, so sorry."

"You're not funny, Grimoire." The woman replied, voice cool. "I recognize your casting."

The vedalken froze. "Damn..."

Maera leaned forward in her seat. "You know her?" She whispered.

Grimoire nodded. The woman on the screen smiled, the expression chilly. "You haven't introduced me to your friend." Maera stiffened. "Yes, I can see the both of you perfectly fine. Grimoire's datamancy would work well enough against an average inspection, but, well..." she shrugged. "We're not so average."

"What do you want?" From where Maera was sitting, she could see the vedalken 'walker's hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. Her eyes narrowed; whatever bad blood was between them, it went deep.

"We sensed a rather large—and rather sharp—aether burst" The chilly smile disappeared, and she eyed the pair of Planeswalkers through the video feed. "Neither of you would have anything to do with that, now would you?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, Grimoire. You know what happens when you do. You were with us for long enough for us to figure out the signature of your 'planeswalking', and we picked up one such signature at that station. Which one of you caused it?"

A cold tingle ran down Maera's spine. These guys know about Planeswalkers? How?!

"Then you need to get your instruments checked. I haven't done any planeswalking in weeks." Grimoire's hands were spidering over the controls of the console in front of him. "Now, can you please move so I can get to FTL safely? I've seen what happens when ships get caught in the wake of an FTL jump."

The woman hummed. "you know I can't do that. Whether that was caused by you or not, we've still got reasons to bring you back with us." She replied. Her gaze shifted from the vedalken in front of her to Maera. "Young woman...you wouldn't happen to be missing an arm, would you?"

Maera sat up straight. Grimoire glanced to her out of the corner of his eye. "I checked the station master's records to see if there was anything strange happening about the same time we detected the planeswalking signature. And sure enough, there were recordings of a woman in strange clothes stumbling out of nowhere, covered in blood and missing an arm." Her eyes flicked back to Grimoire. "Coincidentally, you were seen supporting that same woman back to your ship."

A muscle worked in Maera's jaw. "What makes you so damn sure?"

The blonde woman's eyes narrowed. "If we could pick it up, then I can guarantee that others with our capabilities can as well." She replied icily. "I can already name one such group, with far less noble intentions."

Grimoire snorted. "I wouldn't call your intentions 'noble' if you puked rainbows and glitter."

"Charming. But you have to admit, we're far better than the alternative."

The vedalken's eyes narrowed. "Better doesn't mean right. It's why I fucked off."

"You can't leave the Inquisitorium. Not without dying first." The woman responded. "Please don't make be do this the hard way, Grimoire. The paperwork'll be a pain in the ass if I blow you up by accident."

"I feel so bad for you." His voice was deadpan. "Seriously. I don't care how much you hate the paperwork I'm not going back. And I'm not handing anyone over to you, either; I don't work for you bastards anymore."

The woman sighed. "The hard way it is, then. I wish you didn't do this, Grimoire."

The video feed was cut, and twin lines of fire traced their way across the space towards the ship. Grimoire set his jaw and slammed a command on his control screen, and a silver shield went up over the outside of the ship—just in time to catch the phase fire slamming into it, sending silver shimmers along its surface. Maera grabbed the sides of her seat as the ship rocked, but nothing seemed to be broken "I'm going to assume they're the ones you had the past with."

"Yes. And I'd rather not go into it."

"I can tell."

The vedalken's hands were flying over the controls. "Sleipnir, take over navigation. You know what to do."

"Yes. Avoid getting shot."

Grim's mouth went into a thin line. "One smartass is enough, smartass."

"All right." Another hit landed, this time causing a shake from the rear. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"

"They trying to shoot our asses off?" Maera leaned forward, peering over Grimoire's shoulder at how he was handling the controls.

The vedalken shook his head. "The Inquisitorium may think they know everything, but they at least have a sense of honor—such as it is. Iron-fisted they may be, they won't shoot you in the-" Another blow rocked them, this time from the side. "Damn it. Sleipnir, who's shooting at us now?"

"Uhh..."

Grimoire's brow knitted as he frowned. "Sleipnir. Answer the question Who is it?"

"You sure you don't want it to be a surprise?"

Yet another blow sent silver spidering across the shields "Sleipnir!"

"All right! We've got a group of Bleeders coming up our tail. They seem pretty focused on us for some reason"

"Why?"

"How would I know?! You're the techno mage! If I could've hacked them I would have!"

Grimoire growled and grit his teeth. "I'm a bit busy here, Sleipnir."

"Yes, I can see that." Another hit, this time from the Inquisitorium ship in front of them. "I hate to say this Grim, but I don't think I can handle all the navigation while we're being shot at by two groups of crazy people."

The frown on the vedalken's face deepened. "I'll handle keeping out of the way of the Bleeders if you can keep us out of the Inquisitorium fire."

"Got it. What about weapons? Or are we going to run around and pray we don't get blasted?"

Again Maera saw the muscle twitching in the vedalken's jaw. "I'd rather not space anyone if I can avoid it."

"Personally, I'd rather not get blown up either. And if my database is correct, that wouldn't be too good for you two either."

Grimoire growled in the back of his throat. "I know." He snarled something as the shield was hit bad enough to actually tilt the ship to one side, and Maera swore as she was slammed back against her seat. "Damn it! How close is the nearest aether highway?!"

"Close, but we'll need to get far enough from this firefight first. And then keep them off our tail long enough to get to jump speed."

Grimoire was tapping at his controls, pointing the ship towards the twisting line highlighted on the map. "We'll need to shoot as we run."

"Think you can handle that and part of the nav?"

The shields ripped back from in front of the viewscreen before sliding back into place, and the edges of the screen flashed red. Grimoire grumbled something "Not really." He turned back to Maera. "You're a mage, right?"

Maera raised her eyebrows. "No, I'm a plumber."

"Sarcasm not appreciated."

Maera grunted. "I'm a battlemage who dabbles in artifice."

Grimoire gave a nod to the empty seat next to him. "Usually if I end up in a firefight, I let Sleipnir take over the navigation while I deal with the issue. But with two sides firing at us—"

Maera was already sliding into the spot, pulling the IV out of her hand as she went "Just show me how to fire the thing."

"It's magitech," He quickly pointed to a gauntlet-looking thing to Maera's left side. "It draws aether from space and basically turns the phase cannon into a giant aether gun. That's the control for it."

A grin was spreading over Maera's face as she strapped into the seat. "Nifty. That a normal thing here?"

"Yes. You said you were a battlemage? How good is your aim?"

"I one time got a spitball stuck to Tezzeret's nose at 400 meters."

"Good. Pick any of the assholes shooting at us and fire."

Maera slid her hand into the gauntlet-control and grinned. "Gladly." Now, how do I turn this thing on?

Either the thing was automatic or it read her thoughts (Hell no thank you, she thought), because it whirred to life and adjusted to fit her hand snugly, but not uncomfortably. A line of lights flashed along the side, before all turning green and a targeting overlay lit up her side of the screen "I just draw mana like usual?"

"Yes."

"Got it." Maera picked out one of the attackers—the nice, sleek, slimline fighter was hard to miss, and the shininess of it reminded her of one of the pretentious rich assholes back home. She raised her hand to it, pointing with her finger, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction at the thought of messing up some douchebag's paint job. Eat fire, bastards.

Maera swore as the ship jerked to the side, throwing her crosshairs wide. "Oi!"

"It was either that or have a firebolt up our exhaust, and I'd rather not be the won blowing up. Aim again!"

Grumbling under her breath, Maera picked out another one of the shiny and sleek fighters. A shit-eating grin creeped over her face as the crosshairs turned red. "Eat my aether, bitch!" She pulled the 'trigger' of her finger gun...

...and nothing happened.

An error message flashed over the screen Maera felt a buzzing in the gauntlet-hing, and the lights on the side were flashing red. She blinked. But...no way. I swear I was drawing mana. I could feel myself drawing mana...!

Grimoire glanced to the flashing error message and cursed. "Of all the times for...Sleipnir! We're going FTL!"

"What?! We're not up to speed! What happened to not making a cold jump?!"

"Change of plans! It's either that or getting a hold blown through the engines, and frankly—" Another hit to the shield jarred the craft, and the vedalken cursed again. "I'm rather against turning into a fireball!"

"So am I, but a cold jump will do that as well as one of their cannons."

"Just do it. It's better to live to sort out your FTL drive than end up a debris field." He tapped something quick into his console. "Course change. That's where we're going."

"You'd better be sure about this. It's going to be bumpy."

"I am." He looked to Maera. "Hang on. He's not joking."

Maera had the edge of her console in a white-knuckled death grip. "Will I need a barf bag?"

The constant thrum in the floor was rising in pitch. "Probably." Grimoire replied, hanging onto his arm rests. "Just try to ignore it until the worst of it evens out."

Maera nodded, jaw shut tight. I'm guessing that now would be a very bad time to point to him that I've never been at warp before.

She clamped her mouth shut as the screen whited out from the FTL jump.

I wish I could say this is the longest chapter...but it's not. It's really not. I'm pretty sure some of these are going to be twenty-plus pages, actually...yeep.

Anyway. To stave off the inevitable questions; no, do not expect any canonical planeswalkers to make an appearance here, just mentions of how Maera's interacted with them in the past. And by interacted, I really mean "scarred for life" because she's a...well, she exists. I'm not sure what else I can say without making her sound like an asshole X'D. I mean she is, but well.

Anyway, to quote a favorite author of mine on this site; reviews desired but not required. They do feel really nice to read, though.