From all we can tell, Wizards isn't putting out a novel for Innistrad block.

I guess that means I'll just have to write one and hope that no one screams at me!

AVACYN RESTORED

Chapter 1

           The cold rain lashed at the windows of the Spreading Branches, the wind blowing mournfully through the eaves. The horses in the stable shifted uneasily in their stalls, no happier than the patrons huddled inside the cramped roadside tavern. A dim fire sputtered fitfully in the center of the room, providing little warmth to the men gathered at the tables as they sipped their stale ale, sharing whispered stories of the horrors that lurked along the road, each one muttering curses on whatever desperate business had forced them into the storm.
 
            “’Sh gonna be a bad night,” Karst slurred as he stared at the chipped tankard in his hand as he rested his head on his arm. He tipped the mug this way and that, listening to what was left of his drink slosh this way and that, but he was too tired to lean it into his lips to take another sip.
 
            “They’re all bad nights lately,” Wilfred grunted, wondering for the tenth time in as many hours why he hadn’t cut the poor fool off already. He angrily slapped a wet rag down on the bar and began to scrub away the crumbs and spilled drinks. He knew that he wouldn’t though, not after Karst had returned from the fields one day to find a howler standing over the corpses of his wife and daughter, blood still dripping from its fangs and claws. No one knew why it had chosen to spare Karst, fleeing out the back door instead of killing him on the spot. That, at least, would have been a small mercy. Instead the farmer had been left to drink himself into oblivion.
 
            Wilfred, as well as everyone else in the room, turned and looked up as something heavy began to pound up the front steps. He unconsciously made the sign of the Heron, knowing no sane man could be out in weather so foul. He began to reach for the silvered mace he kept under the bar, wondering if the time had finally come for him to use it. The door opened with a groan, the swollen wood sticking a bit in the frame. Wilfred didn’t even realize he had been holding his breath until he let out a sigh of relief as a shadowy figure stepped into the light of a lantern.
 
            The man was clad in heavy a leather coat, muddy and torn to reveal the chainmail armor he wore beneath it. A pair of swords were belted to his waist, and his opposite hand clutched a burlap sack, still dripping blood onto the straw covered floor. He paused to scan the room for just a moment, before walking over to an empty corner table without a word. He dropped the bag on the table with little care, then draped his coat across the back of an empty chair. Next he removed the swords, laying them down so that they would be close at hand if he needed them.
 
            Wilfred walked over to the table, staring uneasily at the bag. He glanced between it and the stranger before asking, “Is that what I think it is?”
 
            As if in answer the other man reached down and opened the bag, revealing the severed head inside. It looked like a wolf’s head, but wrong. The jaw was too long and narrow, the black and grey fur too short. The forehead was too large, and the teeth too clean. Wilfred sat down heavily, unable to look away from the terrible sight. “I thought they were supposed to shift back after you killed them?”
 
            “They are,” the other man answered as he leaned back in his own chair. “Now they don’t, apparently. Or at least this one didn’t. I don’t know why. Perhaps the Cathars back in Thraben will be able to tell me why.”
 
            “How much do we owe you?” Wilfred asked, licking his lips nervously. Between the bad weather and the recent attacks, the town had been suffering. Even the remote families had been avoiding the market, no matter how badly they needed supplies. That meant that the collection they had taken up was meager at best. But if they stiffed this man, then the next time they needed something hunted there was a good chance that no one would answer their pleas.
 
            “Nothing,” the man answered, shaking his head. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small silver necklace, depicting Avacyn’s Collar over a pair of crossed swords. It was the mark of a Church Inquisitor, and carrying one falsely was a crime punishable by death, as with any other impersonation of a church official. “The office of the Inquisition has a bounty on werewolves. That should more than cover my costs. I’ll settle for a bowl of stew and some wine if you have it, warm mead if you don’t.”
 
            “Of course,” Wilfred answered as he stared at the head a little why longer. Greed replaced fear in his eyes, and a plan began to take shape in his mind. “I’ll have my daughter come by with your food right away.”
           
            “Thank you,” the Inquisitor accepted with a nod. He watched as the innkeeper walked back through the room, briefly stopping to chat with several men along his route. To anyone else it looked like he was just checking on his patrons, and for some of them perhaps he was. More than a few, however, turned to steal a glance at the Inquisitor. He made a show of not noticing simply smiling his thanks at the young girl who brought his dinner.
 
            Will they move tonight? he wondered, Or will they wait until I leave town, and make it look like the act of bandits? Bandits, most likely. It would be easier both to set and ambush and to get rid of my body that way. Just leave it in the woods somewhere, or pretend that I was attacked by another creature. If they try for me while I sleep then it would make things much more complicated. There would be an investigation, and they would be like to lose to the head in the course of it.
 
            He frowned as he sipped his win. It was one of the unspoken hazards of being an Inquisitor, one that most people never talked about. The church had always posted bounties on the creatures that haunted the night, generally rather large ones. Claiming them wasn’t easy, however, as all too often bringing back proof was near impossible. The ash from a vampire was indistinguishable from the ash from a fire, ghouls just reverted to being corpses, and werewolves had, at least until recently, converted back to their human forms. The easiest to claim were skaabs and geists, but then they were also the most difficult to kill as well. It wasn’t unheard of then for an Inquisitor or Hunter to find themselves being attacked by the same people they had just rescued, all in the name of easy coin.
 
           The Inquisitor’s musings were interrupted as the door opened again. He was just as shocked as the others when a young woman walked in. She was dressed in an elegant, long black cloak over a surprisingly immodest evening gown complimented by elbow length gloves. Her only nod towards sensible travel clothing was a pair well worn boots. She pulled the hood back as she looked over the room, and he felt a small shiver run down his spine as her eyes met his. There was something about her, a sense of danger that made him uneasy. His hand slipped under the table to rest on the hilt of his dagger as she began to walk towards him. He would have preferred his swords, but there was no way to free them without provoking her, and would be too clumsy in his current position besides. None of his wards were reacting to her presence, so she was nether vampire nor werewolf. As she grew closer he breathed deep, but there was no smell of chemicals or rot, so not an alchemist either.
 
           “Is this seat taken?” she asked, motioning to the last empty chair at the table.
 
           “No, it is not,” he answered carefully. He could hear the raw power in her words, touching his mind with seductive pleasure. It wasn’t because of a spell, she was simply that powerful.
 
           “Would you mind if I joined you then?”
 
            “Not at all,” the Inquisitor answered as he examined her more closely, looking for some sign as to her true nature. His eyes widened as he realized her cloak and boots were perfectly clean and dry. A mage then. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to turn down the company of such a vivacious woman such as yourself. I wonder, though, why someone such as yourself would be traveling on a night such as this?”
 
           She smiled as she waved for her own dinner. “Now that is a long story…”
 
 
                                                                                                       *          *          *
 
 
            Wilfred frowned as he watched the woman talk and eat the Inquisitor. Finely dressed as she is, she must be headed for Thraben as well, he decided. This will wreck everything! It would only make sense for them to travel together, for safety at least. And if they don’t, she’ll have seen the head. If he disappears and we turn up with it later, then there will be a witness against us! Damn it all to the Ashmouth!
 
            Reaching under the bar, he pulled the mace out and dropped it on the bar top with a heavy thud. The man at the table closest looked over in surprise, but Wilfred just nodded silently. The other man just touched his hat in acknowledgement before turning to whisper to his compatriots. One by one they got up, drained their mugs, and turned towards him.
 
 
                                                                                                          *          *          *
 
 
              Four of them, the Inquisitor decided as he scraped the last of the stew from his bowl. The other patrons realized there was trouble brewing, and began to head up stairs to get out of the way. He pushed his own chair back a few inches so that he wouldn’t collide with the table when he got to his feet.
 
            “What’s wrong?” the woman asked. She frowned in concern as she turned to follow his gaze. “I take it those gentlemen aren’t acquaintances of yours?”
 
            “I’m afraid not,” he answered as the thugs reached them.
 
            The leader of the small group slammed his fists into the table. He reeked of ale and sweat, and his eyes were wide with drink. “What’s in that bag of yours?”
           
            “That would be between me and the Cathars in Thraben,” the Inquisitor answered coolly. There was still a chance that this might end without anyone getting hurt, and the last thing he wanted to do was provoke these fools.
 
            “And what if we want to make it our business?” the thug sneered, leaning in close enough the Inquisitor could see the madness in his eyes.
 
            “It isn’t, so go away.”
 
            “And I say it is, church boy!”
 
            So much for the peaceful way, the Inquisitor thought as he grabbed the bottom of the table. One good shove was all it took to send the table, sack, swords, and their bowls and mugs smashing into the group of drunks. It caught the leader full on, smashing him backwards into support beam, crushing him messily against the thick timber. That meant there were only three left.
 
            The smallest of the three roared and swung with the mug clutched in his hand. The Inquisitor could hear the woman behind him begin to chant the words to a spell as he ducked, his own fist flicking out to catch his opponent in the gut. The drunk stumbled backwards, clutching his belly as he struggled both to breathe and not to vomit at the same time. It was a lost cause, and he collapsed to his knees as he spilled his dinner all over the floor.
 
            Then it was the Inquisitor’s turn as one of the two remaining thugs smashed a chair across his back. The thin wood shattered into a cloud of splinters  as he slammed to the ground, and it would have shattered his spine if it hadn’t been for his armor and thick clothes. He rolled sideways on instinct, not even bothering to look up as a filthy boot smashed down where his head had just been. Time seemed to slow as adrenaline pumped through the Inquisitor’s veins. He snatched his knife from his belt and shoved it through the top of the boot, pinning the foot in place as its owner howled in pain. That gave the Inquisitor enough time to regain his feet, just in time for the mage to finish her spell.
 
           “No, no, stay back!” the last thug wailed as his eyes widened in terror. The others simply screamed as all three turned around and ran for the door, chased by horrors only they could see.
 
           The Inquisitor turned on her then, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he reached for a sword that wasn’t there. The mage held up her hands. “Illusions only! Just something to frighten them off, and maybe make them think twice before they attack strangers again.”
 
          “Hmph,” he grunted, nodding in acknowledgement before going to collect his weapons. “Thank you. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Norin, of Elgaud.”
 
           “You may call me Lily,” the mage answered with a smile. “Would by any chance be heading towards Thraben? If so, I think it might be wise if we traveled together. I hear the roads have grown dangerous, and my only other companion is my coachman. I feel we would be well protected with your blades at our side.”
 
           “I would be honored,” Norin agreed with a small bow. He set about collecting his spilled belongings as he muttered, “At the least I won’t have to worry about this sort of nonsense in Thraben.”
 
 
 

 Note: This is as much a writing exercise for myself as it is an actual attempt to create an Innistrad based novel. I don't quite have a schedule worked out on when I'll be able to get to it, so expect random updating. As for quality, I can make no promises other than to try and patch any glaringly obvious problems. As for canon, I'm working of the Savor the Flavor articles and the cards themselves, while adding my own take on less touched on characters. Comments appreciated, critiques even more, and requests will be taken, if not necessarily honored!

Maybe they should put more effort in working with IDW and focus their story telling through comics.

Yeah, I was originally going to name him Tellin, but while I was flipping through the card galleries to see what spells might be cast, I ended up clicking on a loink to Norin, and the rest just followed from there.

Apr 11, 2012 -- 2:31PM, aziraphale60 wrote:

Has it been confirmed that there is no book? They're not just waiting maybe for the last set?

MaRo said they weren't making money as few people bought them, and so they're on hiatus.

Chapter 2        

            Ludevic was all smiles as he worked around his lab, cheerfully humming Strennard’s Third Hymn to the Heron Host. He whistled a particularly cheerful note as thunder cracked overhead, shaking dust from the plaster ceiling of his lab. Alas, his musical talents did not seem to be appreciated by his audience, as the werewolf locked on his slab snarled and thrashed as it tried to tear itself free from the restraints binding it down. The lab table it was locked to banged against the floor, as the spells laid down with arcane runes made sure the prisoner remained bound.

           

            “Oh, stop that,” Ludevic scolded his prisoner, sticking his tongue out for childish good measure. “Those are pure silver locks, and those boards are reinforced with steel bands. You won’t be able to pull yourself free just by struggling, and don’t think you can just shift to escape, either. I’ve already thought of that, and the locks will simply adjust with you. I know I was supposed to be running tests on you this evening, but I’m afraid this storm has provided me a rare opportunity that I just can’t pass up.”

 

            The werewolf simply howled in frustration, lunging against the restraints again and again until it finally gave up in exhaustion. It howled again, this time with great despair as it sagged against the wood planks. Ludevic just shook his head and sighed. “Some people just do not appreciate fine music. “

 

            He resumed his mix of whistling and humming once again as he walked out of the room, closing the door to silence the beast before sauntering over to where a large egg was being held in mid air by half a dozen metal rods. Blue lightning crackled and hissed between them, dancing across intricately carved runes and markings similar to the ones on the werewolf’s restraints. They glowed bright enough that Ludevic was able to work unassisted by torches or lanterns as he took last minute measurements. “Tonight, my little egg, will by a wondrous night. With the power from this storm, you’ll finally be able to hatch! All my work and experiments will be vindicated! …Or you’ll end up as a splattered gooey mess that I’ll have to clean out of the carpet, but let’s not dwell on that particular, hmmm?”

 

            Ludevic jumped as something heavy thumped upstairs, wincing as an agonizingly shrill voice stabbed against his ears, as if a thousand cats had had their tails stepped on at the same time. “Ludevic? What pagan devilry are you up to now? I won’t have it, you hear me? I run a clean house, and I won’t stand for any more of your nonsense!”

 

            Ludevic’s shoulders sagged with despair. He had battled giant spiders in Kessig to harvest their deadly poisons, braved the ruins of Hallowhenge to collect the ectoplasm of the spirits that lurked there, and even supped at the tables of some of Stenisia’s more legendary vampires – none of which held the terror that was Mrs. Geston. The crotchety old woman had grown up near the wilds of the Ulvenwald before marrying a wealthy merchant out of Thraben. Her husband had died under mysterious circumstances, but his business rivals had been no match for the steely nerves of his wife. After all, what were a few traders and bankers when one had grown up with the Krallenhorde living on their doorstep? Now pushing the end of her first century, Mrs. Geston was half blind, totally deaf, and the nightmare of all the local children. At first Ludevic had considered her to be the perfect landlord, but the longer her harassment continued the more he seriously considered replacing the aids he had been slipping into her food with a fast acting poison.

 

            “For the last time, Mrs. Geston, I am not a pagan, I am a heathen! Ther is a difference!” Ludevic shouted back, knowing it would be useless. “I do not consort with devils, demons, or the undead, as I have told you many, many times! I know the Church doesn’t agree with my methods, but the experiments I conduct are for the betterment of all mankind!”

 

            Something splintered behind him, and Ludevic whirled around. His eyes lit up with delight as he saw the first long crack begin to work its way down the egg’s shell. He knelt down in front of it, whispering, “Please, please, please, please…”

           

            A scaly green head poked out of the egg, a pair of bone white nubs jutting backwards from its forehead. It wriggled back and forth, struggling to get more room for itself. It began to hammer away at the inside of its prison, shards of egg flying as its claws smashed their way free. It let out a surprised squeak as it toppled out of the still suspended egg, landing on the floor with a wet plop. It shook its head dazedly, before looking up at Ludevic. It tilted its head sideways as it made a cooing noise, then a long blue tongue whipped out and began to lick Ludevic’s face.

 

            “I think I shall name you Tymy,” Ludevic murmured as he began wiping the egg slime off the creature with the bottom of his shirt. The lizard beast was already beginning to grow rapidly, having gone from not much bigger than its egg to the size of a small pig in only a matter of moments. Several minutes later it was the size of a pony, as well as happily chewing on one of his work benches.

 

            “The enchantments seem to have worked,” Ludevic muttered as he began scribbling in one of his notebooks. “Growth proceeded rapidly from birth, though it has the rate has slowed somewhat from its initial pace. It does seem to be an energy intensive process, though fortunately Tymy seems to have developed several previously unknown mutations, allowing him to devour otherwise digestible materials.”

 

            He looked up as the door to his laboratory rattled under a fierce pounding. Sighing, Ludevic wiped his hands on his shirt and proceeded up the stairs, scowling at the interruption. Fortunately, Tymy seemed to have decided to take a nap, and was quietly snoring in the middle of the room, twitching every so often as a new growth spurt hit. Ludevic took a deep breath as he reached the top of the stairs, preparing himself for yet another argument with his landlady. “Mrs. Geston-“

 

            Was not there. Ludevic stared in astonishment at the white haired goddess standing in the doorway. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, from her sky blue eyes to those wonderfully way she pursed her lips as she scowled at him. He knew in that moment that he was lost, and that her every word would become his command. He was, in fact, so taken in by her that he completely failed to notice the cathar’s uniform she was wearing, nor the half dozen heavily armed cathars standing in the hall behind her.

 

            “Ludevic the Alchemist?” Thalia asked, trying not to gag at the savage smell coming off the man in front of her.

 

            “I will be anyone you ask me to be,” Ludevic swore happily.

 

            “In the name of the Church, the Lunarch, and Avacyn herself, I place you under arrest for heresy, treason, and many more crimes than I care to name,” Thalia snapped. “Take him away.”

 

            “Wait, what?” Ludevic asked, shaking his head as he snapped out of his revery. “You can’t be serious!” He turned and darted back down the stairs. “No, there must be some mistake!”

 

            “Quick, don’t let him get away!” Thalia ordered. Where she thought he was going to run to was anyone’s guess, but the order was enough to get her men to take action. They hurried down the stairs after Ludevic, who had stopped in the middle of his lab as he realized just how stupid the entire situation had become. He was just about to turn and surrender when Tymy, awakened by the commotion and now large enough to have his horns dragging against the ceiling, sat up and roared. The cathars stumbled backwards, the one closest screaming in fear. He drew his sword and swung, only for the thin blade to bounce harmlessly off Tymy’s armorlike hide.

 

            “Back, get back!” Thalia ordered as she leapt down the stairs, drawing her own sword as she landed between her men and the beast. This was supposed to be a simple arrest, she thought angrily. What sort of madman would loose a beast like this here in Thraben? Damned alchemists, always putting others at risk, and for nothing!

 

            She sang a hasty blessing, and her swords began to shimmer with a golden aura. The bright light drew Tymy’s attention, and he roared again as he swung at her with dagger sized claws. Thalia dodged, knowing she couldn’t to take that kind of blow. Even if her armor managed to keep her from getting gored, which was doubtful, the blow would still break bones and rattle her brain in her skull. She jabbed the beast in the thigh with the tip of her blade, doing little actual harm but causing it to twist around to follow her as she ducked behind it. Her free hand began to glow as she summoned more white mana for another spell.

 

            Tymy whirled, trying to follow his nimble prey, but she was just so fast. His jaws snapped closed on empty air and his tail lashed back and forth madly, smashing a support beam into splinters even as it drove the other cathars back.  The ceiling above them began to sag, dust and chunks of plaster raining down from above. The debris only added to the confusion of the battlefield, and the cathars tumbled backwards, choking on the thick cloud as it began to fill the room.

 

            “Stop, stop!” Ludevic wheezed, waving his arm in front of his face as he struggled to breath. “Leave him alone! Tymy, stop it! You must behave!”

 

            “I don’t think your monster makes for such a great pet!” Thalia snarled as leapt on to its back. Tymy stamped around, trying to shake her loose, but another growth spurt hit, shoving his head up through the ceiling and into the kitchen above. Thalia’s hand was now glowing so bright that it hurt to even look at it, and she slapped it against the monster’s scales.

 

            “What cannot be destroyed will be bound!” she screamed. Silver and gold chains spread from her hands, wrapping around Tymy’s neck in a spiral pattern. He should have easily been able to carry their weight, even as they began to spread down his arms and legs, but their weight was enhanced by the magic of the angels that proved to be too much, even for such a great beast. He toppled forwards, dragging his face through the rest of the ceiling, pulling down more of the kitchen as he landed back in the laboratory. He continued to thrash against the restraints, but the holy chains proved to be too much. Realizing he was unable to move, he let out a piteous wail that had Ludevic rushing to his aid.

 

            “There, there, Tymy,” Ludevic whispered soothingly. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry. The nice lady didn’t mean it, I swear. She just doesn’t understand yet. I can explain everything, and then it will be fine, you’ll see, shhh…”

 

            Thalia stared at him with a mix of wonder and disgust. He spoke as if he were a father tending to an injured child, not a madman with his pet monster. She motioned towards one of the other cathars as she set about cleaning her sword. “Divon, bind his hands and mouth. Lesit, you and the rest of the squad search this place. I want all his notes and journals intact if possible. Let me know what else you can find. I’m sure there’s enough evidence here for him to hang, but I want to make sure we don’t leave anything for the scavengers to find.”

 

            “Don’t worry, I’ll come quietly,” Ludevic said, still stroking Tymy’s face as the big monster wept. He still struggled a bit as they pulled him away, then held his hands out meekly as the manacles were snapped into place. He didn’t even try to resist as they fitted him with a gag to keep him from casting any spells. Last was the black hood, so that he could not see or be seen as they led him away.

 

            Which just meant he was unable to explain or warn them when Lesit cried out from the other room, “Hey, there is a man chained to this table!”