Sycophantic Inkling -
Creature - Elemental Minion
Sycophantic Inkling enters the battlefield tapped unless you control a Raiker planeswalker.
, : Put a counter on target permanent you control.
"It does not speak, but its obedience has a sort of rhythm to it that is almost poetic." - Raiker Venn
1/1

Tragic Inkling -
Creature - Elemental Minion
At the beginning of your upkeep, put an Ink counter on Tragic Inkling.
Sacrifice Tragic Inkling: Search your library for a card with converted mana cost X or less, where X is the number of Ink counters on Tragic Inkling, and put that card into your hand.
"They exist to suffer and eventually perish. Like all of you, really." - Raiker Venn
1/2

Creative Inkling -
Creature - Elemental Minion
Whenever a player casts a spell that does not share its name with a card in any graveyard or on the battlefield, put an Ink counter on Creative Inkling.
At the beginning of your upkeep, if Creative Inkling has thirteen or more Ink counters on it, you may transform it.
"Sometimes, you get just a little creative inkling..." - Raiker Venn
1/1

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Blackblood, Avatar of Ink
Legendary Creature - Elemental Avatar
Hexproof
Whenever a player casts a spell that shares its name with a card in any graveyard or on the battlefield, Blackblood, Avatar of Ink gets +X/+X until end of turn, where X is the number of Ink Counters on it.
"...and sometimes, that inkling takes on a life of its own." - Raiker Venn
2/2

Nasperge disappeared.

"Ugh," a girl's voice sounded. "Was that Magician here again?"

Moira sighed. "Yes, Astria. My friend was here for a visit."

Astria rolled her eyes as she stepped into the room. At the far end, Beryl knelt, playing with fervent, childlike intensity with two small dolls and facing away from her sister and her mother. Astria barely noticed, and instead plopped down on large, soft chair across from Moira.

"I don't get it, mother. He shows up every once in a while, whenever he feels like it, and you treat him like he's family. I mean, honestly, what does he want?"

Moira was about to scold her daughter, gently but firmly, but there was something in that question that caught her suddenly. While Astria's question was hardly asked in the spirit of exploration, Moira couldn't deny that it was a good one. She had known Nasperge for a long time. Sometimes it seemed like she had known him all her life. And yet, there was so much that she did not know, and the answer to Astria's question was perhaps the greatest of all the Magician's mysteries.

"It's impossible to guess," Moira found herself saying, her voice growing distant. "There are times when I think that I know, when I can almost see it, like a gem that glitters in the dark, or the face of a stranger through a veil. But then, a moment later, it's gone again, a wisp of smoke vanishing into a stormcloud."

"Ugh," Astria groaned, rolling her eyes again. "In other words, you don't know."

And once again, Moira sighed. "In other words, Astria, I don't know."

There was a long silence in the room then, as neither mother nor daughter looked at one another. Then, suddenly, the silence broke.

"He wants to be happy."

At the same moment, Astria and Moira turned to Beryl, who was still engrossed in her game. She hardly seemed aware that she had spoken. In her left hand was her favorite doll, a female doll with bright red hair. In her right was a new doll, a male with dark hair, its mouth set in a straight line, neither smiling nor frowning.

"What was that, sweetheart?" Moira asked.

Beryl looked over to her mother. "He wants to be happy," she repeated, then turned back to her doll. "He wants to hold on, but he can't."

"Beryl, what are you..." Moira began, then noticed the dolls. Beryl was trying to get the male doll to hold hands with the female, but his hands were not shaped right. He could not hold on.

"That's why he doesn't smile," Beryl explained.

Moira found herself grinning at her younger daughter. "Then why doesn't he frown?"

Beryl shrugged. "They still get to be together." The little girl held up the dolls and moved them close, as though they were hugging. Their arms could not wrap around each other, but they were close. Moira's eyes danced as she watched her daughter.

"That's dumb," Astria said, moving to stand. "Grow up, Beryl." With a toss of her head, Astria moved out of the room.

Moira stood up as well, but moved over to Beryl, knelt down, and put her arms around Beryl's shoulders. "Please don't," she said, and kissed her daughter on the top of her head. "And I think you're right." She reached down and, as Beryl held on to the two dolls, Moira grabbed their little cloth hands and pressed them together. She knew it would not stay that way for long, but it was that way for now, and that was all the mattered. "He wants to be happy."

It was dark out when Jackie DeCoeur joined Scar on the porch. Moths flitted around the lantern, leaving their phosphorescent trails across the nighttime sky. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada sang. There was just a sliver of a moon.

“Here,” the red-eyed woman said, and offered Scar a fresh bandana. The centaur took the cloth wordlessly, and exchanged it for the damp handkerchief she had been using to dry her tears.

“Here,” the red-eyed woman said again, and this time she handed the centaur a mug of hot chicory, before sitting down on the swing with a mug of her own.

Scar sipped the steaming drink. The night was already hot, and sweat beaded on her forehead. But the drink felt good on her throat, and it helped just to taste something familiar.

Jackie DeCoeur took a sip of her own chicory, and leaned back on the swing. Reaching beneath her black serape, she extracted a silver flask with a flip-top lid, and poured half of its contents into the mug, before tilting back her head and draining the rest. Then, swirling the mug with her wrist, she tipped her hat forward, and began to rock back and forth in the swing.

“Normally, I’d offer you some fortification as well,” the red-eyed woman said, returning the flask to its hidden pocket. “But, under the circumstances, I figure I’d better not.”

Scar wanted to laugh, but the sound died somewhere in her throat. She dried her eyes with the bandana, then blew her nose.

“So, first things first,” Jackie DeCoeur said. “You stay here as long as you like, okay? A day, a week, a year – doesn’t matter. Trotter’s fixing a room for you. You stay as long as you like.”

Scar sipped her chicory, and nodded.

“Thanks,” she said. The word came out limp, and Scar hated how it sounded. She swallowed, and tried it again. “Thanks.”

“You’re family,” Jackie said. “You’re always welcome here.”

Scar wanted to say something else, but all that came out was more crying.

Jackie DeCoeur stared out into the nighttime darkness. Scar was standing next to the swing, resting her haunches on an angled railing built for that purpose. As Jackie rocked back and forth on the swing, she ran her hand back and forth along Scar’s broad flank, and the gesture was at once familiar, and comforting.

“Listen,” Jackie said, blowing to cool her drink. “We can talk about it, if you feel like talking about it. Or, if you don’t feel like talking about it, that’s okay, too, and we can just sit, and watch the stars, and have a good cry.” She took a long sip. “Sometimes a good cry is what you need.”

“I’ve cried plenty,” Scar said. “And I don’t see that it’s done me much good.” She blew her nose into the bandana, then gave it sheepishly to Jackie, who offered a fresh handkerchief in return.

“You wanna talk about it, then?” Jackie said.

“Not really,” Scar said, and shook her head. “But I don’t wanna not talk about it, either, if you get my meaning? I’ve been not talking about it for a month, now, and I feel like I’m going insane.” She looked over at Jackie. “Does any of that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Jackie said. “It does.” And she patted Scar’s flank.

They were silent for a long time, then, just sitting, and drinking, and swinging. Jackie kept running her hand along Scar’s side, and Scar stared at the trails the moths made through the night. Somewhere in the distance, a second cicada picked up the first cicada’s tune.

Eventually, Scar spoke, and it was almost a whisper.

“I don’t know what to do, Jackie,” she said. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Jackie patted her flank.

“That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to figure that out tonight. Or tomorrow, even – or the day after that. You’ve got time.”

“I know,” Scar said.

“And, whatever you decide to do, it’ll be the right thing,” Jackie said.

“I know,” Scar said.

“I know that you know,” Jackie said, and smiled. “But, sometimes, it just helps to hear it from someone else, you know?”

“I know,” Scar said, and, in spite of herself, she smiled, too.

“Tell me something,” Jackie said, after a moment’s silence. “This boy of yours, what’s his name?”

“Straight,” Scar said, feeling her face grow hot, and her hand tighten around the mug.

“Straight,” Jackie said.

“He’s not a boy,” Scar said. “He’s twenty-two, like me.”

“Sorry,” Jackie said. “I know, sorry. You’re a woman now, I know.” She sipped her chicory. “It’s just easy for me to forget, is all. There’s a part of you will always be a little girl to me, stealing sweets in an alley, with a rattler in her purse.”

“And yet here I am,” Scar said, staring down at her hooves. “Running home to Miss Red.”

“No. Not to Miss Red,” Jackie said. “Just a friend, is all. Someone to talk to. Or not talk to. Whichever you need.”

“Woman to woman?” Scar said.

“Something like that,” Jackie said.

“I screwed up, Jackie,” Scar said, crying fresh tears into the handkerchief. “I screwed up bad.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jackie said. “And, so what even if you did? It’s like you said, you’re an adult, now. Screwing-up’s your prerogative.”

“There are screw-ups, and then there are screw-ups,” Scar said. “This is one of the latter.”

“You’re above ground,” Jackie said. “And there’s nothing happens above ground can’t be mended.”

“I hope so,” Scar said, and sipped her drink.

“I know so,” Jackie said, and drained her mug. She gave Scar another pat. “Anyway, this man of yours, this Straight? You like him?”

“I did,” Scar said. She stared out into the distance. “At least, I thought I did.”

“He ever lay a hand on you?” Jackie said, and, although she asked the question as though it were just casual conversation, Scar could sense a sudden stillness in the air, like the way the desert gets before a storm.

“No,” she said, emphatically. “Nothing like that.”

“Good,” Jackie said, and Scar could hear her exhale. “I’m sorry I asked. I mean, I figured he couldn’t have, since you’d’ve dusted him as soon as he tried. But, I had to ask, you know?” Jackie’s hand had frozen on Scar’s flank, and she gave the centaur a nervous pat. “You do know that, right?”

Scar turned to look at Jackie, and was startled by the look in the red-eyed woman’s eyes. It was a look that said: I would ride through seven hells and back before I’d let another living soul lay a finger on you. I would put a thousand men in the ground before I’d let them do you an ounce of harm.

Scar had seen that look before in Jackie’s eyes, but never like this.

“Yeah,” she said, “I know.”

“Good,” Jackie said, and, taking Scar’s hand, she squeezed it. “Good.” Then she turned back to face the night sky again. “Good,” she said again.

“Straight wasn’t like that,” Scar said.

“What was he like?” Jackie said.

“He was… I mean, I was…” Scar shook her head. “I just liked him, you know? He was nice, and kind, and… uncomplicated.” She shook her head again, then looked at Jackie. “I just liked him, is all. Was that so wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong with nice, or kind,” Jackie said. “As for uncomplicated? Well, I wouldn’t know.”

Scar laughed, then thought to herself: when was the last time I did that?

“No,” she said to Jackie. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“And when did he run off?” Jackie said.

“About a month ago,” Scar said, and sighed. “Said he had a rid he needed to finish up. Said he had some thinking he needed to do.” She swirled her drink. “Must have been a lot of thinking.”

“You want me to find him?” Jackie said. “Assuming he’s not dead, that is?”

“No,” Scar said. “At least, I don’t think so.” She thought about it for a second. “No.”

“Want me to kill him?”

Scar nearly snorted hot chicory out her nose. “No,” she said.

“Because, for the record, I will,” Jackie said. “You just say the word.”

“I know you will,” Scar said, and laughed again. “And, thanks, but no thanks.” She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.

“Well, if you change your mind,” Jackie said, and shrugged. “About either the finding or the killing.”

“I’m not even angry with him anymore,” Scar said. “Not really.” She shook her head. “I mean, at first, I was. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. I almost rode out after him – twice. I was going to find him – I always was a better Ridder than he was, mind you, and I would’ve found him.”

She looked at Jackie, as if seeking some sort of affirmation. The red-eyed woman nodded.

“Anyway,” Scar said, “I was mad as all hell, and I almost rode after him, and, I kept saying to myself, ‘I’ll find him, and then I’ll tell him.’” Scar shook her head. “And then, just as I was getting my gun ready to leave, I suddenly asked myself, ‘wait, tell him what?’ And that literally froze me cold, because… well, because I don’t know. I don’t know what I would’ve told him.” She shook her head again. “I don’t know what I’d tell him now. All I know is that, well, if he doesn’t want to be there for me, anymore, then I don’t want him. I wish he wouldn’t have gone, but he did go, and now I don’t want him. I don’t want him anywhere near me. Maybe, someday, that’ll change, but, for now?” She looked at Jackie. “For now, I don’t want him. If he doesn’t want me, then I don’t want him.”

“Makes sense to me,” Jackie said.

“It’s just that, now, I’m alone,” Scar said. She had thought she was done crying, but now there were fresh tears in her eyes, and she let them come. “I can’t rid anymore, and I’m alone, and there’s a baby coming, and I don’t know what to do.”

“No, you’re not,” Jackie DeCoeur said. “You’re not alone.” She tapped a boot on the porch. “As long as this ranch stands, you’ll never be alone.” She took the empty mug from Scar’s hand, and held it. “As long as I’m alive, you’ll never be alone. You know that, right?”

Scar wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. “Thanks, Jackie,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” Jackie said, and, for the rest of the night, they sat there on the porch together, listening to the sounds of the cicadas.

“And if you ever change your mind about the killing?” Jackie said.

“I’ll let you know,” Scar said, and laughed.

"Admit it, you did."

"Did what?" Jackie asked as innocently as she could.

"You know perfectly well 'what,' Jackie DeCoeur," Trotter said with his paws on his hips.

"I'm sure I don't," Jackie insisted.

"Don't deny it. You were out there for hours."

"That doesn't mean anything," Jackie said.

"I know you, Jackie."

"After all these years, I would hope so," Jackie said with a wink.

"So you admit that you did it, then?"

"No."

"What do you mean? 'No' you didn't do it, or 'no,' you won't admit to it?"

"Either," Jackie said. "Or both."

Trotter stomped once on the ground. "Why won't you just admit it?"

"I don't know what I'm admitting to."

"You really want me to say it?" Trotter asked.

"I'd rather we just go to bed, honestly."

"Fine. Admit it, and we'll go to bed."

"Hmm," Jackie said. "Tempting. Remind me: what is it I'm admitting to, again?"

Trotter groaned and threw up his paws. "Ugh! Fine! You offered to kill him, didn't you?"

"Oh, that."

Trotter buried his face in his paws. "Yes, that! What did you think, that I thought you had danced with another fox or something?"

"Oh, well, about that..."

"Jackie!"

"What?"

Trotter groaned again. "You've got to stop offering to kill people!"

"Why?"

"Because you promised!"

"Oh," Jackie said, a coy smirk crossing her face. "I guess I do sort of owe you an apology, don't I?" She moved over to the fox and pulled him close.

"So, are you admitting it?" Trotter asked.

"Sure," Jackie said, "if it means we get to go to bed."

The kids crowded around Scar, her sudden and unexpected return sending a shockwave of excitement throughout the ranch. Most of them, even the older ones, were all talking at once, and Scar could not keep up with all of their questions. The sound of exuberant voices echoed off the walls until nobody could discern any of the sounds as actual words, only as a singular mass of noise.

Eventually, as the kids started to realize that Scar was not answering them, could not answer them, they began to quiet down one at a time. The older ones picked up on it first, and the effect trickled down until finally, almost eerily, nobody was saying anything at all. Scar took a deep breath and prepared herself to speak, but just before she could, she felt a little tug on her sleeve. She looked down, and the small Noggle Tob was staring up at her.

"Will you tell us a story, Scar? Please?"

Scar blushed slightly. "Oh, I don't know, Tob. I'm not good with stories."

There was a murmur from the crowd of kids, some joining in on Tob's request, some trying to goad Scar on, and some simply disagreeing with Scar's assertion. The noise was threatening to climb once again to a fever pitch when the Rattler Maroa held up her hands.

"Come on, Scar. You're a great storyteller, and you know it!"

Another murmur of agreement rang out as Scar shook her head. "But I always forget parts," she insisted. "Like names and things like that."

"Oh, come on," the kid named Kid said. "Please?"

Finally, Scar relented. "Oh, alright. But don't blame me if I mess up, okay?"

The kids agreed, and arranged themselves almost like an audience in front of the centaur. Scar thought she caught a glimpse of annoyance in Trotter's face as the fox stood with Jackie at the door, but she began her story anyway.

"So, it was my second Rid, and it was an interesting crew. Our lead was a man named Id, and he was the controlling type. He kept strict watch on everything, especially the ammo and the water, and if he didn't like the way you were doing things, he'd deny your rations. One of the other ridders, named Drink, was always losing out on water rations because he was always goofing off."

"Did you ever lose out on a ration, Scar?" One of the kids interrupted.

Scar laughed slightly. "Maybe one or two," she said. "But I would just sneak one when Id wasn't looking," she added with a wink. That got a laugh out of the kids. "Anyway, my friend Horse was always really good. She never really..."

"Wait, who's 'Horse?'" Vorena asked.

"Oh, sorry. Horse is one of the ridders. Her name's Leeta."

"I thought it was Horse..." Tob said, confused.

Scar laughed again. "She took the name Horse as a surname to honor the lost, noble creatures. Centaurs have a strong connection to the horses, of course."

The kids nodded their understanding. After a moment, Scar continued.

"So, one day, it was really, really hot out, like it gets out in the Waste, and we all needed some water. Horse was on her best behavior, and she asked Id for some water. Makum, though, was being his usual self."

"Makum?" Derek asked.

"Hmm?" Scar said. "Oh, yeah. That's Drink's first name."

"Oh," several of the kids said.

"Anyway," Scar continued, "Makum was being annoying, so when he and Leeta asks for water, Eeum says..."

"Eeum?" several kids asked at once.

"Yeah, the old centaur?" Scar said, scratching her head. "The leader?"

"You said his name was 'Id,'" Honeysuckle pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, Id's his first name. See, I told you guys I wasn't good at this!"

"So, what happened then?" Lucky asked.

"Oh, haven't you figured it out?" Scar said with a devious smile. "When they both asked if they could have a ration, the old Id Eeum says, 'You can, Leeta Horse, two waters, but you can't, Makum Drink.'"

I'm not sorry.