Guardians of Innistrad

It had taken him nearly a year to rebuild his life from the shattered husk it once was, but Jotham had a determination and devout faith that could put most priests to shame. His was a simple life; that of a farmer. He had always been a farmer, but not always on this side of the Ulvenwald. Jotham was a proud man, having the largest farm around that was not sown or reaped with the help of any magic or mechanical tools. He grew an array of vegetables, fruits, and wheat; nearly enough to supply the whole town. This allowed the other farmers to sell their goods to neighboring villages, and the occasional convoy from Gavony. He didn't profit much himself, but he didn't want much money, only to work and keep his mind busy. He buried himself in his farm work during the day and into the night sometimes. The townsfolk called him "Natural Jotham," and to a lesser extent "Nature Boy," both of which he hated.

"Hail, Nature Boy!" A voice called from behind while he swung his scythe. He didn't look, he never answered to those names. Jotham continued reaping. "Jotham!" This time he half turned to see who was calling him, more just to acknowledge that he had heard and make clear that he wanted to get back to work. It was Thomes, the town fool. "Great grains, what happened to your face?"

Jotham's hand reached up to his cheek, which hurt to the touch. In an instant several flashes of memories rushed over him that he did not have previously: Ripping sinew, cracking bones, his fangs sinking into delicious flesh, and a stray hoof striking the side of his face. He breathed heavily and started to sweat. He clutched his chest where the blessed silver amulet of Avacyn lay under his clothing and silently prayed for strength. The town Cleric, Erin, had given it too him when he was decided as a perfect candidate for it by the rest of the town, since he stayed out after dark some nights tending his farm. "My horse struck me," he finally answered. He wasn't sure if that was the full truth, but the hoof part was unmistakable.

"What a shame. If you need someone to break that mare, I can take care of her for you," Thomes continued. "Anyway I came by to see if you had seen my sheep. I seem to have lost two of them." Jotham had another rush of memories, less broken now. The sheep were what he had eaten last night, and what had struck his face. "They have a tendency to wander so..."

"No, can't say I have." Jotham interrupted. He rubbed the silver talisman with his thumb, thinking the direct contact would help calm him further. "I will keep my eyes open though."

"Very well, Sir. I appreciate it." Thomes headed back down the road toward his farm.

Jotham tried not to think about it, but inevitably his thoughts drifted to his old farm on the outskirts of Avabruck. He refused to call the city by its new name of Hollowhenge, a disgusting display of disregard for the survivors. While he knew his old barn still stood, most of the rest of the town did not. He remembered the day the werewolves came. An entire howlpack ran through his land to the center of town. He ran after them with a pitchfork in one hand and a lantern in the other. He eventually came upon a battle between guards and two werewolves. The guards were desperately trying to block the heavy blows with their shields while still trying to land some of their own. But they were failing. The guards could barely stand after one or two strikes, and they vastly outnumbered the werewolves. Jotham flung his lantern at one of the beasts, which burst on contact, enveloping it in flames nearly instantly. With its wiry fur ablaze, the wolf ran away at full speed, yelping all the while. The second turned toward Jotham just in time to catch the pronged end of the pitchfork in its neck, piercing both a major artery and its windpipe. The beast struck Jotham in the chest, knocking him several feet backwards and leaving him unconscious. When he awoke it was all over. His chest was throbbing with pain. But more important, the town was gone. The buildings were all leveled, the wolves nowhere to be seen, the guards all dead. He dragged himself back home, only to find his family...

Jotham broke himself out of the thought. Finding it so hard to concentrate, he decided to visit Erin. She always had the answers to his doubts. He saddled his horse and made haste to the church. On his arrival, Erin was outside, seated on the main steps with a flower in her hand. She liked to take time to enjoy the simplicities and wonders of life. Her constant smile instantly warmed him and he dismounted to sit by her side. "What brings you to me on this gorgeous day?" Erin was aware that he was a busy man and only came around when he needed help with his inner battle, a secret between the two of them.

"I changed again last night. The talisman never left my body." Jotham was worried. "Has it lost its power?"

"It has all the power it ever did." She placed her palm on his forehead and whispered a prayer. "Go now, blessed child of Avacyn. That should stave off any transformation for a while." Her smile never left her face. She watched him ride back home, and worriedly entered the temple and began preparing for a much stronger ritual. She had not actually done anything, but strength of mind was a powerful weapon, and if Jotham thought he was stronger, maybe he would be.

That night Jotham could not sleep. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering why he had transformed last night. It was not even a full moon. Was his will getting weaker, or was this curse getting stronger? How could either possibility be true when he was taking more precautions against it? Where had Avacyn gone? When, if ever, would she return? He was as afraid of himself now as he was when he first turned. How much longer before he completely lost his humanity to the monster inside himself? How much longer before the townsfolk discovered him, and drove him away? He eventually fell asleep, but it was not a peaceful slumber.