I wasn't born a planeswalker. Nor was I made one. I could even say that it was not a spark from the aether that chose to throw me down this path - as is normally the case. No. Me, I was chosen by the Blind Eternities themselves.
For some - laymen and planeswalkers alike - the Blinds, the space between worlds, is nothing but a destructive maelstrom of unformed thoughts and summons, a directionless land of wild, manaless mana, unfathomable, uncaring and unknowable. The journey that makes you care just for the destination. The bothersome thing you elude at all costs when 'walking.
I cannot - dare not - share the same vision.
I was born an orphan on Innistrad. From an early age, the Church adopted me and gave me purpose, fed me, clothed me, taught me right from wrong. As a young adult, I wished to return the favor. I could not service at the altar, for my inclinations had never laid with the spiritual, but I did manage to pay my dues as a temple guard.
There is much greed, and much danger on Innistrad, and I've ended many robbers and werewolves during the years. I've only been defeated once - and that is when my whatever-I-have ignited.
One day, one unassuming day of mass, I was standing guard at the Northern Gate when a hooded stranger approached. "Reveal your face." I commanded, lowering my hand to grip my sword. The stranger didn't move, but he did. He also didn't speak, but he did. It was as if the stones around me were relaying his message, as his lips remained silent. "I do not seek to enter. I am merely looking for an old friend."
As I stood there, tense, the stranger said nothing more and remained locked in place. After five minutes of continuous silence, he turned his back and commenced onward, with a quick "Not here." thrown over the shoulder.
My curiosity got the better of me and I couldn't just let it end like this. With a leap, I gripped his cloak and ripped it off. But behind it was... nothing.
Then, my whole vision turned black. I felt strange, eery, immaterial. When I could yet again see, it didn't feel like... seeing. Yet I could distinguish the shape of the hooded man, floating in front of me. This time, he was not invisible, rather, his skin seemed made of granite, with fine cuts and whirls running across the surface. His face denoted surprise and annoyance.
"Ah, naturally. I should have expected this." he disdainfully uttered, punching the helm off my head. I immediately began to feel nauseated. Not a moment later, my skin started burning with black flames, and the only thing that stopped me from bursting into tears from the pain was that water instantly evaporated around me. "Silver protects from the raw energy of the Blind Eternities. Take it out, and the sparkless turn to dust. That will teach you to interfere with my grand quest, simpleton." The stranger started to fade into the murky background, and right then I knew I was stranded. "Oh, by the way, the name of the one who brought about your demise is Lithomancer. Let that rest with you for the final seconds of your sorry existence."
But... they weren't the last seconds of my sorry existence. Somehow, I survived exposure, and woke up back home. My face was intact, even; I determined when I saw my reflection in a nearby spring. I would later find out that I was the only sparkless to ever survive the Blind Eternities. Even more intriguing than that - I was the only one to ever 'walk without a spark.
Years later, I once again met with Lithomancer. He was aggressive at first, but we settled everything and he went on to study my impressive nature. I do not know, to this day, what exactly I am. All there is to know is that I'm alive, I can't die of old age, I'm strangely impervious to weapons and magic of most types, and I have an affinity for protecting Sparked ones. It's actually a learned trait, which I've instilled on denizens of various planes, to ensure my survival.
But the Lithomancer was not convinced that " being hard to kill " was the full extent of my ability. To dig deeper into the issue, he orchestrated a planeswide ritual on one of the few surviving artificial planes from the time of Urza, and...
... let's just say I am bound not to speak of that ever again. Oh, and Lithomancer's dead.
