Card of the Week: Fireball

Goodness gracious!

A Primal Force

I belive that upon discovering their magic, all mages find at least one spell that inspires them. A spell that drives them in their studies so that they might master it. A spell that speaks to their soul. Perhaps a green mage might fall in love with the idea of summoning a great beast. A black mage might have twisted thoughts of animating the dead. And a red mage—maybe all red mages?—probably dreams of fire and destruction.

While I cannot speak with certainty for others, I know that that was the case for me. Admittedly red magic was not my first love (that would be the huge beasts of green), but the thought of unleashing a firestorm upon my foes appealed to me all the same. It is as direct a display of power as I can imagine: how better could I show my newfound magical prowess to the multiverse? I have long since learned that the subtler effects of the other magics are often more effective, but there is always something alluring about brute force.

But the power of fire magic is only part of the appeal, I think. The allure of fire, both magical and mundane, has captured the imagination of humanity since humanity’s beginning. It is no surprise, then, that fire has likely been harnessed by spell more often and more commonly than any other aspect of the world. By its ubiquity, it is likely that a mage’s first magical discovery affects fire in some way. In my advanced age, I cannot say for sure whether fire spells were among the first that I learned, but I would not bet against it.

Even after I settled into a preference for green and white magic in my earliest days of sorcery, I still found myself dabbling in red magic for the power of fire. White magic may be able to negate the threats of combat through enforced peace, but red magic’s fire is a more…permanent end. I have since become more cautious towards the death and destruction of my magic, but sometimes drawing upon the red is unavoidable. And sometimes, it is merely more convenient or efficient.

The Long, Long History of the Fireball

While using magic to affect fire is as old as magic itself, long lost to the ages. The act of forming it into a ball and hurling it at a foe, however, can surprisingly be traced back to its originator.

And lo, Leonard Patt's "Rules for Middle Earth" begat Chainmail, which begat OD&D, which begat AD&D, which begat AD&D 2nd Edition, which...uh...inspired the (Gamma) playtest, which begat Alpha.

Long before planeswalkers throughout the multiverse first gathered their magic and the casting of Fireball became widespread, the famed wizards Gygax and Arneson employed the fireball in their dungeon delving and dragon slaying. Indeed, the great deity Garfield almost certainly drew inspiration from their work, and he was not the only one. It is likely that all disciplines that employ the fireball—from the Craft of War to the Scrolls of the Elders—likewise built on the foundation laid by Gygax and Arneson.

But if the history of Fireball does not begin with Garfield, neither does it begin with Gygax and Arneson. The dungeoneering duo built upon the previous research of Gygax and another wizard, Perren, in their chainmail-clad mastery of war. While their work was somewhat obscure (at least, until the popularity of Gygax’s and Arneson’s later work brought it to light), Gygax’s and Perren’s work were noted by scholars. For ages, it was believed that Gygax and Perren invented the spell.

However, in recent years it has come to light that Gygax and Perren learned from Patt, an ancient and obscure alchemist and erstwhile mage. In his military rules of engagement in the domains of the Rings of Power, Patt created the spell as a magical equivalent of a catapult-stone. As his work was shared with only a few others, it was largely forgotten in light of Gygax and Perren’s version of Fireball.

Playing with Fire

What to do with infinite mana? What...to...do?

Despite the primal nature and frequent occurrence of Fireball, it has long been eclipsed by the use of Lightning Bolt among serious mages. Indeed, Lightning Bolt’s efficiency and speed generally make it better for wizardly combat than Fireball, but some cases remain where Fireball is advantageous. Fireball excels when a mage has a surplus of mana to power it, allowing it to scale in both strength and size in contrast to the fixed power of Lightning Bolt. This provides a matter of versatility in slaying multiple creatures at once or slaying creatures powerful enough to withstand the blast of a Lightning Bolt. But in a duel, mana is usually in short supply and opportunities to cast a decisive Fireball are few and far between. Most often, it serves as a specialist utility while Lightning Bolt does a red mage’s heavy lifting.

Fireball for lethal...the angels are just backup!

However, a few mages have come to rely on Fireball as a key spell in their selection. Mages following in the footsteps of the great Weissman often use it to defeat their foes once they’ve restricted their opponents from all courses of action and are rich in mana resources. Likewise, mages who tap the unlimited potential of the Basalt Monolith via Power Artifact often channel their mana into a world-scorching Fireball for victory.

It's the opening hand that dreams are made of.

Though the above strategies are reliable, tried, and true, Fireball is perhaps most famous for its potential to defeat a mage’s opponent immediately. Even in the oldest records, mages have circulated stories—likely told by friend of a friend—of combining the smoke-borne visions of the Black Lotus with the mage’s own Channeled lifeforce to power a lethal Fireball as soon as an opponent takes the field of battle. While this maneuver is possible, it is unlikely in the extreme. And yet its siren’s song has called to mages since the dawn of dueling, and many still attempt it to this day.

Danatoth of Alsoor (Dan Hyland)


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Card of the Week: Giant Shark

In the abyss/Never surface/Unless summoned by the slowest riffs
I dwell alone/Aphotic zone/Awakened only by the lowest tone

--Green Lung, "Living Fossil"

From the Depths

The ocean was vital to my home city of Alsoor. Though the farms of the surrounding countryside supplied the city with crops, the true bounty of the city came from the sea. But as the climate cooled, the crops diminished and the sea truly became the lifeblood of the city.

I remember watching the fishermen’s ships come back into harbor as a child. Each day they’d sail out far from land, and on good days they’d come home laden with their catches. And sometimes—on the best days, at least to myself and the other children—they’d bring back monsters to show off as well. Huge squid with sharp beaks and barbed tentacles. Pillbug-like crustaceans as large as dogs. But it was the sharks that fascinated me the most, with their black glassy eyes and their rows and rows of razor teeth.

Among the fishermen, tall tales spread like wildfire. Fantastic stories of elusive white whales, ancient monsters of the lochs, and the inevitable ones that got away were so common as to be found in every dockside tavern from Alsoor to the ruins of Sumifa. And there were always the rumors of sharks larger than anybody’s ever caught, lurking out somewhere in the dark waters.

A roughly-scaled comparison: megalodons are thought to have grown up to 50 feet long, while the largest hammerhead sharks are around 20 feet long.

But the Giant Sharks are more than just rumors or fables. Though unseen during the warmer years before the Brothers’ War, they began to appear during the Dark Ages and into the Years of Ice. I believe that they are creatures of the cold depths, and as the world cooled the shallower waters also cooled and became hospitable to them. When Dominaria warmed again they disappeared along with the ice—I am unsure if they have died out or merely returned to the cold depths. But Dominaria is only one world—surely, they must still exist elsewhere in the vast multiverse even if they no longer live here.

As for myself, I never did see a Giant Shark during my childhood in Alsoor. I imagine that hauling one back to shore would have been a very difficult task for even the most experienced fishing boat. But the sailors told stories, and not just the drunken fishermen—sober merchants and serious ship captains as well. I believed the stories without hesitation as a child, but became skeptical as I grew to be a man. But when I discovered my magic, years after the fall of Alsoor, I learned to summon these great beasts for myself. (And since learning that the sailors' stories of the Giant Sharks turned to be true, I can no longer discount the white whales and loch monsters either. I remain skeptical, though.)
 
Lore

Badlands are good places to find fossils: the soft sedimentary rocks erode easily to expose the fossils within, and the minimal vegetation makes them easy to find.

There are many places in Dominaria where the bones and teeth of ancient creatures can be found, so ancient that they've turned to stone. The scholars that flock to these places study the bones that they find to form theories about the distant past, long before humans or elves or even dragons first woke. Some of these discoveries speak of creatures wildly different from anything living today, while others are the clear ancestors to today's animals. And while the bizarre finds are fascinating, the familiar are perhaps more valuable to the scholars in developing their understanding of the world.

A great white shark tooth vs. a megalodon tooth.

The learned have long speculated on the existence of Giant Sharks, for their teeth have been found in many places around the world. There is no mistaking their shape—they resemble the teeth of the smaller White Sharks so closely in everything but size that they could be nothing else. The superstitious may say that these teeth are the petrified remains of dragon tongues or other such foolishness, but any of the fisherman that brought the catch into Alsoor would have recognized them for what they are.

Swimming with the Sharks

Very few if any mages of note actually bring these ancient creatures into battle. While they are indeed fearsome in size and strength and their bloodlust makes them even fiercer, they require a great deal of mana to summon. Furthermore, their dependence on the ocean—and the ties that all duelists involved must have to it—make them even more of a liability in a duel.

Even the greatest champions relegate their Giant Sharks to the sideboard, though.

However, I have heard that some great mages in far-off lands include the summoning spells for these Giant Sharks in their spellbooks as signs of their magical aptitude. To them, wielding a Shark in battle is both a token of great victories against the most potent of foes as well as a concession to their future foes that they need not use the full extent of their talents. Whether this is humility or arrogance I cannot say, though I would hazard to guess that it is one for some mages and the other for others, and both for more than a few.

Danatoth of Alsoor (Dan Hyland)


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Card of the Week: Frozen Shade

Admittedly, it's a cool painting.

A Guest Testimonial

The subject of this week’s writing is the Frozen Shade. Rather than write of my scant experiences with these foul creatures myself, I have called on the expertise of the Dread Lady Shade herself to speak of her kind.

On Becoming a Shade

My Frozen Shade collection is relatively paltry. I've given all but these to Megan, who has always been a Shade aficionado. She's got that Alpha Shade from the other pictures waiting for her, too, the next time she deigns to visit me!

“It could be said that I started down the path of becoming a Shade at the same time that I became a mage. Like most who discover that they have magical abilities, I tried my hand at all different colors of magic. I immediately abandoned the practice of White magic, finding no appeal in
its use. Shortly thereafter, I gave up Red magic for the most part, which was just as well, since Red leylines were hard to come by in the mostly flat regions of central Parma that I called home. While I stuck with my studies of Blue and Green magics and learned how to use them effectively, it was Black magic that appealed to me the most. Something about its darkness drew my mind seduced my soul, and I quickly learned how to wield the power I could draw from the bogs of northern Parma to greater and greater effect. From raising mindless undead minions and cutting down the creatures that my rivals would send against me in battle, I quickly progressed to the use of dementia magic and to summoning more powerful undead to my aid. As my mastery grew, I eventually was able to command the most powerful Black magic, calling forth powerful demons and bending them to my will. Black magic offered power, and I was more than happy to take as much of it for myself as I could.

“Of course, as every student of Black magic learns early in their studies, power comes at a price. Most obvious to the outside observer, and even to those who casually dabble in Black magic, is the sacrificial price demanded by the demons and other creatures that Black magic is capable of summoning. But there is a more subtle price as well, beyond the realm of sacrificial payments to dark entities. Power is addictive, and the power of Black magic is no exception. The occasional user of Black mana might avoid this addiction, especially if they are careful to use it sparingly and only as an adjunct to other magics, but those who specialize in its use soon find it impossible not to wield its power—not that many who progress this far in their use of Black magic would ever see this as a reason to consider ceasing its use. I certainly did not. What started for me as seductive whispers promising power became an unrelenting need to use that power. The time came that the power I could draw solely from the leylines I had collected became insufficient to satisfy this need, and the dark rites that I used to perform only for the sake of expediency became their own purpose. Now, when I cannot access sufficient Black mana to sustain this need, my body itself starts to fade, and my physical strength can only be restored, however temporarily, by more Black mana. Some might consider this to be a steep price paid for the mastery of Black magic, but it seems like a bargain to me.  What is the strength of the body compared to the might allowed to me by the dark magic I call on to fulfil my every need? As long as I have more, I shall want for nothing.”

—The Dread Lady Shade

The Lore of Shade-Kind

While Underworld Dreams has little to do with Frozen Shade as a card, I've always enjoyed the art reminiscent of Gustave Doré's illustrations for Dante's Divine Comedy. Perhaps this is a Shade guiding a poet through the Underworld's Dreams?

Shades are the restless souls of the dead, the inhabitants of one underworld or another. There are as many afterlives across the planes as there are mortal cultures, and they range from fiery infernos to darkling purgatories to frozen hells. The fate of the souls condemned to these places is not necessarily damnation—many cultures venerate and these spirits of their ancestors as near-divine.

The majority of shades remain in their respective underworlds, but some return to haunt the planes of the living. These are typically summoned by foul black magic, but some find their way back by their own will. Once returned, many are reluctant to leave again, especially those hailing from unpleasant afterlives. These tend to seek out swamps and bogs, where the rich black mana strengthens them and grants them temporary agency in the mortal world.

Shades of Battle

Frozen Shades are not commonly employed in battle between mages: the cost to summon them is relatively high, and can be more effectively spent in summoning Hypnotic Specters or casting Underworld Dreams. Furthermore, they require constant infusions of black mana to be effective—requiring mages to both devote themselves the magic of the swamps and to divert their resources from other spells. Summoning Shades into battle is not an easy task, nor one to be taken lightly.

Not what you want to see across the table from you. Maybe it's a Shade casting that Dark Ritual in the art?

But for those mages who persist, a Frozen Shade is a threat that cannot be ignored. Though normally weak, a Shade can grow to enormous strength in the blink of an eye provided that enough black mana is available. And there’s almost always more black mana available than meets the eye, thanks to the Dark Rituals employed by all black mages worthy of the name. No, it is far better to send these foul creatures back to the underworld as soon as they show their shadowy faces than to wait until they can grow to uncontrollable strength.

Hopefully the Shade is still 0/1 and has no free black mana to draw upon...

Danatoth of Alsoor (Dan Hyland)


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Card of the Week: Titania's Song

Kerstin Kaman painted only three pieces of artwork for Magic, and all were in Antiquities. She was the mother of Tom Wänerstrand, who painted some of the most iconic old-school art. But I think that Titania's Song is equally iconic.

The Tragedy of Argoth

The island of Argoth was destroyed centuries before my birth. Indeed, the Ruinous Blast that reduced the once-mighty island to the shards of the Shattered Isles ushered in the Dark Ages when I was born. Thus, I have no first-hand knowledge of Argoth, but its legacy looms large in Terisiare's history.

I have, however, been to the Shattered Isles. These remaining scraps are little more than rocks in the Shielded Sea, a far cry from the lush forests of Argoth. When I set foot upon them, all-but-feral tribes of elves still clung to the old ways there. But their numbers were few and even I could see that it was only a matter of time before even they abandoned the Isles.

But what sticks most in my memory is the feeling of desolation and emptiness there. Even blasted rock, crashing wave, and stubborn scrub should have some sort of soul, but the Isles felt sterile in a way I haven't felt before or since. It was not like the feeling of looking upon a ruined town or crumbled castle—at least with those, one can imagine the life and the power that used to reside there. No, it was as if life and power had never existed there, despite my knowledge of the contrary. Perhaps Titania, the spirit of Argoth, had not just died in its destruction. Perhaps her death had taken the very life of the land with her too.

I have not been back to the Shattered Isles in thousands of years, nor do I have any desire to return. I can hope that life has returned to them—nothing comparable to Argoth's zenith, of course—but anything would be better than the heartbreak I saw. Perhaps, even, the Isles have grown themselves a new spirit to rule the land as Titania once did. But I can only hope.

Lore

The history of Argoth cannot be separated from that of Titania. She was the spirit of Argoth's forests, what in later ages came to be called a “maro-sorcerer”. Her control over her land was immense, both magically and politically. Her will swayed the very trees and winds on the island—but just as her strength drew from the land, so too did she suffer from the land's destruction. She ruled Argoth as its queen, even as she served the greater power of Gaea.

Not quite a goddess in her own right, Titania was neither a creature of flesh and blood. When her presence was required at her court or otherwise, she could manifest an avatar of wood and plants, clothed in vines and masked in jade. From her court in Citanul, she met with the Brothers and tried to dissuade them from their war.

For all of her might, Titania could not stop the war between Urza and Mishra as it ravaged her land. Though she bent the power of the forest against them both, it was not enough. As the Brothers stripped Argoth bare in their war against each other, Titania suffered along with it. The Sylex blast that ended the war killed Argoth, and so too killed her.

Though she has long since passed from Dominaria, the memory of Titania lives on in her magic. The elves and druids of Argoth learned to harness the magic of the forests as she did, and passed that knowledge to their descendents in Fyndhorn and elsewhere. Foremost of these magics is her Song, a powerful enchantment that brings artifice into the natural world.

Singing Titania's Song for Fun and Profit

Mages who wield Titania's Song are able to grant a form of life to the lifeless trinkets of artifice—life in proportion to the difficulty of bringing them into battle. These enlivened artifacts are thus able to engage in battle just as are summoned creatures; however, their life prevents them from functioning according to their design. To some mages, this is an advantage, and to others a drawback--and the key to making it an advantage is forcing it to be a drawback to a rival.

Good...as long as those aren't your opponent's artifacts.

Mages who rely heavily on artifice to control their duels may find Titania's Song useful as it allows their artifacts to double as combatants. Jayemdae Tomes, Winter Orbs, Icy Manipulators, Howling Mines, and the like allow a mage to control the shape of the battle. Once the duel is well in hand and these artifacts are no longer necessary, Titania's Song can bring them to life so that they can finish off the opponent. Relying on the artifacts themselves to do both, rather than relying on other creatures to finish the battle, allows a mage to more finely hone his or her spellbook to the controlling strategy.

Good...unless those are your Moxen.

Titania's Song is also useful in denying an opponent those artifacts that take no effort to summon, namely the Moxen. A mage in combat with an opponent who relies heavily on jewelry to cast spells can cripple his or her foe with the Song, especially if he or she doesn't rely on them to do the same.

The Song can even be used in even more exotic ways to get around the drawbacks of certain artifacts. The Time Vault, most famously, requires a mage to sacrifice the present to it to unlock the future. But a clever mage might use Titania's Song to animate it, wait for the Vault to unlock itself, and then dispel the Song to revert it to its original purpose.

Danatoth of Alsoor (Dan Hyland)


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Card of the Week: Atog

They look so happy to be eating machinery. Look at those toothy grins!

Humble Beginnings

When a person first becomes a mage, his or her selection of magic is typically pretty weak. Modern-day mages have things a bit easier—their initial research typically yields a cohesive selection of ley lines and a matching complement of spells, usually with at least a rudimentary direction of strategy. Granted, these new-fangled spellbooks lack uniqueness and variety, but they are probably an easier introduction to magic than the old ways. In the ancient days, introductory spellbooks were anything but cohesive. In studying them, a mage might find immensely powerful spells or potent artifacts...or he or she might find nothing worthwhile. And regardless of the quality of the magic, the ley lines that came with it were likely to be insufficient. It was up to the mage to slowly improve his or her own personal spellbook by acquiring more spells and ley lines, then curating their collection into something cohesive and directed.

Aside for a spell to summon the Minotaurs of the Hurloon mountains, I cannot remember the exact contents of my first spellbook. But if I were to put money on it, it’d be a pretty safe bet to say that there was a summoning for an Atog in it. Indeed, in those days, these curious creatures were ubiquitous—a mage couldn’t swing a dead Cat Warrior without hitting one of them! I know that I, at least, collected more of them than I knew what to do with.

I'm pretty sure that I pulled each of these from a pack. I sure didn't trade for them, since I had more than I knew what to do with. Honestly, I'm surprised I was able to trade away all but five of the Revised ones!

In reading the accounts of ancient mages greater than myself, I’ve come to realize that even in those days there were some who realized the potential of the humble Atog. But back then, neither myself of any of my peers gave them much thought other than “another Atog?!?”. Perhaps it was that they were so common—surely nothing so easy to find could be that powerful? For myself, it was distaste with the idea of feeding my coveted artifacts to the creatures. I have written of my love of artifice before, and my love blinded me to the possibility that my artifacts could be more useful in their destruction than their use. Needless to say, even though I was surrounded by hordes of the toothy, grinning things, I was not about to let them near my artifacts...in battle or otherwise!

It was only when I discovered the revival of the ancient ways of magic that I also discovered the true potential of the Atog. I read several accounts of battles between mages where the victor won through the use of Atogs, and was nigh astonished that the creatures I once dimissed were so powerful. I had yet to resume gathering spells and ley lines, but when I looked through the spellbooks I had I realized that Atogs would be a good strategy to pursue. And so, my return to the ancient ways began with the strange creatures I had once disregarded.

Lore

The only real sources of Atog lore, as far as I can tell. Yekol appears in An Atog Comes to Aphetto in The Monsters of Magic anthology.

Despite how common the Atogs are—or at least, used to be—very little is written about them. They first came to the multiverse’s attention during the era of the Brothers’ War on Terisiare, though it is unknown whether they were created during the era or had merely found in the war a situation that they were exceedingly well adapted to. Indeed, in the writings of Kayla bin Kroog—erstwhile wife of Urza Planeswalker and the greatest historian of that age—Atogs are only obliquely referenced in the description of a man’s boorish behavior. Other accounts from that era describe them merely as the bane of artificiers.

After the catastrophic end of the Brothers’ War, even these small references to Atogs fell from the records. Perhaps they had a hard time adapting to the conditions of the Ice Age. Regardless, it took over 4000 years for Atogs to appear again in the records of the Mirage War, across the oceans from Terisiare on the continent of Jamuraa. Indeed, it seems that a menagerie of new Atog types had developed by this time, each feeding on an unusual resource to further their twisted growth. Eventually Atogs even managed to spread from Dominaria to the artificial plane of Mirrodin, where their unique appetites made them predators on an entire plane of, what is to them, food.

The most complete description of Atogs recorded comes from the Dominarian lands of Otaria in the years after the Phyrexian Invasion. In an account from the city of Aphetto, a man named Rasarm took vengeance on a Cabal lord and was assisted by an Atog, who was given the name of Yekol. Some scholars regard this Atog as nothing more than a pet, but it is my belief that it—or rather, he—is something more: definitely a trusted ally and possibly a friend. While this Atog could barely speak, he understood the words of his companion and worked well with him as a team, a feat which requires initiative and planning and not just the ability to follow orders. Yekol’s intelligence seemed to be below that of an adult human, but he was no mere beast. Nor do I believe that Yekol was an unusual specimen—I believe that all Atogs possess the intelligence, if not the loyalty, of this Yekol.

If I were to explain their origins, I’d say that Atogs are likely to be akin to Gremlins of Phyrexia. If they were indeed created during the Brothers’ War, perhaps the Gremlins were even the stock from which they were bred. They share with their possible relatives a (normally) small size, a cunning intelligence, and a taste (literally!) for destroying machinery. That said, I can’t prove a thing. But regardless of what they are, they are no mere beasts.

Harnessing the Power of the Atog

The Atog strategy is simple: summon an Atog and send it to attack your foes. They’re easy to summon and pack a relatively decent punch even before they're fed, but it's when you feed them artifacts that they really shine. Cheap artifacts work just as well as expensive ones, so build a bunch of inexpensive-but-effective artifacts, wait until they're no longer useful or until your opponent's defenses are down, and sacrifice them to your ever-loyal Atogs for a heavy beatdown. Simple, really.

The first mages to employ Atogs in battle seem to have relied directly on the power of well-fed Atogs to attack their foes. These mages, of course, relied heavily on artifice—Moxen and Mana Vaults for mana, Howling Mines for more spells, Icy Manipulators to slow their opponents, potent creatures such as Su-Chis and Juggernauts, and of course the ubiquitous Mishra’s Factory workers. Useful enough on their own, they’re all fed to the Atogs when an opening presents itself. These opportunities are often obtained through the use of lightning and fire to remove opposing creatures and to whittle down a foe’s life for the fatal Atog strike. Spells to further increase an Atog’s strength, such as Giant Growth or Berserk, are sometimes used to push the Atogs over the top.

I prefer the creature aggro-version of the Atog deck myself (that, and I don't have the blue power for a proper Svantog deck). There's nothing quite as satisfying as getting your Atogs 'roided up and unleashing them in a Berserk frenzy at your opponents!

While feeding a load of artifacts to an Atog and unleashing it on a foe can be effective (and satisfying), the more serious battlemages of late have honed Atogs into even more imposing threats. Ironically, they have done so by reducing the role of the Atogs to incidental: the strategy of these mages is to use fire and lightning to kill their foes. The cheap artifacts they employ, such as Ankhs of Mishra and Black Vises, further the work of their damaging spells—indeed, they act almost as disposably as the spells themselves. Once they’ve served their purpose, they’re fed to the Atogs to squeeze a little bit more use out of them. This strategy has proved to be incredibly potent, and the battlemages employing it are among the most powerful in the ancient traditions.

Danatoth of Alsoor (Dan Hyland)


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