Card of the Week: Master of the Hunt

Those are obviously wolfhounds, not wolves!

Hunted

The horn blew again, long and low, echoing over the valleys and through the trees. Though still faint, it was a little louder than before. And now I could hear the baying of the hounds as well, deep and bone-chilling. The hunt approached, and I had little doubt that I was its quarry.

I continued my flight through the woodland, but I knew that my chances of reaching even a sizeable village before the hounds ran me down were slim. This was the forest primeval, the trees untouched by axe and the ground unbroken by plow. I had sought such a wild place just for its remoteness from humanity, for the wild ley lines at its heart. And though I had found riches of mana, I now wished that I had left it alone and stayed in more settled lands.

Though I had by this time gained significant skill in green magic and, through association, some amount of wood lore, I could not outpace the hounds or their Master as I fled through the forest. No matter what Hidden Paths I found, what Deadfalls I avoided, the cries of the hounds lived forevermore. It was only a matter of time before they hunted me down. That time came sooner than I expected, though, as I caught myself just before I tumbled off the edge of a ravine. A fast-flowing river had cut through the forest here, carving deep into the earth and blocking  my escape from the hunt behind. The canyon stretched as far as I could see to either side—there was no way across. Resigned, I turned back towards my pursuers.

It was not long before the first of the hounds burst through the treeline. They were of great size, larger than any dog I had ever seen before, and of noble appearance. Though heavily muscled, they looked like they were built for speed rather than raw strength. Even so, I knew that even one of them—much less the entire pack—was more than a match for me, sword or no. My magic was my only hope...but the only ley lines I could call to myself were from far away seas and islands. Those lines that I had come here to gather had, it seemed, forsaken me.

Working with what I had, I cast Controlling Magic at the leaders of the pack and brought them under my will. Bidding them approach—but calmly!—I greeted them as I would a friendly stray on the streets of Alsoor, carefully but with confidence. The lead hounds, now friendly, circled me with curiosity, and the other hounds of the pack soon took a cue from their leaders. I was, at least, no longer in danger from the hounds.

Surrounded by the now-friendly hounds, I was ready for the Master of the Hunt when he appeared through the treeline. He was tall, and his wild beard and antlered crown gave him a fey look. He may have been human, but he was no settled or civilized man—he was as much a part of the wild forest as the trees and hills around us. His stony glare seized my eyes, and it was all that I could do to not look away. Finally, he nodded ever so slightly and approached, not as a hunter approaches his prey but as one approaches a stranger. I let out the breath that I had not realized I had been holding.

We talked for long hours, until the sun set on the hills. He was curious as to how I tamed his hounds, and I answered truthfully. I asked him of his hunt, why he had chased me, and he told me: the lands I had explored for their ley lines belonged to another mage, a jealous one who had set him upon me in revenge. I offered him payment for his services instead, and he granted me the right to call upon him in the future as long as I left these lands so that he could fulfill his duties to his current benefactor.

There was no way I wasn't going to make my own wolfhounds into tokens.

When I left him behind that night, I took with me a hound. It was not one of the lead dogs; in fact, it was likely the smallest and scrawniest of the pack. But even the smallest and scrawniest of them was strong and imposing, and I was honored to have her. She may be long gone, but even to this day I have her descendants as loyal companions and friends.

Fiona and Rory in real life.

Wild Huntsmen Throughout the Multiverse

The Master of the Hunt is but one of many wild huntsmen. Tales abound of his likes throughout the multiverse, though the fine details vary. Some tales say that the Master is a god or a king, others say that he or she is a devil or of the fair folk. The Master may be accompanied by other hunters, either mortals or faeries or spirits, and may ride all manner of fearsome beasts. But all lead hounds, huge and fierce. The wild hunt is sometimes seen as a harbinger of plague or war, and those who witness the Master’s hunts are often believed to be doomed or bound for abduction into the faerie realms.

Though Odin (in his many names) is most often the Wild Huntsman, other traditions name King Arthur, Fionn mac Cumhaill, the Devil, Francis Drake, and a whole host of others as the Master of the Hunt.

Do You Hear the (Wolf)Hounds, They Call!

The Master of the Hunt is not often seen in the battles between mages. He is difficult to summon, especially for a being as comparatively weak as he is. He does allow his allies to call upon his Wolf(hound)s, but they too require great investment of resources to summon. Even so, if any mage is likely to find his services useful, a green mage has the best chance of doing so. With abundant resources supplied by allies such as Elves and Birds of Paradise, a green mage might well be able to summon both the Master and a large pack of his Wolf(hounds) into battle.

It is unfortunate that the Master’s Wolf(hounds) specifically require green mana to summon: it is possible to tap infinite amounts of colorless mana through the Basalt Monoliths and certain applications of blue magic, but such mana cannot be reliably changed into green mana in arbitrary amounts. Were there a way to do so, flooding the battlefield with countless Wolf(hounds) to overwhelm an opponent would certainly be an effective way to win a battle, and a satisfying one at that. Alas, such a thing remains an idle dream.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Karma

Ah, yes. One of the original color hosers. So mean and so effective!

A Lesson Learned

I had just left the bogs when she found me. I had spent days there, exploring every treacherous pool and crossing every stretch of unstable ground. I left no plant unsampled, no animal untracked. I even drank of the foul waters of the place. Though unpleasant, those days of slogging through knee-deep water and nights spent huddling for warmth by smoky fitful campfires were worth it. I had bound the ley lines of the bogs to my soul and could now use them in the pursuit of black magic.

Black magic had, up until then, held little interest to me. While I recognized its power, I was unwilling to make the sacrifices required to use it—I would leave that to more foolish souls such as my sister, who succumbed to its corruption almost as soon as she first channeled its dread power. But my curiosity got the best of me when I learned to commune with Demons, whose Tutelage promised to enhance my power greatly. As far as I could tell, dealing with these Demons was relatively innocuous: they did not require a Vampiric blood sacrifice, nor did they demand an Infernal exchange of secrets in return for their knowledge. Perhaps my soul will be forfeit when I die, but I have managed to live for eons and I intend to stay that way for eons more.

She found me when my clothing was still caked with swampy mud, when my skin still itched with the welts of the bog’s biting insects. Looking back, I realize that she was waiting to waylay me or any other mage that emerged from the mire, for she had prepared for the battle. But at the time I thought myself fortunate. I was confident in my magic, especially now that I had the Tutoring of Demons to draw upon. She would be a good test of my ability, and perhaps I would take a new spell or ley line from her in victory. Laughing to myself, I drew upon my new ley lines as we prepared for in battle.

At first, the fight went according to plan. The Demonic whispers were indeed helpful to me, and I found myself with the advantage. But she showed no fear, even as she fended off my Lions. She merely drew upon her own ley lines, then cast a spell I had never seen before.

The agony was immediate and blinding in its intensity. It was as if thorny tendrils had wrapped around my limbs, my torso, even my face. With every breath, they seemed to wrap tighter, to choke more air from my lungs, to pull harder to wrench me limb from limb. And they followed the paths that my black ley lines took through my body so closely that there could be no doubt that my ties to the Swamps were the cause.

I tried to fight through the pain, but it was to no avail. To make matters worse, in order to summon greater entities, I needed more mana...and all I was able to bind was more Swamp lines. Each of those lines was another lash of agony across my mind and body. Inevitably, I soon knelt in defeat before my rival. The pain of her spell and the shame of defeat were bad enough, but her laughter as she stood over me made it worse. “There is a price to pay for your corruption, fool,” she sneered as she plucked the knowledge to call upon the Erhnam Djinn from my mind. “Karma ever returns the evil of your actions upon yourself.”

I have never forgotten that defeat. Though I still dabble in black magic from time to time, I do so knowing that my magic can be used against me in the most brutal of ways—even if I choose to disregard it, I have learned well of the risk. I have also learned to use this Karma myself, and it has proved exceedingly useful in my battles against those who dare use their black magic against me.

Cause and Effect

Karma is a concept far broader than the narrow punishment for drawing black mana from the swamps. It is the relationship between cause and effect of one’s actions: the deeds that one commits—whether good or evil—are returned by the multiverse upon oneself. Indeed, if we are to be reincarnated after death—as many believe—Karma persists after death, and the deeds of our current lives affect the circumstances of our future lives.

The lotus is a symbol of Karma to many traditions: the flower contains seeds even as it blooms, the present and the future in one place. It's not just a symbol of great power...

In common usage, though, the concept of Karma is usually applied as cosmic “justice”, or the multiverse’s punishment of one’s evil deeds. To put it simply, “what goes around comes around”. The weaponization of Karma into a spell that turns a mage’s devotion to black magic into mind-crushing pain certainly falls into this usage.

Dishing Out Karma

As it is restricted to punishing only those who bind themselves to Swamps, Karma is usually not universally applicable. White mages have for ages held it in reserve in case they should encounter an adept of black magic, but very few count it as one of their main spells. The chance of Karma being useful does not outweigh the guaranteed usefulness of other spells, and it is thus drawn upon only when it is certain to be useful. But when that certainty is there, it is as powerful as magic comes.

Not shown: Cyclopean Tomb. I'm just not cool enough to have one...yet.

Some mages, however, have found ways to expand the situations where Karma is effective. Through the devious use of blue magic, a mage can Phantasmally change a rival’s lands to Swamps or Hack Karma to affect other ley lines as easily as it normally affects Swamps. Likewise, an artificier can call upon the Cyclopean Tomb to corrupt a rival’s ley lines to the point that Karma affects them. But while these techniques can be effective against all rivals—not just those who employ black magic—they are usually not efficient enough to hold their own against more focused spellbooks.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Tranquility

There's something truly tranquil about a gentle river.

Peace and Quiet

My first years after becoming a mage were a difficult time. I left my home behind me, one step ahead of the inquisitors of the Church of Tal. I escaped with my life, but by doing so was thrown into a greater world of conflict and war with only the first glimmers of what I could do to defend myself. I became aware of other mages, each of them intent on battling me for what little magic I had. And to survive, I found myself exploring dangerous lands ever in search of new ley lines and greater spells.

It was a decade or more before I discovered the Savannahs of Parma, a new home that welcomed me. I learned that the Paladins of that land were unlike their brethren in Alsoor and did not persecute the use of magic. I discovered the first of those potent ley lines that can draw upon more than one color of mana. And I found something far more important to my spirit: peace and Tranquility.

While exploring through the woods and fields, I came upon a river. It was small, no more than waist-deep and probably prone to becoming even shallower in the dry seasons. In places it dashed itself against the rocks in its course, and even plunged over a waterfall at one point. But it was not the violence of the river that fascinated me, it was the stretches of calm where the surface perfectly mirrored the surrounding trees.

I stood and stared at the water for a long while, then sat down when my legs became tired and watched it still. It was peaceful. The water was calm, but not still—each shift in the current hinted at what lay beneath, but did not allow it to upset the water’s flow. The river may have been turbulent underneath, but it did not mar the beautiful Tranquility of the surface.

As I looked upon the river, I was struck by a revelation—like the surface of the river, I need not be affected by the turmoil of my situations. No Gloom need stifle my spirits, no Underworld-borne Dreams need haunt my sleep, no Blood Moon need hang precariously over me. I could just...let my problems fade away, if I could but find Tranquility in myself.

It is, of course, an easier thing to say than to do. Finding Tranquility is difficult in the best of times, let alone when in the midst of combat. To do so requires the investment of time to reflect, or the sacrifice of more direct action. It may not be easy or convenient, but sometimes it is the only thing to do.

Still Waters

It is no surprise to me that like me, many find Tranquility symbolized in calm waters. There is certainly something soothing about the quiet splashing and bubbling of the stream, the play of light on the rippling surface. I might guess that the symbol is especially effective given the contrast of water’s destructive potential. While a Raging River or a Hurricane can change our lives for the worse, the Tranquility of  a gentle river remains to soothe our pains.

The Kinnickinnic River, below the lower dam in River Falls, is my personal river of Tranquility and my favorite place in the world.

Remaining Calm in the Face of Adversity

Experienced mages do not often call upon the soothing magic of Tranquility. Those who have access to white magic tend to prefer the direct means of Disenchantment, which is not only more precise in removing harmful enchantments while leaving beneficial ones in place but can also be used to destroy artifice. The duplicitous blue mages might seek to prevent such enchantments from forming in the first place. But those who dabble neither in white magic nor blue may find Tranquility to be useful, especially if they employ no lasting effects of their own or already employ green magic.

Tranquility: it's good for what ails ya!

The use of persistant magic is not widespread enough amongst seasoned battle mages, and so sacrificing more direct magic in favor of Tranquility is not a strategy that’s commonly employed. Instead, the magic of Tranquility is more often reserved for only when it’s sorely needed against catastrophic effects such as The Abyss or Moat—effects that utterly ruin a mage’s strategy. Tranquility may not be versatile enough to employ at all times, but is indispensible when it’s needed.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Royal Assassin

Scream murder, he's coming for you/Blade in his hand, he knows what to do

 —Savatage, "Scream Murder"

The Alleys of Death

As I hurried down the narrow alleyway, with only the pale Mist Moon to light my way, I looked back yet again over my shoulder. There was nobody there, but I knew he hadn’t lost my trail. He’d been chasing me down these deadly alleys for long enough for me to know that he could follow me no matter how I tried to lose him. If I thought he was far enough behind me to give me enough time to collect myself and planeswalk away I would, but though I couldn’t see his shadow or hear his footsteps I knew he was too close.

With no hope of escape, I drew the fog about me as I ran. Once it was thick enough that I couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of me, I found a place to hide—a deep-set doorway in one of the close-looming stone walls. I didn’t try the ancient iron-banded door, but only a fool would leave such a door unbarred in this part of the city. Instead, I drew my sword. Though my pulse raced and my blood rushed to my head, I held as still as I could. Silence. And with the fog I’d summoned, I saw no more than I heard.

Had I escaped his pursuit? I doubted it. I carefully bent to the ground and picked up a stone, flung it to skitter further down the alley, then waited again. There he was! The blade in his hand glinted through the fog, and he approached with soundless steps. He appeared not to know where I was, as his eyes were fixed further down the alley. I didn’t wait to find out if he was bluffing—as soon as he came within reach, I lunged out at him. Stopping the point of my sword mere finger-widths from his throat I demanded him to drop his knife. “Do you yield?!”

If he was afraid, he did not show it. With his one good eye he stared back at me as he slowly raised his hand to show me where his blade was. “Let me live,” he croaked, “and you have my promise that your life is safe from me.”

It wasn’t long before we returned to the tavern where I had first noticed his approach, but this time the assassin sat across the table from me. Having taken his promise as true, I had offered him payment to tell me why I was his target. As far as I had known, I had done nothing to attract anybody’s ire.

Though we all know that the original artwork is the only artwork worth playing, Tom Wänerstrand's revisitation of his original artwork is really cool. It's certainly better than the weird face-painted version, anyway.

He took a deep drink, then wiped his mouth on the hem of his dun cloak. “It is the Queen,” he told me as he lowered his tankard back to the scarred benchtop. “She is a Sorceress, and she does not take kindly to those who poke into her secrets.”

“Truly?” I asked. “I have merely studied at the city’s great library.” Shaking my head, I added, “I didn’t even find any magical lore, much less any of her secrets. I cannot see why she felt so threatened.”

“It does not matter to her,” he said. “You are a mage, and therefore, you are a rival in her eyes. She does not suffer competition in her realm, especially not right under her nose, in the very seat of her power.” He took another draught of his drink. “I may have promised you your life, but there are many others like me in her employ. She will have her way.”

“Then I will not stay to bother her further. I will leave this very night and not return. You can tell her what you like—that I fled, that you chased me to the harbor where I drowned, whatever you see fit. Will this satisfy her?”

“Flee, then, as soon as you may. If you are beyond her reach, you will be safe—but know that her reach is long. I doubt that you can escape.”

I did as he suggested, but fled farther than he or his Queen could comprehend. It was many years before I returned to that plane, much less that city. Only after she, her assassins, and everyone else who might have remembered me had died did I return, and even then, I took great care not to draw the attention of those killers.

A History of Assassination

If prostitution is truly the oldest profession, then assassination must be the next oldest. Since the beginning of recorded history, people have killed other people for political power. Sometimes, these murders are carried out directly. But those marked for murder are often protected by guardsmen, servants, and soldiers. In these cases, hired assassins—either trained assassins or turncoats conveniently placed amongst the very guards and soldiers—are effective. Throughout history, countless emperors, kings, priests, and other powerful leaders have died on the assassin’s blade.

The employment of assassins by those in power is no rarity, either. Assassins have been used as tools of the more brutal varieties of statecraft by the powerful in countless civilizations. It can even be said that most governments resort to assassination, whether directly or by couching it in terms of the work of “secret police” or “targeted killings” by snipers or other elite soldiers.

The concept of the Royal Assassin is common in fiction. In addition to the Realm of the Elderlings here, royally-sanctioned assassins can be found in the Malazan Empire, Tsolyánu and the other nations of Tékumel, Eärwa's Kellian Empire, and probably lots more that I haven't read yet.

Insurance Through Assassination

Mages have employed Royal Assassins for as long as duels have been fought. No matter how fearsome a rival’s summons are, all but a few fall to the Assassin’s blade when sent against his liege. Only those vigilant in combat escape unscathed, and the threat of assassination is often enough to hold back a rival’s forces from combat...at least until the rival finds a way to dispatch the Assassin.

The classic combo. I'd guess that this is the first card synergy that many of us stumbled upon back in the day.

A mage who controls an Assassin may wait for his or her rival’s allies to attack, but a clever mage will force their hands. The Icy Manipulator is the perennial favorite tool for the Assassin’s liege. With it, a mage no longer has to wait to be attacked, but can deploy his or her assassin at will—no battle necessary.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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