Card of the Week: Ivory Tower

I always liked the art on Ivory Tower. The red sun and the elephant motifs made it feel like an exotic and far-off place to me.

A Pilgrimage

So-called “Dark Ages” do not bear the title for a lack of light, although the one that I was born in did suffer from clouds of dust and ash blotting out the sun. Rather, the dark referred to is a darkness of the mind, a loss or disregard of knowledge. But even in the worst ignorance and superstition of the years after Urza and Mishra ruined the land, tales of the Ivory Towers and the knowledge they cultivated persisted.

The Fall of Terisia City is well-recorded in the lays of the Artificiers’ War, and even in the Dark Age that followed was common knowledge throughout Terisiare. Its popularity was helped, no doubt, by the fact that the mages of the its Ivory Towers were both partially responsible for and victims of its fall—more proof for the Church of Tal that magic was dangerous and forbidden. But no matter what twist the Church put on the story—that all of the Towers betrayed the city to Mishra’s armies rather than well-placed spies—they could not obscure the Towers’ most important truth: that the cooperative scholarship can be as powerful as governments, armies, or religions.

Sometime after leaving Alsoor but before discovering the other planes of Dominia, I took to the exploration of Terisiare. My magic was both strong enough to protect me and costly enough to require ever more ley lines to fuel it, and travel provided an easy solution to both. (It is a path very common to mages, I would guess.) It did not take me long to remember the tales of the Ivory Towers and turn my feet towards the west. Even though I knew that Terisia City had fallen, I would see its ruins for myself.

My journey took me through the Kher Ridges still haunted by the shadows of great birds of prey. I skirted the Great Fallaji desert, following the Mardun River into the heart of the continent until I came to the vast mudflats surrounding Lake Ronom, its ebbing waters stolen by the growing glaciers. At the ruins of Sarinth, I turned once again upstream and followed the river to its source, to where Terisia once stood.

Terisia was as ruined as Sarinth had been, as so many great cities of the past had been. The white walls still stood in places, but not many, and the Ivory Towers that had studded them like pearls on a necklace were all fallen. The heart of the city was little better, with more empty shells of buildings than intact. But Terisia was not entirely abandoned. People lived there, perhaps the descendents of those who resisted Mishra’s might for so long. Maybe they found Terisia’s location too advantageous to abandon for long, or refused to leave their ancestral homes. Or maybe they had nowhere else to go.

I spoke with the people who lived there, and I learned that among them, all of my guesses were represented. But I also learned that there were those who sought out the ruins of Terisia for the legacy of the Towers. Though they had fallen, though no Archimandrite oversaw the research in their halls, still their legacy lived on. In the very place where they once stood, scholars still gathered to share and study magic. Like me, they made a pilgrimage in memory of the Towers. But they didn’t stop at just seeing the ruins—they made the Towers anew.

History and Theory

Terisia City’s Towers gathered scholars from throughout the continent—from the eastern cities of Argive and Korlis, from the Fallaji tribes and Zegon, from Sarinth, from Yumok, from Sardia, and dozens of other places. Within their walls, they researched the theories of magic and laid the foundations of magical study for centuries to come. Considering themselves a Third Path, they turned down alliances from both Urza and Mishra and resisted both until betrayed by spies in their midst.

Throughout the multiverse, the Towers have become a metaphor for those who seek knowledge at the expense of worldly matters. The spirit of the Towers allows those who follow it to focus on their studies without distractions both large, like war and politics, and small, like hunger and romantic attachment. Indeed, some see this isolation as a negative—they say that isolation from the world separates a scholar’s work from worldly applications and practical uses.

Behind the Tower's Walls

Tax/Edge is only one of many uses for Ivory Tower.

The Ivory Tower is a powerful artifact for those mages who rely on patience rather than aggression. Behind its walls, they can bide their time and hoard their knowledge. Rather than leap into battle, they preserve themselves long enough to shape the battlefield to their liking. Only once their preparations are all in place will  they then descend from the heights and join the fight.

Mages of all controlling persuasions can find advantage in the Ivory Towers. In all cases, the Towers allow their occupants to survive the initial assault of their foes. Multiple Towers increase this advantage—unchecked, they can give their occupants such a lead as to be unbeatable regardless of how many minions and spells an opponent can bring to bear.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Evil Eye of Orms-by-Gore

When I first started playing Magic, we'd call this the Evil Eye of Al Gore. It was a lot more topical in 1994 than now, I guess.

Watching from the Dark
It was almost unnoticeable when it began. Barely there. A prickling on the back of my neck, a whisper of a presence at the back of my mind. Like I was being watched, but from afar. I turned around to catch a glimpse, but I never saw anything. Just the darkness...but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something watched from that darkness. Something malevolent...something evil.

As the nights passed, the feeling grew ever stronger. No longer just a hint of a presence, it commanded my attention. I could not ignore it, could not pretend that it wasn’t there. Something was watching me, of this I was sure. Something studying my every move, waiting for me to let down my guard. And it was no longer content to wait for night to fall. It was there, day and night. But whether in light or in shadow, I still could not see it. It was not paranoia; I knew it was out there.

Finally, I could take no more, and I fled the setting sun and into the night. I could not stand to have it watch me and wait any longer. Of course, I hoped to escape its malignant regard, but after so much time I would almost welcome a confrontation. And so I ran. And maybe my flight was what it waited for, for it came to me before I had finished the first mile.

I saw the glint of light flashing in the darkness ahead of me, and I knew that my escape had failed. With nothing else to do, I slowed to a stop and waited. My breath ragged from both exertion and fear, I watched as it formed itself from the surrounding darkness—a great lidless eye, its iris angry and red, a hellish fire burning deep in its pupil. I think that the eye was the totality of the being, although I admit that I could not tear my gaze away to see if there was aught else.

The Eye stared into my own eyes and I was transfixed with fear. I could not run, I could not turn away, I could not even blink to bring myself mercy from its terror. Only watch as it drew ever nearer. Only wait, wait for the end that it so promised.

Maybe it was divine intervention that saved me. Maybe it was my fear. My knees buckled, and I stumbled and fell to my hands and knees. And it so happened that the remnants of a wall—crumbled masonry and powdering mortar—now stood between the Eye and my own. With its fearsome gaze blocked by the wall, its vice-like grip on my heart eased ever so slightly. I scrambled away, then ran, never daring to look back to meet that baleful gaze.

Lore-by-Gore

Very little is known about the origin of the Evil Eye of Orms-by-Gore. I’m not even sure whether the Eye’s title of Orms-by-Gore refers to a place, a person, or something else. If it is a being of some sort, I am terrified as to its capabilities apart from its Eye.

Regardless of its origins, the Evil Eye of Orms-by-Gore shares some traits of the “evil eye” superstitions found throughout Dominia. These “evil eyes” are curses or supernatural forces possessed by some that bring bad luck and misfortune to others. If Orms-by-Gore is a person, the eponymous Evil Eye is a good example of this belief—the dread and terror it brings is nothing if not misfortune.

Other eyes similar to Orms-by-Gore’s appear in legends throughout the multiverse apart from the evil eye superstition. Tales speak of beholders, great floating abominations whose central eye is surrounded by many smaller eyes, that dwell in dungeons and whose gazes possess powerful magics. But perhaps the most famous of all is the legend of the Great Lidless Eye, rimmed in fire, the symbol of a great Dark Lord.

The Great Eye of Sauron from the Lord of the Rings movies. In the books, the "Eye of Sauron" is more of a symbol of Sauron's power rather than his physical form.

The Evil Deck of Orms-by-Gore

In my years of sorcerous battles, I have only once come across a foe who wields the dread power of the Evil Eye of Orms-by-Gore. It does have several advantages: it is hard to kill, its aura of fear prevents foes from fighting back against it, and its black essence makes it difficult for rival black mages to deal with. But most mages find it too taxing to summon, and even if they manage to do so, its aura of fear—so useful in repelling foes!—tends to drive away allies as well.

Why restrict yourself to just four Evil Eyes when you can have so many more?

But a mage twisted enough to summon the Evil Eye of Orms-by-Gore can duplicate it with Clones and Doppelgangers. Its fear cannot repel allies when its allies are its own kind, and a whole pack of Eyes is truly terrifying indeed. And if few mages rely on the Evil Eye of Orms-by-Gore, even fewer in my experience bother to use Walls—the only reliable defense against the Eye.

I can think of nothing better to do with all this Power than to summon Evil Eyes of Orms-by-Gore.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Goblins of the Flarg

A little bit better than Mons's Goblin Raiders. Nobody plays dwarves anyways!

New Neighbors

The border tower was long abandoned when I came to it, home only to vermin and birds. The outbuildings had collapsed and the roof leaked, but the stone walls still stood strong. It would take some time to repair, but time was something I now had plenty of. Some time, some magic, and plenty of hard work, and it would make a suitable home.

The tower stood on the border of what was once the domain of the Malpiri tribes, one of the last before the road it watched over wound up into the mountains. In previous centuries, trade had thrived between the Malpiri plainsmen and the dwarves of then-Sardia—gone now, swept away by the Artificiers’ War. My tower and other similar ruins were all that remained of that alliance: though the Malpiri still ruled their plains, the dwarves were gone and the goblins had moved in to replace them. What once was Sardia was now the Flarg.

It wasn’t long after I had repaired the worst of the roof—enough to sustain me through the coming winter, at least—when the local goblins took notice of my presence. Whether it was the woodsmoke rising into the thin mountain air or the light in the once-darkened windows, the presence of an outsider in their territory drew them like filings to a lodestone. One person, alone so far from human civilization, must have seemed like easy pickings for a goblin tribe. Normally, they’d be right—even a dozen refugees taking up in an abandoned tower wouldn’t stand much chance against a goblin warband.

But I was no refugee—no ordinary one, at least, not anymore. A goblin warband may be many things, but quiet isn’t usually one of them. Having heard their approach, I was ready. Standing atop my newly repaired roof, I called down to them as they gathered around my tower with torches and spears and swords in hand. I warned them that I was a mage, that their fire and steel could not succeed against my magic. They did not listen.

Although a number of them shrank back from my words, the warband’s leaders were made of braver material. Shrieking and screaming, they drove their underlings at my tower. The trickle of the first few so intimidated quickly became an avalanche as the rest joined in. But my Circles held, and a few goblins fell back in understanding. Yet the majority of them continued to beat against my wards. Summoning forth my connections with the Mountains, I split the sky with lightning.

I struck down only a few of the goblins before the host turned and fled. In the following season and the next they gathered to attack again, but soon the attacks diminished and eventually stopped. As warlike as goblins can be, they are not entirely foolhardy, and they quickly learned that I would not succumb to their usual tactics. Before long, they accepted my presence as if I’d always been there.

In the season after their last attack, they came again...but this time to trade. Instead of weapons, they brought timber, furs, and meat. In such isolation, where I lived on stored food and whatever I could manage to hunt, gather, or grow, even goblin foodstuffs were a welcome addition...and the other goods allowed me to finish repairing my tower all the faster. It was not long before I returned their favor and went among them, visiting their warren-cities and learning their language. I spent years living alongside them before moving on, and returned to visit for decades after until their society fell.

A Bitter History

Nobody uses Dwarven Weaponsmith in their decks, but they are lore-appropriate foes of the Goblins of the Flarg.

The Goblins of the Flarg are little different from other tribes of goblins in their dislike for dwarves: after all, the two peoples often compete for the same territories and resources. But the hatred that the dwarves hold for the Flarg is exceptional. And like many of Terisiare’s peculiarities, it stems from the Artificiers’ War.

The dwarves of Sardia allied themselves with Urza during the war and supplied his armies with weapons, armor, and great works of artifice—most famously their dreaded Colossus. But they traded with Mishra as well, and when Urza discovered this he turned his armies against Sardia. The few survivors of this genocide fled their homeland, and the progenitors of the Flarg soon claimed the empty mountains.

After the end of the war, the Sardian exiles fled to the far corners of Terisiare. But they still held Sardia in their hearts as their home, and yearned to take it back from the Goblins of the Flarg. Though too dispersed and too few to directly fight for their land, the Sardian dwarves took grim satisfaction in killing their rivals for as long as the Flarg existed.

"Goblinology" by Frances Lebaron is part of The Colors of Magic anthology. Go Raiders! (I can't bring myself to cheer for the Packers, even if they're a fictional goblin "Cricket" team.)

The history that I have given is largely unrecorded and based only on my experiences and inferences with other, better-known events. Goblin society holds little interest to historians, and the Goblins of the Flarg are no exception. It would be amiss, though, to not mention the one history that does mention them, even if it is suspect. By the scholar Armand Ar-Basinno, this is a study not of Flarg's society as a whole but of one small part of it: a recreational sport. The Goblins of the Flarg, according to the scholar responsible for the history, developed and enjoyed a game in which teams competed to carry a ball past the other team's defenders and into a goal--in short, a form of football. Other scholars debate this conclusion under the auspices of misinterpretation of evidence and preconceived beliefs by Ar-Basinno. I myself believe that the practice of such a sport by the Goblins of the Flarg is reasonable, but the details--including specific names for the various teams and the initial use of a bomb instead of a ball--are not. Furthermore, Ar-Basinno conflates what is likely a recreational activity with religious ritual without evidence to back up his claim. In my opinion, Ar-Bassino's Goblinology is not very useful in the study of the Flarg's society.

Channeling the Goblin Hordes

Many a mage has built an army on the basis of goblins—they are cheap to hire and plentiful, and become quite terrifying when organized under a Goblin King. Those mages who have studied Sarpadian magic find this strategy even more advantageous. As a large population, the Goblins of the Flarg are almost always employed in these strategies. Their ability to sneak through the Mountains is sometimes useful as well. Their only drawback is hardly a drawback at all: the genocidal hatred of the dwarves towards them rarely matters, as very few mages employ dwarven mercenaries.

Boom!

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Berserk

LEEEEROOOY JEEENK...oh, wait—wrong universe.

Reckless and Wild

To the west of Parma lies Keld, the land of the savage and warlike Keldon people. In most times, the Keldons and the people of Parma hold to an uneasy peace—the Paladins of Parma have lived alongside the Keldons for a long while and have guarded their borders well. But every so often, an upstart Warlord leads his or her warband into Parma in search of raiding and pillaging or to prove his or her own might. I have heard tales of rarer invasions where multiple tribes of Keldons join forces to attack, but thankfully, I’ve never seen such in person.

It was in my first years in Parma when I joined the Paladins to push back an invading Keldon force led by a warlord named Gorzul—a rather brash young warrior, even for a Keldon, seeking to make a reputation for himself. He brought his warband of around a hundred fighters into Parma’s lands to find fame in destruction. The Paladins were not unprepared, for they had contacts amongst other tribes, and Gorzul had begun his road to slaughter against his countrymen. And so, they met his warband with a superior force of trained and disciplined soldiers, and Gorzul’s forces were pushed back with moderate losses to Parma.

During the battle I assisted the Paladins with my magic, calling lightning and fire down onto the Keldon army from afar. From my vantage, I had a good view of the fighting. For the most part, the discipline of the Paladins was an even match for the fury of the Keldons. But every so often, I saw a lone Keldon fighting with what seemed to be the strength of a dozen fighters, who could shrug off what would be mortal blows to others. These Keldons would invariably fall in the end, but the trail of foes they’d take with them was terrifying. I learned quickly to strike them down with my magic as as soon as I found them, lest their frenzy go unchecked.

After the skirmish had ended, I learned that the Paladins called these raging warriors berserkers, and that their capabilities were both well-known and widely feared. I did not forget them, and years later I encountered berserkers again—but under better circumstances. I sought out a more...well, “peaceful” isn’t a term that really applies...a less bloodthirsty band of Keldons, and found them in a tribe led by the warlord Valra. Not only was Valra open to trading with outsiders, she was a rival of Gorzul and she remembered the role I had played in humbling him. After I had traded away my goods—spices and other exotic herbs from distant lands and other planes—and arranged for the Keldon steel to be shipped to Parma, I spoke with Valra and asked her about the berserkers.

Valra told me that amongst her people, there were those who could enter the Berserk trance by themselves, and others that needed a little...encouragement...from the Keldon mages to do so. Some of those able to do it by themselves employed certain herbs or mushrooms to go Berserk, others simply worked themselves into a frenzy through chanting, howling, and sheer force of will. But it was those who needed assistance that interested me, and I managed to convince one of the Keldon mages to teach me the spell to send them into a Berserk frenzy.

I intended to wait until the right time to try out the spell myself, but ended up casting it on myself some months later when I was ambushed by bandits. I was unprepared, and Berserk was the first spell I could call to mind. To say it was effective would be an understatement. As soon as I finished channeling the mana into shape, I felt the change. My heartbeat was rapid, my blood pumping faster...my hand reached for my blade. A red haze of rage washed over my vision, and my fear and inhibitions disappeared as I rushed to engage my foe. I felt no pain from their swords and spears, and I laughed with the thrill of cutting them down. I did not tire, did not falter until all had fallen. And then, just as soon as it came, my strength left me. I felt as weak as if I had long suffered from a fever, and I bled from dozens of wounds—none enough to kill me outright, but I had no doubt that they would be fatal if left untreated. It was all I could do to drag myself into the undergrowth, apply some Healing Salve, and pass out.

When I awoke, I had no idea how much time had passed, although it was long enough that someone had come to drag the bandits away. I have no idea whether they had been friend or foe, but they must have missed my hiding place. Still feeble and weak, I began my long trek back home. My lesson learned, I have never attempted to cast Berserk on myself again.

Bear Warriors and Elite Soldiers

The word "berserk" comes from "bear shirt" in one language of a distant plane—warriors who eschewed heavier armor for bearskins and who fought with the strength of a bear. In battle they would go enter a frenzied state where they gained great strength and felt no pain, but at the cost of being unable to distinguish allies from enemies. The greatest of these warriors were even said to change shape into bears themselves, perhaps inspiring tales of werebeasts. The fearsome abilities of these warriors made them valuable as elite guardsmen and shock troops, though their valued status is largely forgotten and they are instead mostly remembered as ravenous looters and pillagers.

Shock and Awe

Berserk is a spell that sees a fair amount of use by serious battlemages. Its power derives from its surprise and explosiveness—a well-timed casting on a well-chosen creature can lay an opponent low in one fell stroke. Not even defending allies are proof against such an attack, as the Berserkers can often hack through scores of lesser warriors to reach their targets.

My first 93/94 deck. Well, other than the ones I put together in 1994, I guess.

A common use for Berserk is in conjunction with the Atog. Though uninspiring at first glance, Atogs can quickly grow to massive size in the blink of an eye when fed with artifice. And just as quickly, a green mage can further empower an Atog and enrage him so he can smash through defenders. Though this sacrifices a mage's artifacts and the Atog, it doesn't matter when the Atog is strong enough on his own to defeat a rival mage.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Northern Paladin

I guess I'd better look into getting an Alpha and a Beta Northern Paladin to round out the set.

A New Beginning

Fleeing my home city of Alsoor was only the beginning of a long exile. During my travels I learned to harness my magical abilities, and eventually unlocked the secret to planeswalking. In the sands of Rabiah, in the depths of the Nether Void, in Ergamon, in Cabralin, and in countless other planes I honed my spells and bound myself to many lands. But none of these planes felt like home. And so, many years after I had first left it behind, I returned to Dominaria to find a place of my own.

In the time I had spent traveling on other planes, Dominaria had changed greatly. Alsoor was gone, as was much of the rest of the Terisiare I was familiar with. The very land had reshaped itself, split into an array of islands and seas where once was only land. It had become strange to me, so I sought a home elsewhere. I have spoken before about the Savannahs of Parma, and they are what drew me to this land in the first place. But soon after my arrival, I learned of the Northern Paladins that call this land their own...and I have come to value them just as much as the land itself as part of my home.

My initial view with the Northern Paladins was one of suspicion, as the double-sunburst of Tal’s church was prominent on their banners and clothing...the very church whose inquisitors drove me from Alsoor all those years ago. Though I was no longer afraid of what these churchmen might do to me—I had learned much in my exile—I did not wish to live near zealots who saw my very existence as a challenge against which to prove their faith. But my fears were allayed when I first met with them.

To the credit of the history of their religion, the Northern Paladins recognized me for a mage from the first—their skills in finding witches and sorcerers has not diminished. But instead of sending soldiers and torturers to me, they came to me themselves to judge whether or not I was a danger to them and the people of their land. Once they decided that I was unlikely to cause trouble, they welcomed me to stay as I wished. I was, of course, expected to earn my own living and to contribute to the well-being of the community, but as long as I harmed none and served the greater good, I was welcomed with open arms.

With the exception of the flavor text on Holy Light, all of the Book of Tal's violently puritanical passages come from The Gathering Dark. Its only positive passages come from the flavor text on Northern Paladin and Southern Paladin.

It seems that the lands of Dominaria have not been alone in changing, but the people of Dominaria have changed as well. The Book of Tal that the Northern Paladins follow still contains the scriptures that justified the inquisitors’ brutality—“suffer not a magician to live”, “and I will take a sword to the infidel and the unbeliever, and my blade shall shine with the fire of righteousness”, and such. But they mostly ignore such hateful passages; at most, they tend to acknowledge them as relics of the “barbaric past”. (I have not had the heart to tell them that I was there during those “barbaric” times, and that they differ little from today.)

Instead, the Paladins have chosen to emphasize the parts of their scripture that speaks of community and belonging. They have taken the passage of “look to the north, there you will find aid and comfort” to heart, and gladly accept any who seek them with pure intentions. They have treated me with kindness where I expected none, and I am fortunate to have met them.

Knights in Shining Armor

There are many orders of knights and paladins throughout the planes, but the Northern Paladins is the rare order that truly lives up to the ideals of knighthood. All knights are bound by a code of bravery, honor, fairness, loyalty, and other such virtues, though it is all too common for a knight to fall short of these ideals. Some orders are also bound to a religious tradition, these are often called paladins after the twelve greatest followers of a holy emperor. This title has since spread to encompass all chivalrous heroes of a religious persuasion.

The term "paladin" originally referred to Charlemagne's twelve greatest knights as per the Song of Roland and other tales of the Matter of France.

Riding to Battle with the Paladins

Though they are powerful warriors, the Northern Paladins’ focus on their fight against evil limits their usefulness when assisting mages in battle. For those who fight against black mages, allying with the Paladins is extremely advantageous. But few mages can pick and choose to fight only against those who wield black magic, and against other foes the Paladins are no more effective than the common Hill Giant.

Changing the color that a Paladin affects can also change which direction he's from.

A few clever but unscrupulous mages, however, have managed to manipulate the Northern Paladins into a more versatile role. With a Sleight of Mind, these mages twist the perceptions of their allies so that every adversary seems to share the corruption and evil of their traditional foes. These illusions are so potent that they could force the Paladins to turn on each other, though I know of no such intranecine conflicts that have happened.

This Northern Paladin hangs with honor in my library. I think he deserves a fancier frame, though.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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