The Encyclopedia Domnia had various stories, lore, and information of
the worlds of the multiverse. Here we're restoring some of the online
duelist's tales. The Encyclopedia was gathered by the planeswalker
Taysir, here is the section of "Histories and Fables" with stories: Return of the Empress, Scalebane's Elite, and Still Waters, Deep Roots. We are
continuing our reproducing of them: they are not original content, but
created by Wizards of the Coast for the Online Duelist in the 1990s.
Return of the Empress
by Richard Thames Rowan Keening wails of the dying reverberated through the cooling waters of Vodalia as Galina
gazed bleakly across the final battlefield of the royal city. Brave
warriors and mages held back the mindless army of relentless Homarids by force of will alone.
This is the end of the empire, she thought as she absently rubbed the pearl set in the blue scales of her cheek. I
am sorry my husband, may Svyelune's Light shelter you, but I can do no
more. Our food is gone, our forces wasted. You were always the strong
one, but even you succumbed to the horde . . . .
"Your Serene Highness, the time has come."
Galina turned her piercing gaze on Marshall Karel Volnikov, the only merfolk
who would risk disturbing her thoughts. A long silence filled only with
the wail of the dying passed between them like a conversation. Karel
absorbed her stare impassively until she slowly nodded.
"Gather the survivors, we go to Akoroun's portal," she said curtly.
Karel nodded solemnly, touched his forehead in deference, and jetted
away in a flurry of water. Galina's gaze followed thoughtfully after the
noble warrior who had led her military forces unfalteringly for so many
years and who had lent such astute political savvy to her court. Her
thoughts turned to the distant colony of Etlan Shiis, the only colony
likely to have escaped the ravages of the Homarids. It was well past
time to remind the artisan caste, who founded the distant colony, of the
duty they owed to the Empire.
The cold waters swirled around her, chilling her as she made her way up
the spire where the mage Akoroun would open a portal to Etlan Shiis.
Akoroun was waiting above with Karel, and they both touched their
foreheads as she swam up. At least four score survivors gathered about
the base of the spire from throughout the royal city as the Homarids
began to claim the final stronghold of Vodalia for their own.
"All is ready?"
Akoroun nodded, "Yes, your Serene Highness."
"Then let us begin."
Akoroun motioned half a dozen mages forward, and each pulled a large
pearl from their robes. The mages stroked their pearls softly and
crooned strangely mournful notes of deep longing. Voices embraced and
danced in complex harmonies of delicate intricacy as tendrils of
moonlight twisted out of the pearls. At the murmuring command of the
voices, the tendrils wove a web of light. Each mage's voice slid with
serpentine grace among the strands, pulling them tighter into a pool of
glowing brilliance until, one-by-one, the voices slid free of the pool.
At last, only Akoroun's tendril remained attached to the portal. He
nodded.
"The portal is ready, but I must maintain the weave."
"Very well, let us begin," Galina said, motioning the survivors forward
through the portal. With a final glance at a dying Vodalia, she swam
through.
Warm currents gradually cleared the white haze obscuring Galina's
vision, and she glanced around at the remarkable change of scenery. To
the west, a vast rolling plain stretched endlessly, broken only by coral
formations, deep sea kelp, and darting schools of fish. Rising to the
east, and on whose slopes she rested, an impressive island-mountain
range stretched from south to north. Further north, the range swept back
to the east, hiding itself for a time before reappearing in the
distance. For the first time in a long while, she began to feel warm.
Karel swam up and waited for her to speak.
"I see you, Karel."
"Your highness, I have taken the liberty of dispatching scouts to
determine the exact location of the colony. They bring some disturbing
news." Karel seemed troubled.
Galina raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.
Karel hesitated. "Etlan Shiis seems somewhat . . . larger than
anticipated. Too large, in fact." By way of an explanation, he gestured
to the group of mages who were in deep conference.
Galina frowned thoughtfully, then said, "Gather everyone. I would see this 'city' of artisans."
Karel nodded as he moved to collect the remnants of Vodalia and said,
"It lies beyond the northern bend of the mountains." After a few
minutes, Galina made her way northward in the shadow of the eastern
island-mountains.
The Vodalians began swimming after their empress in silence, naturally
falling into strict caste order with the warriors immediately behind
Galina, then the mages, a few of the merchant caste, and lastly a
handful of the lowly artisans--even in battle it was occasionally useful
to have servants for demeaning labor.
Galina led the silent entourage, gliding over deep chasms in the slopes
of the island-mountains, through coral formations and vast schools of
brightly colored fish. She skirted the hot waters surrounding a column
of bubbles rising from a steam vent and eventually came to the final
mountain separating her from Etlan Shiis. As she crested the last ridge,
she suddenly halted in a turmoil of warm waters, gazing at the city
below.
Rolling plains sprawled to the north and west until they reached the
mountains in the far distance. Unlike the western flats, however, this
plain was filled with far more than just coral and kelp. Etlan Shiis
began at the base of the island-mountains below her and stretched to the
north and west. A slow anger began seeping through her eyes as they
traveled the vast expanse of sweeping arches and artistic spires and
towers that were so different from the royal city so recently lost to
the Homarids. The city stretched on and on to the west until it vanished
from sight. Her eyes picked out five enormous spires linked by arches
on the far horizon, and her anger erupted.
"How dare they mock the Imperial Towers!" she thundered in rage as her
followers cringed in their awe. The city rivaled the Vodalian royal city
in size, and exceeded it in grandeur.
"Your most serene highness, if you please, all may not be as it seems,"
Akoroun touched her lightly on the arm. He was about to continue when he
realized what he had done and his eyes widened with alarm.
Galina slowly turned to face the mage who had defiled her by his touch
and suddenly gripped his neck with a darting hand. She gazed at him in
the calmness of rage as he began to convulse beneath her hand. His eyes
rolled back in his head and he began keening as steam bubbled from his
skin. He thrashed on briefly after his keening died away; when he grew
still, she released him to float upward to Svyelune's Light above the
sea.
Her fury abated, she located another mage and calmly demanded, "Explain Akoroun's statement."
Startled, the mage stammered, "Ah, he was saying, ah, that we seem to
have arrived in Etlan Shiis some years after we left Vodalia."
Galina absorbed the news impassively and said, "How many years?"
The mage swallowed and said, "About, ah . . . we think it may be as much
as three thousand years later." He braced himself and closed his eyes
and prepared to receive treatment similar to his predecessor's.
Galina glared at the mage for a long moment, then nodded and said, "Very
well. We must re-acquaint this city of artisans with their duty to the
Empire." She turned and made her way downward, leaving her entourage to
gradually recover from their shock. They followed her.
It was almost too easy. She had led the Vodalians into the city of Etlan
Shiis without a single challenge and on to the new Imperial Towers. The
chamber containing the group of artisans that styled themselves the
"Council of Etlan Shiis" was not difficult to find. They had been
initially startled by the appearance of their brethren, then outraged at
being disturbed. They had reluctantly listened to Karel's introduction,
which they found unnerving even as they doubted it. In the end, what
decided the matter was one of the councilors' comments.
"Toss this garish riffraff out and let us get on with our business."
Oblivious to the effect his words were having on his visitors, he
continued. "After all, even if they are who they say, didn't our
ancestors leave Vodalia because the caste system put the most violent
and unfit to rule in charge of the nation?" Several of his fellow
councilors nodded in agreement.
Karel calmly turned to this most vocal of the council, swam forward, and
with fluid grace, broke his neck. The council chamber erupted with
cries of outrage that became panic as Karel seized the next councilor
and dispatched him with equal ease. The council members began scattering
in all directions. Within moments, a scythe of energy from a Vodalian
battle mage cut the councilors down as they fled. Only one escaped. At
Karel's signal, a warrior quietly slipped out of the chamber to
apprehend him.
Galina gave the order to those remaining to subdue the city immediately
and inform the residents that she would be assuming her throne once
again. Her lords touched their foreheads and departed in all directions
with small bands of warriors and mages. For the next several hours, she
heard the occasional sounds of short-lived battle as each objection was
squashed and those who objected were brought into line.
Galina gazed thoughtfully across the silent council chamber through the
floating bodies of the ex-councilors. In her solitude, she began laying
plans for the defense of the city, for the marshaling of military
forces, and for the future.
Some day, my husband, may Svyelune's Light shelter you, I will return
with hundreds of thousands of warriors to reclaim your Empire. We will
utterly destroy the Homarids and dedicate the victory to the memory of
your glory. From this day forward, a new Vodalian Empire is born . . . .
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Scalebane's Elite
By Teeuwynn
![[The Battle for Mangara]](https://web.archive.org/web/19990505002130im_/http://www.wizards.com/images/Duelist_Online/BattleMangara.gif)
The following story is a verbatim transcription of an eyewitness
account of one of the most important events in recent Jamuuran history.
-- Taysir.
I'm not certain where to begin . . . or why you want me to tell this
tale. Kulinda or Jerran could tell it better . . . ah, but their wounds
are still healing. Well then, I'll tell you what I saw and heard for
myself. I can vouch for nothing else, and what I can attest to is
fantastic enough for ten tales. Well then, this is the story of how the
mage Mangara was set free from his terrible, unlawful prison. And, as you know, if it was not for Mangara's help we would never have beaten Kaervek's magic and undead minions.
I have fought in Scalebane's army for over a year now, and no warrior could wish a more inspiring, brave leader than Rashida Scalebane.
I would die for that woman -- indeed, I almost did. Less than a
fortnight past, Rashida called three warriors to her tent: myself,
Kulinda, and Jerran. Wasting no words, Rashida explained that she had
chosen us to accompany her and a few others on a special mission, a
mission to save the mage Mangara. At these words Kulinda gasped, and I
nearly did as well. Mangara had disappeared many months ago. How could
Rashida know he was imprisoned, let alone where he was trapped.
Nodding sharply at Kulinda, Rashida answered only that all would be explained that could be explained by the prophetess Asmira,
who had joined our encampment only hours before. "At dawn we will again
meet in this tent and Asmira and I shall tell you all we can of our
quest." Telling us to prepare to leave immediately after the dawn
meeting, Rashida bowed her head over her legendary dragonslaying
banesword. The first gathering of Scalebane's Elite was at an end.
Restless and nervous after a troubled night's sleep, we met once more in
Rashida's tent at dawn. Asmira was already waiting within, seated upon
the floor herder-style. Asmira was smaller than I imagined, but her dark
eyes reflected both confidence and conviction. Clad in white and gold
garments mixing both Femeref and Zhalfiran styles, the great prophetess
Asmira greeted us with the most serene smile I have ever seen.
"Greetings and thanks, Children of Fate," the prophetess began. "In
recent days great omens have wafted across our land on the wings of
dreams. I have felt their feathery touch, as has your leader, Rashida.
Now is our chance to free Mangara from the stone in which he has long
been imprisoned."
"What sort of stone could imprison a mage?" Jerran asked in his sing-song whisper.
"An amber prison," Rashida answered. "It is a magical stone into which a mage may thrust any single being."
"And the being may remain trapped there for an infinity of eternities if
he is not freed," Asmira concluded. "It is our responsibility to free
Mangara from this prison. The dreams have told us where Mangara's prison
lies . . . a handful or more days travel into the Mwonvuli Jungle. We
must begin our journey at once if we are to have any hope of rescuing
Mangara before Kaervek's might grows beyond all hope of stopping him."
"But what is our role in all this?" I asked. "We are only warriors and not many in number."
"You are my warriors and the heart of all Jamuura beats in your breasts," Rashida answered.
"And you are so few in number because we do not believe more warriors
could avoid many of Kaervek's patrols," Asmira finished. "But come,
gather your things, it is time for us to begin the Lion's Eye Quest."
As we gathered our gear together I thought on the ancient saying --
"Caught in the Lion's Eye." Yes, if ever there was a moment of crisis,
we were walking into it. And with that thought I joined my fellows to
confront our fate.
The next few days are mostly a blur to me. We did our best to avoid
Kaervek's patrols, but there were far more than even Rashida had
predicted. Attempting evasion in the plains proved difficult.
Alternately battling and avoiding the undead patrols, we reached the
final hill overlooking the jungle far later than we had hoped. We could
all see Rashida's nerves grow raw as time drained away from us. Even
Asmira's face began to appear ashen with worry on the third day as we
neared the final hill.
But at the end of that day as we crested the final rise, we found new hope in the form of the flying ship, Weatherlight.
Rushing up to the ship's captain, Sisay, Rashida demanded to know how
and why she was here. The slightly embarrassed captain responded that
she had had a dream that bade her come to this very spot. Although I'm
sure Sisay thought Asmira and Rashida would think her crazy for flying
her ship into the middle of an enemy-infested plain because of a dream,
our leaders merely nodded. After all, the Lion's Eye Quest itself was
the stuff of dreams.
It took only a few minutes to scramble up rope ladders and climb aboard the Weatherlight.
On board, Sisay's crew were fewer in number than I would have expected,
but Sisay said she was still rebuilding. I wish there had been time to
speak to her crew, particularly the sharp-eyed minotaur, but exhaustion
and the need for all hands to man the ship did not give me the chance.
Perhaps I will be able to buy Sisay and her crew a round of drinks at a
tavern on some future night.
Now, where was I? . . . Oh, yes, Sisay and the Weatherlight
immediately set sail through the still jungle air. You'd think flying
through sky would be much smoother than riding the ocean's waves, but it
really isn't. The Weatherlight constantly hummed and vibrated as
we cut our way through the air. We flew in one day what would have
taken us five or more on the ground. Without the Weatherlight we would have lost crucial days and perhaps the war.
When we finally landed, we found ourselves outside a small palace just
beginning to decay. Vines covered much of the western wall, but the rest
of the squat edifice was still relatively unmarred. A large metal door
blocked our way into the compound, but it proved little impediment to
us. With Asmira leading us into the palace, we passed through two long
hallways in complete silence, unbothered by guards of any kind. Then
silence became screams and Kaervek's dread minions descended upon our
small group.
The battle through the palace seemed to last for days. Have you ever
fought continuously for your life for hours on end? It is a constant
battle to maintain the shield of hope, to not give in to the terror
surrounding you. Yet, we persevered. If it were not for our dragonscale
armor and other magical protections, we never would have survived the
assault. But survive we did, and made slow progress into the fortress
until at last we saw the amber prison floating within a scintillating
beam of white light.
As Asmira managed to push closer to the amber prison, Kaervek's forces
began to pummel us with magical fire and other terrors. Jerran was badly
burned several times over and it is a wonder he survived at all. I
remember little of the next few minutes save the struggle to remain
standing. I remember seeing Asmira reach the amber prison . . . I
remember seeing the holy one bend her head in concentration over the
magical stone, her face ghostly in the magical beam's sharp light. Then
my sight was overwhelmed by the forces in front of me and I was sure I
would fall at any moment.
It was then that a terrible shrieking howl echoed through the chamber
and I saw Rashida and Scalebane dancing through the undead with the
grace of a thousand cheetahs. Even when fighting dragons, I had never
seen Rashida fight so well or so dexterously. On her face she wore a
mask crafted of dragonskin, and its eyes, blazing with yellow fury, were
not Rashida's. Rashida must have killed two score or more of Kaervek's
minions in the time it took me to slay one. But such a display of valor
does not come without cost. Just as I reached our leader she collapsed
in complete exhaustion. Standing over Rashida's body to keep what
remained of Kaervek's forces from harming her, I looked again to Asmira.
And in that moment I forgot the jungle heat as my blood froze in my
veins. For as Asmira raised the amber prison in triumph a darkling
panther warrior-woman leapt from ambush towards the holy warrior. Even
as I screamed a warning, I recognized the legendary slayer Purraj of Urborg.
As my scream echoed, too late to warn Asmira, Purraj's knife dug deeply
into Asmira's back. Arching backwards Asmira ignored the terrible blow,
managing to whisper out the last words of her spell to free Mangara.
Her ritual complete, the amber prison suddenly glowed with such ferocity
I could no longer bear to look on it.
When the blinding shaft of light faded all of Kaervek's forces lay dead
around us and a middle-aged man in strange clothes stood where Asmira
and Purraj had grappled seconds before. Of Purraj and Asmira there was
no sign. Perhaps they were both consumed in the amber prison's
shattering light.
Rashida stirred below me, and as I helped the shaken warrior onto her
feet I saw her eyes meet Mangara's. With a deep bow the freed mage
disappeared in a glimmer of pale white light.
Of course, you know the rest. Mangara confronted Kaervek and managed to
prevail against the dark mage and his overextended resources. Now
Kaervek lies within the very stone that so long held Mangara prisoner.
It seems a fitting punishment. Asmira has officially been granted the
title of Holy Avenger, but I fear it may be a posthumous honor. As for
Purraj . . . I have no idea but I am sure if Asmira fell, then so did
that Urborg assassin.
I grow tired now, and I must check on Jerran. I hope my tale has been of some use to you.
May you never live in the Lion's Eye.
-- Forena, Scalebane's Elite.
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Still Waters, Deep Roots
| The following parable is short, but telling. The
elves of Riashil perhaps best reflect the ancient shyness and reticence
of the Llanowar elves. Theirs may well be the closest to pre - Ice Age
elvish culture. Although the Riashil's insularity grows out of a desire
to protect their culture, it also fosters a certain amount of fear. The
following story illustrates the latter, reactionary, response to the
elfhame's secluded existence.--Taysir |
|
Listen closely, children, and I will tell you a tale while the Glitter
Moon gazes upon us and shines down blessings upon the earth. In years
before you were born--but not too many years before--there lived a young
elf named Finn. Finn was not unlike most children, full of energy and
spilling over with questions. "Why does the Glitter Moon shine? Where do
maggots come from? Why do I have to be nice to others?"
Most of Finn's questions were answered more or less to his satisfaction,
but there was one question his elders could not give him a simple
answer to. "Why do we never leave Riashil?" Of course you all know that
the boundaries of Riashil are sacred, for we live in the most blessed
place under Freyalise's
care, yet Finn could not seem to understand this. "I want to see more
of the world!" he cried. And the elders just shook their heads and
determined to wait with the patience of the trees for Finn's foolishness
to come to an end.
But it did not end. Instead, Finn's curiosity grew like a patch of
itchweed, and Finn felt bound to scratch. Journeying to the edge of
Riashil, where the Moen river marks our southern boundary, Finn found
himself staring at a young human across the water. "Ah!" thought Finn.
"Perhaps this human can answer my question." Solemnly, Finn hailed the
human and asked his question. Staring intently, the young human gestured
for Finn to wade across the Moen, made shallow by drought.
So excited was Finn at the prospect of finally finding out why the
Riashil never leave their home, that the young elf dove into the chill
waters and swam across to where the human waited. Shaking the water from
his eyes, Finn repeated his question once more: "Why should elves stay
only in Riashil?"
The human gestured again, and Finn edged even closer. Smiling, the human
opened a large bag at his side and gestured for Finn to see what was
inside. Finn peered closely into the bag's dark interior, hoping to see
something that would explain the mystery to him. But before he knew what
was happening, the human shoved poor Finn into his bag and took him
away forever.
So, you see, Finn got his wish much faster than he would have gotten it
if he waited patiently, but the answer was perhaps not what he hoped.
You must have still waters to grow deep roots, my children. Rapids wash
away only the foolish, not the wise.
![[Treetop Temple]](https://web.archive.org/web/19990504201614im_/http://www.wizards.com/images/Duelist_Online/Treetop_Temple.gif)
![[Dryad]](https://web.archive.org/web/19990504201614im_/http://www.wizards.com/images/Duelist_Online/Dryad.gif)
![[Mon's Goblin Raiders]](https://web.archive.org/web/19990427033802im_/http://www.wizards.com/images/Card_Art/MTG/Mons_Goblin_Raiders.gif)
This tale provides an outsider's view of the elves of Llanowar. It
is often interesting to see how one people appears to another, very
different race. One often learns something of both the object and
reporter of the tale. Readers should bear in mind, however, that the
outsiders in this case are goblins. Goblins are, by their very nature,
prone to exaggeration and hyperbole.-- Taysir
