Encyclopedia Dominia: Early Volumes I

 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 are Tande's Journal and the City of Brass.  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. 

Tande's Journal

Although the mage Tande is perhaps best known for his musings on the principles of artifact consciousness, this particular journal entry is far more pragmatic--and at the same time more fantastical--than his other known writings. Scholars differ strongly on whether Tande and his lover Trebecia actually visited Phyrexia, or whether the entire story is a hoax or a particularly vivid fever dream. After all, Tande was bedridden for almost two years with a mysterious illness around the time he scribed this entry.--Taysir

As I write these words it seems a wonder that my hand can hold even the weight of my quill. Until a few hours ago I was convinced that the impressions of the past day and night would forever be carved into my mind. Yet, already the jagged, knife-edged memories begin to blur. Perhaps it is my mind protecting my sanity? For I am certain no man could carry these images in his mind and not lose himself to the horror. I must record now what I have seen, while it is still clear.

Two days ago I was just entering my workroom when I witnessed my love, Trebecia, an artificer like myself, fall through a Phyrexian portal. Phyrexia, that dreadful plane, is a place I have long known of, and debated and discussed with other artificers. How and why the portal opened I still do not know, but I managed to throw myself through before it closed.

And thus did I enter Hell.

I must have lost consciousness, for I remember nothing of the passage. I awoke lying in a bed of strange silvery vines. If I hadn't been wearing several layers of woolen clothes, the sharp edges of the almost metallic leaves would surely have sliced my skin. As it was, I had to abandon my outer tunic, shredded in my efforts to extract myself from the strange plants.

I looked around in an attempt to regain my bearings. But how can any sane man find his bearings in an insane world? A soot-streaked sky lowered over a broad, dusty plain spotted with clumps of oily trees that could as easily have been machines as plants. A small stream meandered nearby. Apart from myself and the lethargic stream, this plain was silent and stifling and still; the omnipresent haze of grime gummed even the air itself, which left its foul reek as residue in my mouth.

I bent down on one knee to splash water on my face. But I immediately changed my plan, for the water in the stream was slick with oil, while congealed soot clung tenaciously to its rocky bed. Rubbing at the tacky coating with my sleeves only smeared it deep into my pores, and I could feel airborne grit building up on my palms and fingers.

Stumbling away from the stream, I looked down to find in the glittering, sticky soil a series of human footprints staggering away across the plain, as though made by one moving hesitantly. I immediately forgot my own fear at the thought of Trebecia wandering this place alone.

I jogged rapidly across the filthy land, maneuvering around piles of cogs and gears, and the rusting remains of tormented artifacts. Several saurian creatures wandered in the distance, their immense bodies glistening with oil, their motions easy and fluid in the oppressive stillness. They struck me as being both organic and mechanical, as if they were machines grown instead of made. I passed perhaps three, perhaps four of these monstrosities as I crossed the charnel plain.

Although occasionally it seemed that fierce red eyes glowered at me from clumps of metallic vegetation, the only other creature I encountered on the dark plain was a dragon engine. Of course, I have seen a number of the engines Mishra created. Yet none of those clumsy creatures could compare with the lithe form before me. As sinuous and quick as any dragon of flesh and blood, the creature was still, quite obviously, a machine. There is such a thing as horrible beauty, and this personified it.

Moving on, I soon reached a tunnel piercing the very heart of the plain. Here my heart fell, for now Trebecia's footsteps were echoed by those of smaller, clawed feet. A foul, hot wind from the tunnel had obscured those prints closest to its opening, but their implication was inescapable: at least half a dozen creatures had surrounded Trebecia. Their footprints replaced hers en route to the tunnel entrance.

Praying to every god I had ever heard of, I entered the heart of darkness.

The tunnel wound downwards for what seemed hours. My eyes wept constantly, and my skin alternately itched and burned in the choking exhaust that flowed over and past me. Sweat and tears barely kept my vision clear, but finally, I emerged, dazed and half-blind, my lungs burning with sulfur, on another part of Phyrexia. It was as if the tunnel burrowed through this hellish plane to reveal a second layer inside the first. The land I now faced was different from the dread plain above. Here the air burned even hotter, an almost palpable weight to my seared lungs. Within moments, I was indistinguishable from the rest of the blackened, blasted landscape.

Of course, there was no true sky. Instead, twisted beams and metal structures formed a dark ceiling high above my head. Red light spilled balefully across the rusted, pitted metal, casting twisted shadows that somehow managed to look like scenes of torture. The light itself came from vast, smoke-grimed chimneys thrusting upwards almost to the ceiling-sky above. Fire and soot spewed from their tops, and in some unrepaired spots, long fingers of fire scratched through cracks, as if a terrible flame beast sought escape from its metallic prison.

Ignoring the horror of my surroundings as best I could, I followed the small pack of renewed footprints. They led me easily through the ashen wastes, filled with random and numerous piles of broken machinery. Though lighter than the soil above, this ash had been so compressed by the company's passage that not even the constant streaming of the foul air could disturb it.

Somehow I traversed that expanse without stumbling upon any other creatures. Cries and grinding movement echoed near me several times, but never did an actual beast move close enough to distinguish itself from the clouds of soot and ash.

Once again the footprints led me to a tunnel, and once again I followed them. The tunnel floor soon grew rough, and as I neared its end, pipes and tubing also sprouted from the floor, causing me to often stumble and fall. I soon took to crawling like an animal.

At the end of this latest journey I looked out upon a massive labyrinth of ancient metal pipes and beams, begrimed with congealed oil. Staring at the vast, confusing network below me, I at first despaired of following Trebecia and her abductors. Then my eye was caught by one small piece of pale blue cloth, crammed into the juncture of two pipes. Looking further, I saw another piece of cloth. Trebecia was alive! She was leaving me a way to find her through the infernal maze.

Steeling myself, I pressed forward. Even with Trebecia's aid, the journey was terrible: there were brief stretches when I could walk upright, or even slightly hunched, but these infrequent breaks merely underscored the wretchedness of my sojourn. I was often forced to navigate pipe junctures that left hardly enough room for a man to pass. Sometimes I could only partially expand my chest, which made breathing the hot, fetid air still more difficult. I spent an eternity inside a broken segment of pipe without being able to move at all, staring at the hard, close darkness around me while my own pulse boomed in my ears. Had I not been coated in oily grime, I would be there still--but I eventually dragged myself free like a snake shedding its skin.

I know I called upon my magic more than once to survive the long hours, but just what spells I can no longer recall. My thoughts crawl with images of corpses hanging from chains and shoved into tubing; a child-sized figure splayed across a mammoth pipe; two men--one blond, the other dark--forever struggling, each clutching the other's throat; a single skeletal hand reaching out to me from blackness.

I can write no more of this. Suffice it to say that I did, at last, reach another tunnel. For the last time, I went deeper.

Phyrexia undoubtedly contains more rotting spheres, but I at last found Trebecia within the fourth. This one reminded me of a burned-out mansion I once hid within as a child. Everywhere hollowed, decaying structures loomed, while a constant drizzle of oil rained down. Instead of celestial bodies, there were cogs and wheels, gears and clockworks, hanging like macabre trophies from the rusted piping overhead. Fitful bursts of light emanated from the furnaces that dotted the landscape. Their cheerless illumination only served to emphasize the utter blackness of this terrible realm.

And the noise! As the sights reminded me of ruins from my childhood, so the sounds were that constant, jarring din that frightened children hear in fever dreams. Around me, all whirred and crunched fruitlessly, constant creaks and groans producing a ceaseless, agonizing cacophony.

I believe if I had not heard my love's cries only moments after I entered this plane, I would have gone mad. But Trebecia's voice formed a net around my soul, and I followed the strands as desperately as any drowning man ever clung to the rescuer's rope.

When I found Trebecia she was surrounded by over a dozen coal-black creatures with gleaming red eyes and soot-encrusted teeth. These Phyrexian gremlins constantly gibbered, occasionally turning on one another, biting and clawing their neighbors. Several of the feral creatures held tightly to Trebecia, but their true attention seemed focused on a tall, twisted being at their center. It was motionless, but I did not trust it to remain so. The gremlins were a chittering swarm at its feet, kneeling and falling over one another in obscene and frenzied supplication.

Viewing such chaotic motion, unable to separate the creatures' endless chatter from the discordant whine of machinery overhead, I began to sicken and swoon. As I stumbled, I spied the partial and still functioning remains of a hapless brass man between the gremlins and their totem. Although the brass man still seemed conscious, its struggles grew weaker still as I neared the awful scene. With a dreadful certainty I knew that this token offering would soon be replaced with one of considerably more value to their masters . . . and immeasurably more value to me.

At my approach, the gremlins took up a concerted howl of discovery. The pack had at last noticed my presence. As they came away from their ritual, I clearly saw the statue of the Yawgmoth demon they were capering beneath. Its eyes flashed as it grinned at me, though I could not determine if it had always been so oriented, or if the terrible head had actually swiveled to greet me. Meeting its eyes, I was seized with a terrible knowledge: that one day Phyrexia would rise up to yoke all planes to its dark designs.

I truly don't remember how Trebecia and I fought our way through the gremlins to the dying brass man's side. If I had not been granted the sight of her struggling to break free, I daresay I could not have done the same. Snatching up an unfortunate gremlin that had not survived the encounter (or perhaps it had not succumbed to the orgy of worship--I am still unsure), we bound its flesh and the brass man's body in dread ritual. A portal opened before us.

And then we were home.

I know this last piece of narrative makes even less sense than the first, but I can only relate what my poor mind remembers. Even now, the healers come for me. Although they say we will both live, I can tell they are concerned for us. They may even believe us mad. Perhaps we are. But if Phyrexia is madness, then I believe that madness exists within each of us. 

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The City of Brass

by She Who Watches

It should come as no surprise that the first tales I gathered to place in my encyclopedia come from my birthplace, Rabiah. I find this tale compelling because it leaves the reader with several tantalizing references to a place of power that lies on the cusp of a plane. Of course, it is also a tale of high passion and pain, and my youthful self knew too well where such emotions can lead. -Taysir

While a memory lives, so shall its maker. . . . For those of us who tell stories and write down the great and infamous doings of our people, these words carry greater weight than a hundredfold gold bars. Today, my tale is brief; the lesson drawn from it perhaps a bit longer, perhaps twice as short. Only my readers will know.

Princess Fatima was the wealthiest of women. She had riches galore, camels and silks, and a lover who was one of the most powerful men in her kingdom. She also was rich in magic. In Fatima's land as in many of our backward kingdoms, women have little control over their own lives. Their husband or father controls them. But Fatima's father was dead, no uncles or brothers lived, and she had not yet married. Every night, Fatima whispered in the ear of her lover, al-Abin, "Ask me not to marry you, and I will love you forever." To which al-Abin would reply, "Do not marry me, dear one."

For months, their strange arrangement lasted, until one night Fatima whispered, "Ask me not to marry you, and I will love you forever." To which al-Abin replied, "Marry me and make me the happiest of men." Furious, Fatima declared that she would never marry him. Despite al-Abin's begging, Fatima remained adamant. That very night her lover left Fatima for good.

Furious at al-Abin and the land that birthed him, Fatima went into a rage that lasted for days. At the end of this time, she turned all of her attention to her magic. Determined to build a place where none would ever dare disturb her, Fatima chose to create a City of Brass that blazed with the heat of her fury.

With every month she worked on her city, Fatima's power grew until it was so great she could stride across the planes and leave her people behind. She moved her city to the very farthest edges of Rabiah, where she worked in complete solitude. Yet, after a number of years, Fatima felt a touch of loneliness. Although she did not wish to see her people again, she wished some companionship. Thus, Fatima built the first of the Brass Men.

Fatima cared deeply for her brass creations, who bore the grief she never allowed herself to feel and thus often stopped to mourn after performing any task. As was her city, her brass men were cold as al-Abin's betrayal and hot as Fatima's wrath. Yet they were--and are--her children, and Fatima loves them to this day.

Go not to the City of Brass, unless you can bear great pain. For if you venture within its molten walls you will find yourself burned by the heat of its fires and by the rage and grief of its lone mistress.