Encyclopedia Dominia: Early Volumes III - Interrogation, Eater of the Infinite, The Hero's Tale

 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 the Interrogation (of a Phyrexian), the Eater of the Infinite (of Rabiah) and the Hero's Tale (of Benalia).  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. 

The Interrogation

The following encounter was recreated from a transcript that is, unfortunately, incomplete, having suffered extensive fire damage. Nevertheless, that only known record of the interrogation of a priest of the entity Yawgmoth sheds a fascinating light on the philosophy of these mysterious beings.--Taysir

He lay shackled in the dark, and the furrows on his wrists and ankles neither bled nor faded. Some of his brothers could summon light from within, during the deepest stages of meditation, but he could not afford to block out his surroundings: he had been delivered into the hands of dangerous fools.

He heard a door thrown open far down the corridor, and the formless void around him receded in the face of an oncoming torch. He heard the moist squeak of wood on wood, and went momentarily blind as the torchbearer threw open the door. He writhed, and the shackles scored his flesh anew. A second bearer entered, creating a bubble of light barely large enough to contain them all. Through the door and into the bubble strode a stern, bookish man in an inappropriately splendid robe.

"Awake, zealot," the man called, insistent but strangely cautious. "We have little time, and I would make the most of the opportunity you represent."

The prisoner remained silent, but stared unblinkingly at the robed figure.

"Vandal," continued the visitor, "you are at the mercy of your most hated enemies. The Order of the Ebon Hand--" he gestured at the torchbearers, who wore initiates' robes-- "will break your body, your spirit, and your mind." He leaned forward slightly, squinting. "I would have words with you before your endless screaming begins."

The prisoner hissed softly. His voice, though soft and monotonous, reeked with casual scorn. "I am Y'sith, Fifth Circle Priest of Yawgmoth. Who do you represent, if not the Order?"

The interrogator smiled. "I am of the Order. But I am here now on my own behalf." He threw his head back, giving the torchlight full play on his features. "I am Endrek Sahr, Master Breeder, Creator of Life, and Race Architect. You are an enemy of the Ebon Hand, and I am here to determine if that marks the limit of the conflict between your goals and mine."

"The Ebon Hand is not our enemy."

"No? Are you not of Phyrexia, false priest? Have not you and your kind stolen and ruined the fruits of artificers' efforts for generations? Does not the worship of your Yawgmoth demand that we make war on each other?"

Y'sith raised his head off the inclined slab and snarled haughtily. "Soft fool. We are a force beyond your ken."

Endrek Sahr smiled once more. "But not our enemy."

"When a swamp insect stings, do you go to war against it? Do you declare it your enemy?" The prisoner lowered his head back onto the slab. "So it is with Yawgmoth and your precious Order. Begone, Master Breeder. You and the Ebon Hand are an annoyance; nothing more."

Sahr's eyes darkened, and drawing a dagger from the folds of his billowing sleeve, he approached with slow, deliberate motions. He rested the knifepoint across the bridge of the captive's nose.

"The bite of some swamp insects can kill," he said, gently inscribing ellipses around Y'sith's eyes. "And some, I think you'll find, bite hard enough to pierce even the hide of a Yawgmoth priest." The dagger tapped solidly on Y'sith's forehead, and clicked as if striking a stone wrapped in velvet. Then it disappeared back into the robe. "Choose your enemies and friends carefully, Y'sith. Though you are sworn to destroy artificial life, my primary interest is in the genuine variety. I have no need of brass cogs or clockworks: my creations are truly alive."

"We do not destroy, soft fool, nor do we accept your distinction between 'true' and 'artificial' life. All life is energy, and we would rather see that energy put to constructive use than allow foolish artificers--or breeders--to make a mockery of it."

"'Constructive use?' No one and nothing has ever returned from your realm, false priest. Is it constructive to consume the work of others, which you find loathsome, and to produce nothing?"

Y'sith hissed again. "No one and nothing ever created on this plane is fit to survive in Phyrexia. We do not destroy your misguided efforts: Phyrexia does. It winnows out the weak and cauterizes the diseased. We no more loathe your artifacts than a surgeon loathes a gangrenous limb. Remember that the best and brightest of your artificers conquered entire cities with a clumsy recreation of a machine he glimpsed in Phyrexia, the height of artifact purity. But your pathetic marveling at his poor copy, this 'dragon engine,' demonstrates the poverty of your imagination and will."

"I see Phyrexian ire still runs deep on that subject. But again, I fail to see why your disdain for mechanical creatures should put you at odds with me. Artificers build machines; Phyrexians destroy them. But I am no artificer." Sahr turned away from the shackled priest, stroking his chin as he spoke. "If, as you say, there is no difference between real and mechanical life in Phyrexia, and if by Phyrexian standards, the greatest of our artificers was a groping child, then perhaps it is time for your faith and my work to intersect."

Sahr drew an armchair alongside the slab, and a torchbearer followed. The Master Breeder sat silently as the second bearer moved to illuminate Y'sith, and then said, "Do you not see how much we have to share with one another? I understand there are machines in Phyrexia that cannot be distinguished from living creatures; here, I build living creatures from nothing. My thrulls are alive, infused with eldrich energy until such time as the Order chooses to release it."

Y'sith spat on the floor, an oily froth, as close to Sahr's feet as he could manage. "You are deluded, Endrek Sahr. The creatures you breed are as inferior and weak as any that are built. They would not survive the First Sphere. 'Infused with energy?'" He sneered and spat again. "The wonders of Phyrexia draw power from the ambient energy around them. Your thrulls are perpetually limited by the single spark of creation. They will never be any more or less than they are at the moment of inception."

The priest's voice cracked with anger, and he fell back, panting softly. "We hold base dabblers such as you in the lowest regard. Just as you would not allow an initiate access to your most powerful secrets, we will not allow you to litter this or any other plane with your jetsam.

"As I lie here now, so does Mishra lie deep in the center of Phyrexia, his body wracked with fresh pain and torments day in and day out. He shrieks and cries in his prison, and begs us to forgive his transgressions against our faith. But he will never be forgiven. He will never be released." Y'sith rose up on his slab. "And when your time on this plane is done, Master Breeder, you will join him."

Endrek Sahr was silent for several long moments. Then, with a short, barking laugh, he rose expansively from his seat. "Thank you, my truculent friend. Though you have unwisely refused my invitation to share knowledge, you have nonetheless given me food for thought." He drew his dagger once more, and rammed it deeply into the arm of the chair, where it quivered. "May the rest of your conversations with the Order be as beneficial."

The Master Breeder turned then, his mind furiously baying after the dark inspiration it had just winded. He made haste from the chamber, leaving his attendants to collect the torch and dagger, and re-bar the door. The light they carried faded as they retreated down the corridor.

Alone, Y'sith listened for a moment, face expressionless, and then briefly smiled. It was a grim smile, one that set his lips like razors against each other. His eyes were alight, reflecting for barely a heartbeat the dark and malevolent brilliance that lies at the heart of Phyrexia itself.

And then, all was darkness. 

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Eater of the Infinite

 as told by Farouk ab Illah

 

I chose this story for inclusion in the encyclopedia because its style is distinctive to the legends of Rabiah. It is also an interesting tale of the creation (or re-creation, if you will) of two important peoples/beings: the Serendib efreets and the desert nomads. -Taysir

Blessed are we who live in Rabiah, which is but one of infinite Rabiahs, for our gods smile upon us and grant us bounty of which other people can but dream. In this time of bounty it is difficult to believe that such a land could ever be endangered, yet there once existed on this very sand a Serendib efreet whose heart was so cold and jealous he could not stand the thought of other beings sharing the same earth as he. This efreet fumed for years, vowing to the winds that one day none but he would walk Rabiah's endless lands, and while he muttered to himself he searched for a way to make his vow complete.

One day, a foreign planeswalker called upon the efreet to aid him in battle. The efreet performed heroically, and when the battle was done the planeswalker agreed to grant the jealous creature a wish. One can only assume granting a wish to an efreet amused the young 'walker, for why else would the magic-wielder make such an offer? Seizing upon this opportunity for which he had waited years, the efreet declared that he wished to be the only creature able to walk the lands of Rabiah.

Taken aback by the efreet's brash desire, the planeswalker pondered the request. Finally, after much thought, he reached out and placed a jewel on the efreet's forehead. Working magic unknown to us in these modern times, the 'walker split the efreet's mouth in two. He then turned his will upon the efreet's left hand, changing it into a hooked knife sharper than a grandmother's tongue.

"With these changes, I grant your wish, efreet!" the 'walker declared. "Anything that you cut with your left hand shall shrink to the size of a sand bug. Any such creature you swallow with your left mouth will disappear from all Rabiahs for all eternity--as will all other creatures of its kind. With enough perseverance, you may soon walk the planes of Rabiah in perfect solitude."

Glorying in his newly granted power, the efreet turned to the first creature he saw and speared it with his left hand. No sooner had he done so than the poor creature shrunk to exactly the size of a sand bug, and the efreet popped it in his left mouth and swallowed it whole. Just what the efreet ate we do not know, for the creature and all its cousins no longer exist in our lands. Greatly pleased with his success, the efreet declared himself Eater of the Infinite. From that moment on, the Eater searched out all the creatures he could find and began casting them and their kin out of Rabiah.

For a fortnight the Eater's appetite ran unchecked. But then a young bird maiden, by the name of Fyhra, witnessed the Eater destroy a whole herd of beasts by merely shrinking and eating one. After quietly following him for a day and a night, Fyhra soon realized that the Eater was destroying untold numbers of creatures. Praying to the all the gods she knew, Fyhra landed on a rocky outcropping near the Eater just as dawn blessed Rabiah with her first blush.

"Why do you eat these beasts, efreet?"

Laughing, the Eater responded: "Why, because I can. And because with every creature I eat, I eat every one of its kin on all the Rabiahs. Soon I shall have Rabiah to myself. Come closer, little bird maiden, that your kind may join the Infinite inside me."

Shaking her head in fear, Fyhra flew off quickly into the morning sun. As he was in a lazy mood, and perhaps because he reveled in Fyhra's fear, the Eater did not pursue the terrified bird maiden.

Flying on the morning winds, Fyhra wondered how she could possibly stop the Eater from casting all creatures out of Rabiah. Although her fear carried her for the entire day, Fyhra finally grew too tired to continue. Alighting upon the cooling evening sands, she sobbed quietly to herself.

"Why do you cry to yourself, winged one?" a voice whispered from the shadows of a large dune.

"Who are you?" Fyhra exclaimed.

"I am but a Watcher, and I see you have met the Eater of the Infinite," the shadowy figure replied.

"Yes, I have, and I fear Rabiah will soon be his and no one else's," Fyhra responded.

"Perhaps. But, then again, perhaps not. Take the gift I leave you and wake the man you shall find asleep on the other side of this dune. The Eater may destroy with his left mouth, but there is balance in all things. There is a right for every left, a beginning for every end. Tell the young nomad you wake of the Eater, and of my words. Together you may yet save your home."

Fyhra was bursting with questions, but before she could ask even one, the shadowy figure shimmered and faded with the wind. Only a small but bulky carpet, neatly rolled, remained. Upon unrolling this, Fyhra immediately realized from its woven pattern of wings and swirls that the stranger's gift was a flying carpet.

Still pondering the stranger's words, Fyhra took up the carpet and flew over the large dune. Lo and behold, exactly where the stranger said he would lie, there rested a young nomad. Fyhra silently thanked the gods for bringing him to this dune. She landed beside the scruffy man and called out softly to him. When he awoke, she introduced herself and poured out the entire story to the solemn nomad.

The man, whose name was Pakhir, listened intently to the bird maiden's story. When she finished, he said, "Thank you for telling me this tale, maiden. When I left my family's camp this morning I went to find a place to die.

"For, you see, I am the last of the nomads. The others have died from a terrible plague. The world will grieve our loss. Yet, perhaps now I may end our family's saga in glory, instead of infamy," Pakhir finished.

"But who was the man who instructed us?"

"Does that matter? Either he tells the truth and we may save our land, or else he lies and all is lost. We can only try."

Nodding her head, Fyhra took to the air with Pakhir following on the flying carpet, and traveled back the way she had come only the previous day. The pair finally found the Eater nearing the city of Bassorah. Stretching her shimmering wings to their fullest, Fyhra swooped round and round the Eater, calling and taunting the would-be world-killer.

The Eater eagerly followed the darting maiden as she maneuvered him away from the city with its teeming multitudes. When the Eater was judged to be far enough removed from the city to ensure no one else was endangered, Pakhir screamed out his family's name and plunged directly at the efreet.

The Eater's two mouths opened wide with glee as he deftly speared Pakhir on his left hand, shrinking and twisting the young nomad. At that moment, Fyhra again swooped down and swiftly shoved the now-tiny Pakhir into the efreet's open right mouth. "A right for every left, a beginning for every end," she chanted as the Eater's eyes grew wide with horror. For when Pakhir's dying body entered the Eater's right mouth all of the nomad's direct ancestors appeared again across Rabiah, alive and well.

But Fyhra and Pakhir weren't finished with the Eater. As soon as the efreet's left hand touched the inside of his right mouth his enormous, unquenchable hunger grew even more immense. Swallowing and swallowing, the Eater's right mouth soon consumed first his hand and then his arm. In rapid order, the Eater of the Infinite swallowed himself piece by piece until only the echoes of his enraged screams were left upon the air. Yet, in the very moment that the Eater consumed himself and disappeared from Rabiah, dozens of other Serendib efreets were reborn upon the land. Each efreet was marked with the double mouth and hook of its progenitor. Yet, fortunately for us, the new efreets did not possess the Eater's dread power.

They do, however, possess a curse. For all Serendib are bitter with the legacy of defeat, and any who wish to summon or command one would do well to think twice on the matter. The Serendib curse those who would use them as did that long-ago planeswalker, causing suffering and pain to the magic-worker so long as they work in his or her service.

And what of Fyhra? She became a heroine of her people, as did Pakhir of his--for Fyhra told the desert nomads of his great sacrifice on their behalf.

And who was the man who told Fyhra how to defeat the Eater? That is something we shall never know. Perhaps it was a god who took pity upon our lands. Or perhaps a planeswalker . . . even the very planeswalker who granted the Eater his fell power. We must be content with our knowledge of how the Serendib efreets came to possess two mouths, and how the nomads will walk forever upon our lands.

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The Hero's Tale

The following excerpt gives an interesting insight into the life of the famed Benalish hero. Usually, one glimpses these renowned warriors only when they are fully trained, as if they had risen full-formed from some god's imagination, the perfect warriors. But, of course, such perfection requires much work and sacrifice. The author of this note, Noira, is but at the beginning of her life's work. --Taysir

Dearest Mother,

We're allowed to send one letter this month, but by this time next year I should be able to write whenever I choose. So, you see, it is not my fault this is the first I've written you. There's so much to tell, and I've so little time. Let's see . . . .

The city of Benalia is huge! Before I arrived here six moons ago I could never imagine such a place existed. Even from the highest of the council's towers at its center, it's impossible to see the city's edges. The census-takers claim there are more than two hundred thousand people here. Can you imagine?

It's funny. We've been learning history until my mind feels as if it's been danced on by the ghost of Tobias Andrion himself! We haven't truly begun arms training yet. In fact, I haven't touched a weapon more fierce than my eating dagger since I arrived. But every morning we practice a strange battle-dance that our instructor, Hero Tavin, promises will make us into the most graceful and deadly of warriors. Hero Tavin says it is the basis for the Fei' th Drange (that's "Soul Dance" in Sheoltun -- See? I have been learning.) The Fei' th Drange is a particularly deadly battle-form only taught to heroes of Benalia. I am honored to learn such a form, but I wish we'd get on to using weapons again!

We've also begun studying philosophy with Hero Wynne. I think the most important thing I've learned so far is that we are the chosen of the gods. Hero Wynne says that the gods' breath graced our brows even before our mothers'. This is why the gods call upon us so often to battle for them wheresoever they need. We must be ready for the call every moment of our lives. Sometimes I'm frightened to think about that . . . but, it's exciting and important too, don't you think?

Hmmm . . . . What else can I tell you? Well, the "blackguards" are a bit odd, but they're not so bad once you get to know them. They're all children of commoners (well, at least one commoner) but they're allowed into the ranks of the heroes anyway. They start younger than us--some aren't even ten when they begin training--and they always wear black leather and go about with shaved heads. They can't grow their hair until they graduate, and even then most of them keep their heads shorn. Some of my friends here think the blackguards are arrogant, but I bet they think the same of us.

I haven't gotten my hero's tattoo yet; I know you were wondering about that. We won't receive them until after our second year of training. So, I wear my clan tattoo, but nothing else yet.

Hug Derryn and give Kitten a treat for me!

Love,

Noira

P.S. I've still got the boar's-hair charm you gave me. So far, its luck is strong!