Encyclopedia Dominia: Histories and Fables - 'The Enemy of My Enemy', and 'Dying Breath'

  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: The Enemy of my Enemy, and Dying Breath. 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 Enemy of My Enemy

by Christopher R. Wilkes

Across the bay, the distant flare of Lucassa's Lighthouse burned in the soft night, throwing myriad sparks upon the waves. It shone with a friendly yellow light, beckoning wayfarers and their ships to the safety of the Orvadian trading town.

Yet of the group aboard the dhow, only the Orvadian fisherman Tarin gazed across the water to the lights of Lucassa. The rest watched the dark water itself as it slid by, or listened to the waves and the sigh of the breeze, alert for any changes that might signal the arrival of newcomers. Tarin sat tiredly at the stern of his boat, alone at the steering oar, hoping the merfolk would make their presence known soon. He was a leathery nub of a man, eroded by sun, wind, sea, and time. His passengers frightened him, and he rued giving in to the temptation of gold the merman had promised.

"Surprised" had not quite described Tarin's feelings a week ago when a merman heaved himself into the dhow. Merfolk had grown rare and unfriendly since the Empress of ancient Vodalia had returned and ruined the trade between her people and the Orvadians. She curtailed commerce between the two peoples and heavily taxed what little trade remained. Business and personal relationships became strained and difficult to maintain, and blood had spilled more than once between man and merfolk since then. Tarin's first thought upon the merman's bizarre introduction had been to grab up his gaff, but the dull thud of a heavy gold coin on the wood between them stayed his hand.

That one gleaming coin was more money than Tarin had seen in three years, and the merman promised nine more if Tarin would only bring certain people from Lucassa to a meeting spot on the water. Tarin had thought about life in Orvada during the dry days of the Empress, of the dull ache in his bones in the morning, of the tired, beaten look his wife always wore, and of how easily the last years of their lives would pass with that gold hidden in the hollow under the hearth. He had not thought about sharing a dark journey with a wild-haired Urborg War Mage, a hulking, tattooed Kukemssan privateer captain, or a dark-cloaked and cowled figure that hadn't left footprints in the soft beach sand. What would they do to him if the merman did not come? Tarin peered again at the lights of Lucassa and wished he was there, sharing friendly warmth, cheer, and ale inside the weathered walls of a tavern.

It was the Kukemssan who first noticed the merfolk, their heads and torsos breaking the waves near the small rock outcrop Tarin had been told to steer for. A gesture brought the others to his side. As Tarin reefed the sail and dropped a sea anchor, he glanced curiously at the pair in the water. It was obvious which of the two was the leader. Moonlight jeweled from the beads of water that slid down his heavily-muscled torso and glinted from his long-bladed spear. He was larger than even the big Kukemssan, and his chest was banded with strange markings. His voice was deep, full and melodious. Although his tone was formal and studied, he spoke with assurance and a note of command.

"I greet you, in the name of the citizens of Etlan-Shiis. I am Aheeraq, chosen successor to the High Councilor of Etlan-Shiis. I thank you for meeting with me tonight."

The War Mage had a rusty voice, as if he had too often roared orders over the clangor of battle. "I am Isonidas of Urborg, Mage and War Captain." He motioned to the Kukemssan and the tall, motionless figure of the other mage. "My companions are Jelamau, Captain of the Kukemssan privateer Wave Splitter," a hint of scorn had come into his tone, but it evaporated into neutral sobriety as he continued, "and Khausiss, a priest of the Breathstealers. We are interested in the rich rewards you hinted at, but we have heard little of your people since the coming of your Empress during my grandfather's days. From your markings I see you are not of her court. What would you have us do?"

Tarin had shrunk further back into the stern at the realization that he was in the presence of a Breathstealer; he thought that even Jelamau had paled a bit as Isonidas said the word. Tarin's uncle had told a tale years ago of the Breathstealers: dark and evil no-longer-men who stole the life from others in order to live forever. If Aheeraq had heard this tale, it did not outwardly trouble him. He gestured to his companion who reached in to place a dark silken cloth on the dhow's middle bench. Unfolded, it cushioned thick gold coins, pale in the moonlight, around which lay lambent pearls and diamonds glowing with moon-fire. Jelamau licked his lips as he stared at the baubles and Isonidas smiled at the sight. Khausiss seemed to take no notice, standing unmoving and mute as Aheeraq replied.

"The riches are real, and this is but a paltry sample. Since fleeing the Homarids and the fall of Vodalia, we have watched hundreds of treasure ships crewed by scores of different races founder and sink. Their cargoes are of little interest to us, but they might appeal to you. Riches that you can only imagine, but the task we require in return is also of great magnitude." His voice took on an icy resonance. "I will see my people freed from their slavery. We will break the ancient castes once and for all and She who commanded the destruction of the High Council will meet with the doom that should have befallen Her three thousand years ago!"

In the sudden quiet following Aheeraq's angry outburst, Jelamau dropped to one knee and stirred the glittering wealth with a callused forefinger. "Consider your problems solved, oh soon-to-be ruler of the deeps." His eyes were fixed on the jewels and there was a hunger to his tone that made Tarin long once more for the safety of the tavern. "Even if the others here won't help, I know those who will." He swirled diamonds around with his finger and said softly, "Gladly . . . ." Isonidas tore his eyes from the mesmerizing contents of the black cloth, glared suspiciously at Jelamau, and then locked his gaze on Aheeraq. "Tell me, Councilor: why do you need outside help? Are you not the one who truly commands the hearts and spears of your people? How can a handful of ancient relics bring a powerful civilization to its knees?"

Aheeraq stared steadily back at him. "They may be few, but the power of their magic is immense. We fight them at every turn yes, but without hope, for we have no power comparable to theirs. Our magic could let you breathe in our waters, sustain and warm you, but it cannot blast living coral apart, nor freeze the very sea in our enemies' veins. Sadly, their power has cowed those who lack courage, and attracted many who seek power themselves. Their army is numerous." He paused, doubt evident in his eyes. "Thus I come to you now, while we are still strong enough to benefit from outside aid. I ask that you wield your power and skills to battle and destroy the Royal Mages of ancient Vodalia." He looked steadily at each of the warriors in turn for a long silent moment. Tarin was relieved not to be noticed. Aheeraq finished in ringing tones, "Do you have the power, the strength, and the willingness to do this? In return I will provide you with a thousand times what I have shown you here." Jelamau started to reply, but Isonidas cut him off with a roar of laughter. His hair flew wildly, though there was no wind, and blue fire leapt from finger to finger, dripping to hiss and sputter on the damp deck at his feet. "I fear no water Mages. I have fire enough to boil the seas around them. None shall-" he stopped, his speech cut short by a bubbling scream.

Tarin had seen the Dark Priest throw his cowl back to reveal a near-fleshless face with burning green eyes. Skeletal arms stretched up to the sky, and glimmering filaments of night itself tore free and plunged down at the priest's command, sliding with a furious hiss into the sea. At a gesture, a huge black net rose steaming out of the dark water, a screaming merman enmeshed within. Patterns of bright color shifted across his skin where it wasn't charred by the touch of the web, and he writhed and howled in horrible pain. Then, with the abrupt closing of Khausiss' hands, the net contracted into nothing, leaving bloody bits of strained merman to patter back down into the sea. Even Aheeraq seemed stunned as silence returned.

The Breathstealer turned to him, and with a voice of dust and shadows said, "Be more watchful for spies in the future. They could be . . . inconvenient." It seemed to Tarin that his eyes flicked towards Isonidas. He continued, "I, at least, will undertake your commission. I foresee no insurmountable difficulties . . ." He stretched thin lips in a rictus smile and slid his cowl back up. The green eyes glowed from within and the tomb-like voice dropped to a bare whisper, ". . . sire." Isonidas looked at his erstwhile companion speculatively, but no one spoke for a moment. Aheeraq looked at them with troubled eyes. "I will meet you three, with your men and ships, here in five nights." The other merman tossed a small heavy purse at Tarin who was cowering in the stern. Then the two merfolk sank into the sea, leaving the dhow rocking gently and the treasure still bright on the cloth. Jelamau bundled it up while Isonidas looked back at the darker swirling water where the spy had died. Tarin got up slowly, pulled in the sea anchor, and began to raise the sail. A fog had begun to roll in, and the light from Lucassa's Lighthouse was further obscured by the mist and the haze that lingered from the Breathstealer's magic. Tarin glanced down at the small purse that lay at his feet, but made no effort to claim it. With these men aboard he would need to go carefully if he ever wanted to spend what he had earned. He concentrated on thinking like a sailor, on getting the dhow back to the dock.

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Dying Breath

By Teeuwynn

The following brief tale gives some insight into the elusive world of the assassin cult known as the Breathstealers. It is notoriously difficult to gain information about these silent killers, and it is certainly unusual for a Breathstealer to record his deeds. However, although we cannot be certain about the veracity of the exact details of this story, Suq'Atan history documents the results of the assassin's mission. -- Taysir

Third Day, Fifth Month.

Today I heard a mother whisper to her child that if he would not hold his tongue in the market then a Breathstealer would come in the night and steal his breath. In the morning the mother would have to wail for her child's spirit, stolen along with her child's life. What a story to tell a babe! But perhaps the young mother thinks the Breathstealers are merely fantasies to frighten children into behaving. I fear she is wrong.

-- Qhattib, Vizier of Amiqat

Two Days before the Slumber of the Bright Moon.

My mother named me Hilel because I was born at the very moment the Bright Moon turned its face away from us for the month. I have always been most comfortable in darkness. Even before I was stolen by the Breathstealers. When you become a Breathstealer you must face the ending of one life in order to begin your new one. I can still feel the breath leave my protesting lips, the air turn stale in my lungs, the hazy burning away of the conscious mind before awakening again to utter night. Last night I was awarded my first chance to gift a soul with shadow. I am honored to have been chosen for a mission of such importance. I must prepare. In two days I shall eat the breath of the living.

-- Hilel, Breathstealer

Fourth Day, Fifth Month.

I awoke this morning in a cold sweat. I dreamed the Pasha was assassinated and, when the other advisors turned to me for guidance in this time of crisis, I had no wisdom to give. The Pasha is not a man of profound wisdom, but he is an icon to our people and icons are of increasing value in these desperate times. This is the second time I have dreamed of death this month. I fear for the Suq'Ata nation. Kaervek's armies may only walk the land now in little more than memory, but I feel more certain than ever that the Breathstealers are real, and that they breed like a virus in the close darkness of our city streets.

-- Qhattib, Vizier of Amiqat

One Day before the Slumber of the Bright Moon.

I have watched my prey for a full day and a night now, and I believe my path is becoming clear. If I can maintain the patience of death I shall surely succeed in stealing the breath from perhaps the most important man in all of the Suq'Atan empire. When he closes his eyes tonight, I shall close mine. Our breath shall be as one. I will dream his dreams. Our spirits will ride the night winds together. When the next night comes and I enter his chambers, his spirit will welcome me as a brother. I sleep in the arms of the Spirit of the Night.

-- Hilel, Breathstealer

Fifth Day, Fifth Month.

I dreamed again of the Pasha's death. Only this time my tongue did not desert me. No, in this dream I spoke passionately of how our brave land must hold another man who could lead our people in honor and wisdom. I am ashamed to admit I even spoke ill of our Pasha in my dream. It is not his fault that his wisdom is that of the cheetah and not of the lion. I must pay special tribute to the Pasha in my prayers this night.

Has our land won its freedom from Kaervek's aggressive suit only to be losing itself to the wiles of a far more cunning foe? I wish the gods would grant me wisdom in this matter, but I fear in the past few days I see better sleeping than awake. I fear for our nation. If the Breathstealer assassins or another, unknown enemy should take the Pasha's life, the Council would almost certainly choose Telim'Tor as our new Pasha. Although Telim'Tor's words feed those hungry for a powerful protector, the loaf of his knowledge is unleavened by wisdom of any kind. The Suq'Ata might do better to have a child lead us. At least a child's gullibility is expected.

I shall pray for the Suq'Ata as well as the Pasha. And on the morrow I shall talk to the Pasha of my fears...for him, for our land, and my concerns about Telim'Tor. I am certain I can get our leader to allow me leave to investigate these Breathstealers. Yes, I am certain now that they are the real danger to our land.

May the gods' eyes be as blind as a mother's to her children's imperfections.

-- Qhattib, Vizier of Amiqat

The Slumber of the Bright Moon.

This night have I granted the Dying Breath for the first time. It is true that you can feel the spirit slipping its mortal tethers. We are indeed celestial beings. Last night as I walked the path of dreams with my brother, Qhattib, I could feel his fear of my kind. And I could feel his worries about Telim'Tor. What well-founded concern! Telim'Tor will one day soon, Spirit willing, grace the throne of the Suq'Ata...and his mind is as easy to bend as summer grass. Yes, my new brother had reason to fear. Tonight he breathes no more and we are safe from the brilliant light of his wisdom. Qhattib's mind was as a sun in Suq'Ata, and we prefer the darkness.

-- Hilel, Breathstealer

 

 

Encyclopedia Dominia: Histories and Fables - Ambassador's Tale, Bigasdat's Escape

 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: Ambassador's Tale, Bigasdat's Escape.  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 Ambassador's Journal

The following account was composed by a Shanodin dryad living in the Llanowar forest. The Llanowar and Shanodin peoples share a deep respect and connection despite the tremendous distance (several thousand miles) between their forests. The dryad, Sythia, did not record this story on paper, as most cultures do. Instead, she sang it into the wood of her tree. The connection between a dryad and her tree is so strong that the dryad's thoughts are imprinted within the living wood--for those who know how to read them. --Taysir

Although I have lived within the Llanowar's comforting shade for several bloomings of the crocus, I have seldom ventured from Hedressel's sheltered peace. The druids still seem overawed by my presence. Whenever I pass into my tree to rest or meditate I fear the younger ones will swoon at the sight. Perhaps this reaction comes from envy of the dryad's bond with the forest? Perhaps not.

The elves here in Llanowar divide themselves into tribes, or elfhames, as they call them. Each elfhame has a distinct populace, territory, leadership, and social structure, and although most of the elfhames get along with one another there is occasional strife between them. In the past, elfhames have even warred among themselves, although no such grand hostilities mar the tranquillity of the forest now.

The other month I asked the druids if I could begin to see more of the splendors of Llanowar. The structure of the elfhames intrigues me, and I have seen practically nothing of the forest, save the holy ground of Hedressel, since my arrival. The druids readily assented, asking only that I allow a cadre of the Order of the Steel Leaf to escort me. When I asked why members of the military should accompany me, Cedrian, the eldest druid, responded that such an escort was first and foremost a show of respect, but there are also dangers in the woods, with orcs from the Ironclaw Mountains occasionally making raids into the forest. Thus, escorted by nearly a dozen Steel Leaf elves, I ventured out to see Elfhame Loridalh.

Over the course of our journey (which lasted nearly a fortnight) I learned much of Girian and the Steel Leaf under his able command. The young elves, with their eye patches, tattoos, and brightly colored hair, remind me of the young everywhere: overeagerness and passionate belief are their greatest faults--and their greatest assets. Long ago given a mandate by their goddess, Freyalise, to guard the forest and the elves, the Steel Leaf have never shirked their duties. In fact, they seem to have stuck so staunchly to Freyalise's words that they can even condemn elves who act in ways the Order does not believe fitting. Still, Girian and the others were the souls of courtesy to me.

When we arrived in Loridalh I was immediately reminded of a child whose mother has come home from a long journey. The child clings to her mother's skirts, as though to remain attached to her mother forever so that terrible absence can never occur again. Likewise, these elves seem forever striving to increase their connection to the infinite life-giver, nature.

The buildings of the Loridalh are unlike any I have seen elsewhere. The structures are created from living wood, coaxed into existence over countless years (although the elves did admit to me that their magic hurries the process). The Loridalh carefully set up frameworks, physical sketches of rooms and buildings, beside a chosen tree. The tree's wood is then encouraged to flow in the shapes indicated, creating ever-ascending buildings that reach well into the heights of the forest. I found this arrangement beautiful and highly indicative of the elves' psychology. It is no wonder they look on my ability to live within wood with such envy and awe.

All this time, the Steel Leaf's patience seemed frayed. As I discussed the Loridalh building philosophy with the elders, I noticed the strained looks on the faces of my waiting escort. While they thought I was sleeping, I overheard several of the Order grumbling about drawing such gloryless duty as escorting an ambassador. Ah, youth!

It was just as I was getting ready to depart the city that I saw something I believe brought me to a slightly deeper understanding of my hosts.

A young mother hovered on the edges of the small crowd observing my visit, her child cradled tenderly in her arms. I glanced up to find her looking at me with tears in her eyes, and I began to cross over to her. Girian stepped up, reminding me that it was past midday and we might want to consider leaving for home soon. I patted Girian's arm reassuringly and approached the young mother (I never did discover her name). When I asked her why she was crying, she responded that she was certain my visit was a sign from Freyalise, for her child was named Llonya, which means "dryad" in Old Elvish. With such a sign from the goddess, surely her child must be blessed.

Staring down at the solemn elf-child, I watched the girl's fragile hands reaching up towards me, or perhaps the sky, a braided twig-toy clutched in her hand. I took the child into my arms and held her up towards the dappled light; still the child waved impatiently. As I glanced at Girian, who stood with arms folded grimly over his armor, I presented the child to the largest tree in the town. Grasping at a living branch, the child pulled the smallest leafy twigs into her mouth while her other hand tangled itself in my hair. Then little Llonya began to cry. Hastily, her mother collected her, apologizing for her daughter's behavior.

The Llanowar are like this child, I thought. Although they see themselves as ancient sages and warriors, they are really still youngsters torn between the desire to leave their home and the desire to stay within their mother's arms forever.

Smiling to myself at this insight I could never share with my escort, I nodded to the relieved Girian. It was time to return home.

 

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Bigasdat's Escape

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

I never did like Bigasdat. Mom Three-Slugs named him "Bigasdat" 'cause he was big as two cats when he was born. I only got named "Flegg" 'cause Mom had a cold when I came out. So, I never did like Bigasdat.

Anyway, Bigasdat stole one a' Gramma Gooseguts's kites the other day and went flying. He says he borrowed it, but from Gramma's curses I don't think she agrees. Anyway, Bigasdat got a good wind and whoop! off he went. Giblet, did he go! All the way up and out 'til he hung over da Forest of Death. Then he dropped like Grampa Umph after he ate dose three rocks. (We never found out why Grampa did that.)

Anyway, I was happy then 'cause I thought Bigasdat was gone. But now he's back. And he thinks he's a hero. Sheesh!

So Bigasdat starts bragging: "Yah! I crashed dat kite--kerbang--right in da Forest of Death. The crash woulda killed Flegg here, or any of you, flat. But I swung into a tree and lived."

Which means Bigasdat closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and waved his arms like he always does when he's scared, and his hood probably got caught in a tree branch.

"Da forest had the hugest trees ever a goblin saw. They went up to da sky and da roots went almost as high. And everything was silent like when we all wait for Chief Blurglump to belch. I knew if I waited da death elves would come. But I couldn't see da sun, so how's I to start runnin'?"

If the trees are so high, how come I can see da sky over 'em now, huh?

"Then I heard 'em--there musta been five . . . nine . . . no, ninety of 'em, all comin' fer me! Death elves with their pointed teeth, evil eyes, and poison arrows. So I knew home was da way they weren't. I coulda fought them if there were only ten or so, but with so many I had ta run. Mom Three-Slugs woulda hated it if I died."

Yeah, who'd she have to klunk when I'm not around? And who'd ever believe so many elves came after Bigasdat? 'Sides, even one elf'd send Bigasdat screamin' naked into a snowstorm.

"So's anyway, I ran and ran for hours. I don't think any goblin ever ran so long. I could hear da elves everywhere, and once I hadda hide in a pile of leaves. But they didn't find me, no."

Then da elves are stupider'n Bigasdat's pet stone. Bigasdat can't hide from Gramma Gooseguts, and she's half-blind and deaf!

"Finally, after what musta been two or three days, I escaped da Forest of Death and got back to da Ironclaws. So's even a whole tribe of pointy-ears couldn't get one goblin--and dat's me. Hah!"

"But, 'Gas, you was only gone fer an hour. And your kite only crashed a stone's throw inta da forest," I pointed out.

"Well, it seemed like days, and if it was only an hour it's 'cause I'm so fast! Anyway, da kite's at least an hour's run inta da forest."

"Yeah? Den how come I can see it from here, bug-burp?"

Bigasdat stared at da forest and da kite hangin' from a tree right there fer as long as it takes Gramma ta catch a bug with her toes. Then he musta seen the logic of my statement, 'cause he bopped me. So I bopped him back. My fist can out-logic Bigasdat's anyday.

Anyway, dis went on until we both fell asleep. And in da morning Gramma twisted Bigasdat's ears for hours. Guess my brother's good for something after all.

 

A Planeswalker's Guide to Caliman (Portal: Second Age)

 Welcome to Caliman!  An island to the south of the vast world of Dominaria, to the southeast of Jamuraa's coast.  Portal Second Age takes places here, sometime before the first Phyrexian Invasion.  

(sourced from the Portal Second Age guide book)  Thanks to u/TrioCarto for the scans for each page and faction.  

Caliman's elves, goblins and humans have long coexisted in relative harmony — or ignorance of each other. But in the last 150 years, disagreements between the races have led to skirmishes, and those skirmishes may eventually lead to war.

The island uses a mixture of technology and magic. Seagoing merchants draw on ancient Thran technology; the swamp dwellers have evil Phyrexian artifacts and trade them with the goblins; the humans benefit from the genius of a great inventor. Only the elves of the northwest forest, masters of green magic, are without any technology.

White

White is the color of Alaborn, a human kingdom dominating Caliman's southern plains. It is a civilization at the height of its architectural, intellectual, and artistic accomplishments.

Over thousands of years of peace, Alaborn's weapons and armor became increasingly elaborate and useless. When the Alaborn finally encountered the goblin tribes of the mountains, humiliating military defeats followed. Only ingenious military inventions saved them from complete destruction.

Recently, the Alaborn have discovered a new enemy, whose cunning and ruthlessness far exceeds that of the goblins — the swamp queen, Tojira.

(illustration: Mike Zug and Kev Walker)

 

 

Blue

Blue is the color of the Talas, an agile and muscular race from far to the west of Caliman. Over thousands of years, they have become a significant power on the seas and scattered islands of this part of Dominaria.

Merchants and pirates, the Talas control timber towns to the east as well as several port towns built on ancient Thran ruins. About thirty years ago, they began harvesting the elves' rare featherwood trees, which yield an immensely light timber valuable for crafting ships and thopters.

(illustration: John Avon, Mark Tedin, and Mathew Wilson)

 

 

Green

Green is the color of the elves of Norwood, the northern forest. Over the thousands of years since they settled on Caliman, they have transformed their home into a sylvan paradise.

Elves are generally a little smaller than humans, with a slight but muscular build. Their skin color is primarily caucasian, and their average lifespan is 500 years.

All elves are well trained and proficient with missile weapons, and their ability to move silently makes them virtually unbeatable in their own territory.

Red

Red is the color of the mountain tribes — goblins, ogres, and giants.

Goblins are sneaky and tend to attack in small bands. Their weapons range from rocks and sharpened sticks to slings, bows, and some Phyrexian airguns they've traded for with the sweamp queen.

Ogres are large humanoids with massive, muscular builds. They recently created the dreaded battlesaw, a large chainsaw-like weapon that combines Phyrexian mana battery with a specially forged blade.

Giants are brooding and dangerous creatures. Their solitary nature means that little is known of them.

(illustration: Tony DiTerlizzi)

 

   

Black

Black is the color of the swamp queen and her minions.

For centuries, the salt marsh at Caliman's north end was uninhabited except for a few animals and semi-intelligent monsters. Ten years ago, this sorceress appeared in the ruins of the ancient Thran city there. Since then, she's grown in power, sending an increasing number of her forces out in search of artifacts and slaves.

The swamp queen is served by nightstalkers, magically created black-mana creatures. They ride large mechanical beasts whose spread feet allows them to easily lope through the uneven swamp terrain.

The stage is set for the forces of good and evil to march into battle.

(illustration: Kev Walker and Mark Tedin)