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
![[Priest of Yawgmoth]](https://web.archive.org/web/19990224210220im_/http://www.wizards.com/images/Card_Art/MTG/Yawgmoth_Priests.gif)
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.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eater of the Infinite
as told by Farouk ab Illah
![[The Eater of the Infinite]](https://web.archive.org/web/19990422072443im_/http://www.wizards.com/images/Encyclopedia.gif)
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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Hero's Tale
![[Benalish Hero]](https://web.archive.org/web/19990504195838im_/http://www.wizards.com/images/Card_Art/MTG/Benalish_Hero.jpg)
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!
![[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
![[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.