#the lithomancer

[art-of-mtg]

Nahiri, the Lithomancer (Commander 2014) - Eric Deschamps

[cur10uscr0w]

Character Analysis: Nahiri

With the return of web fiction, many Magic fans are celebrating the return of their favorite characters to the rich, exciting format that fed the rich boom of Magic fandom such as it was in 2016. Spoilers ahead for Episode 1: In the Heart of the Skyclave.

Read here: https://magic.wizards.com/en/articles/archive/magic-story/episode-1-heart-skyclave-2020-09-02 written by @AtGreenblatt on twitter / atgreenblatt.com

It has been a long time for these characters, both to grow in story, and for the fans to keep up with out of story. Nahiri is an oldwalker, a planeswalker born before the Mending (an event 60 years ago in canon that dramatically changed the Multiverse and those with sparks); Nissa sparked just as the Mending took place; and while Jace is only a human in his mid-twenties, he has lived through some pretty intense experiences that have shaped how he sees the world around him.

Episode 1 of Zendikar Rising begins with Nissa and Nahiri meeting on Zendikar, their shared home, and discussing how Zendikar has been gravely injured by the Eldrazi's presence. Their conversation is a foundation for showing who these planeswalkers are today, revealing how the past has morphed their ideologies and particularly their relationship with guilt and protection. 

Both characters view themselves as Zendikar's guardian. This identity is essential to the choices they've made all their life, and it is directly tied to the Eldrazi threat, be it 6000 years ago or just a century ago. Let's look at the beginnings of this self-imposed duty and focus on Nahiri this week.

Nahiri sparked and found herself at Sorin's mercy. Planeswalkers used to be ever more dramatic and dangerous in the old days, godlike in power and territorial of their worlds. There were strict protocols to enter other people's worlds, and intrusions were met with distrust.

"All I see is a tantrum," he said. "If you came to meet an equal, you should have come under truce, following the protocols for parley with a fellow Planeswalker."

Stone and Blood, 2016

"There's no 'we' here, dragon," said Sorin, rising. "There's us, and theres's you. And Zendikar is under her protection."

"Hello to you, too, Sorin of Innistrad," said the dragon. "And on the contrary, when it comes to this problem, 'we' means everyone, everywhere."

He turned his great head toward Nahiri.

"I am Nahiri, guardian of Zendikar," she said. She looked up into the newcomer's inscrutable eyes and tried not to seem afraid. "Whoever you are, you're here at my sufferance."

"Of course," said the dragon, bowing. "Well met, Nahiri of Zendikar, and thank you for your hospitality."

The Lithomancer, 2014

Sorin and Nahiri trained together, and became friends, though Nahiri knew she could not fully trust him. They embarked on fantastic and tragic journeys spanning decades to fight the eldrazi, and in that time, Sorin trained a deep distrust in Nahiri.

"May I have a word with you, Nahiri?"

The clipped, dry voice was right behind her, close enough that she should have heard the man walk up to her, should have felt his breath on her neck. But he walked like a cat, and he drew no breath, and the thought of his lips so close to her throat made her shudder. Vampire.

She'd known he was there anyway—he was walking on bare stone, after all—but he himself had told her not to let anyone know all her tricks. Not even her friends, which wasn't at all sure he was.

She turned to face Sorin Markov—Vampire, fellow Planeswalker, protector of the plane called Innistrad, and the closest thing she had to a friend in this place so far from the world of her birth.

The Lithomancer, 2014

Even so, he was the closest thing she had to a friend. Despite their at times antagonistic friendship, they both appreciated the other and were relieved to see each other was doing well upon their reunion. Nahiri had worried for him, and he was pleased to see her, even dropping his brooding exterior enough to joke and clasp her shoulder.

"You'll have to forgive my rudimentary attempt at shaping stone, young one."

She spun. Sorin!

White hair, black coat, those strange orange eyes. How terrible his aspect, how dire his gaze—and yet she could not keep herself from grinning.

"My friend!" she managed to say at last. "You're alive!"

He smiled back at her, walked toward her, and put his hand on her shoulder. From him, it qualified as elation.

Their time together highlighted her belief in what it meant to be a protector. She saw herself as Zendikar's, and together they tried to protect the Multiverse so the Eldrazi wouldn't harm their home planes. Nahiri views her part in all of this as one who must protect all life. Watching even one settlement suffer on a foreign world causes her heartache, and she strives to instill hope and provide comfort and safety—even in their last minutes.

"You've made their camp for them," said Sorin. "Again. I think it's time we left them to their own efforts."

"No," said Nahiri. "We're here to save them."

"You're here to save them," said Sorin. "I'm here to stop these creatures, on this world, before they spread to others—to mine, or to yours."

Down in the river valley, dark shapes writhed. The sounds of camp life were muted.

"I can't stand to watch them suffer," she said.

"Then turn away," said Sorin, "and look at the bigger picture."

The Lithomancer, 2014

She is ridiculed by Sorin, told by him—and later Ugin—to "think of the bigger picture". Nahiri is 1000 years Sorin's junior, and informed that Ugin is even older than him, and they treat her as a child for her idealistic worldview of preventing all harm, allowing no one to suffer needlessly. She follows their plans however, respecting Sorin's judgement.

He raised a hand and conjured a small, ghostly image of the enormous thing they had seen on the horizon of that doomed world.

"You were watching us," said Nahiri, realization dawning. "And you didn't help."

"There is a whole Multiverse of people to help," said Ugin, "and a multitude of ways to help them. While you were trying to stage a grand battle, I was watching, and learning, so that these creatures can be stopped in the long run. This is a goal the three of us share."

"That's my goal," said Nahiri. "But I question the moral judgment of anyone who views the destruction of an entire world as a research project."

"What have you learned about them?" asked Sorin, ignoring her.

Wonderful. The grown-ups were talking. He had done this to her before, when meeting with other Planeswalkers. But she trusted Sorin's judgment, for the most part. She would hear the dragon out.

The Lithomancer, 2014

When Ugin presents his plan, it is to trap the Eldrazi on a plane that meets the requirements Zendikar does. To find another world would take time, and Nahiri has seen the devastation the Eldrazi wreak.

"Nahiri…" said Sorin, in what she thought of as his aggrieved-parent voice. "You saw what they did to that place. You can keep it from happening again. You heard Ugin. If we succeed, Zendikar survives."

"Risked," said Nahiri. "Damaged. What gives me the right to put everyone here in danger?"

"What gives you the right not to?" asked Ugin. "I am telling you that we can risk one world to save all others. And all worlds, including that one, are already at risk. The choice is obvious."

He lowered his head to look her in the eye.

"If you would prefer not to put your own world in danger, we can take the time to find another plane that meets our needs. If it is defended by a Planeswalker, we convince its guardian to cooperate—By force, if necessary. If it is undefended, we simply begin."

The Lithomancer, 2014

She reluctantly accepts this hardship on behalf of her plane because she believes in Zendikar's strength, and Ugin points out that Zendikar has a protector—her—that can take care of the world while it holds onto the sealed titans. It's the right thing to do, and she acknowledges she couldn't handle the guilt of shoving away the responsibility onto another plane.

They would come here eventually, if they were not stopped. They would come, and when they did, she would not be able to protect her world. And if she trapped them on some other world, to save her own, how would she forgive herself? The air of her beloved home would hold a guilty tang forever.

Zendikar was strong. It could withstand the Eldrazi long enough to trap them. Zendikar would be their prison, Nahiri their jailer, one world and one Planeswalker standing steadfast to protect all others.

The Lithomancer, 2014

Five millenia pass, Nahiri sleeping within the world of Zendikar and keeping vigil over her prisoners. At this point, she has spent nearly all of her existence toiling to keep the Eldrazi at bay so the Multiverse may live in peace. Sorin, Ugin, and she worked together for a few decades setting up the trap, and she had some time with Sorin before that, but she has dedicated 5000 years to holding the Eldrazi for the benefit of the Multiverse because that was the best way to ensure her beloved home Zendikar survived. She still viewed time under the constraints of mortality during the hedrons' construction.

It had taken forty years to establish the hedron network—what had seemed like a lifetime to her then, when she was still immersed in her connections to ordinary mortals. Crafting one single hedron would not take nearly so long, though she did it alone. The hardest part would be shaping the surface without Ugin's guidance.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

In her sleep, the kor misremembered her words about the titans, making a prophet out of her. Vampires have begun to roam Zendikar, and they disrupted the hedron alignment enough to release Eldrazi broods against Zendikar once more.

Above the male figure's head, an arcing banner proclaimed the subject of the artwork: "Nahiri the Prophet, Voice of Talib."

She turned her back on the sculpture and strode out of the building. Outside, she raised her hands and clenched her fists, and a cloud of dust billowed around her as the building collapsed in on itself.

It was her fault. She had been the first to call Kozilek a god, and apparently the kor had remembered that word more than they had remembered her dire warnings about the gods destroying the world. She felt sick.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

Even as she approached, she could tell that this was the point where the hedron network had been disturbed. Right under her nose, while she sat alone in the Eye of Ugin. Fury boiled up in her, directed as much at herself as at whoever had done this.

Fury—another feeling she had forgotten. It felt good.

She strode toward the building, each step shaking the ground and causing trickles of gravel and dust to run down the walls. As she drew near, three dark figures came around the building from the other side, crouching into combat stances as they spotted her.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

The figures seemed human, but she didn't recognize their clothing from any culture she knew. Flimsy gauze barely covered their chests, revealing the stark red paint adorning their ashen skin. Sharp hooks protruded from their shoulders and upper arms and, as they snarled at her approach, she saw slightly protruding fangs.

Vampires? she thought. There are no vampires on Zendikar.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

Nahiri deals with this resurgence and the people who brought it upon them, though it is difficult, and she must do it alone. She had agreed to sleep away her life within Zendikar, promised that should she ever need Sorin or Ugin's help, they would aid her.

Worry blossoms in her, and she is moved to help her friend, Sorin, if he is unwell. It feels good to give in to overpowering emotion again, having fallen into an apathetic halflife during her vigil. She seeks to bring meaning to her long slumber.

Other feelings she had all but forgotten, concern and anxiousness, swelled up in her heart and they made her smile even as they made her ache. They made her feel alive—the sensation of her heart pounding in her chest, the sound of it in her ears, the movement of her muscles as her brow furrowed and her jaw tightened.

What had Sorin been doing all the years she had been cocooned here in the Eye of Ugin? Was he still alive? Had he forgotten her and her vigil over Zendikar? Had he succumbed to the same apathy that had held her for so long?

She would go and find him, wake him up if she needed to, remind him of her and Zendikar and the friendship they had once shared, remind him what it was to live, to feel, to care. She had saved Zendikar, and now she would save him. And then she would return and walk among her people again, she would teach and laugh and love again, and it would matter again. It would all matter.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

Her reunion with Sorin begins alright, he is clearly pleased to see her and she is relieved he is doing well; however, she becomes wary, uncertain, as to what could possibly have kept Sorin away from fulfilling his promise to come to her aid. 

This is also a pivotal moment in how she sees herself in relation to other planeswalkers; she realizes that they are now much closer in age than when she entered sleep and are something akin to equals rather than student and mentor.

She reached up to cover his hand with hers. She was awake now, her body suffused with the warmth of life. His fingers were as cold and dead as ever.

"You never came," she said. "On Zendikar, when I activated the signal from the Eye of Ugin, you never responded. I feared that—"

Sorin withdrew his hand, frowning.

"The Eldrazi have broken free of their bonds?"

"They did, yes."

"Where is Ugin?" he asked.

"He didn't come either," she said, trying not to let bitterness reach her voice. "But I handled it. On my own. With all the strength I could muster, I managed to reseal the titans' prison."

It struck her, suddenly, that she was now far older than Sorin had been when they had met. In her memory he towered over her, her ancient mentor, a thousand years her senior. Now, what difference did a thousand years make? They were equals. At least.

Stone and Blood, 2016

When she inquires why he didn't come, he reveals his magic protecting Innistrad may have possibly prevented her call from reaching him. He speaks to her patronizingly, and she realizes the possibility that he chose his plane over hers and left her to rot, having used her for her service to the Multiverse.

"It's not inconceivable," he continued, sounding bored, "that your signal from the Eye was unable to break through the magic that protects this plane."

Sorin's own spellcraft had kept her from contacting him? She felt a sudden sense of vertigo, and picked her next words with care.

"Did you know at the time that that would happen?"

"It did not occur to me," he said. "Though I see now that it was a possibility."

Stone and Blood, 2016

Get up? she cried. You broke my arm!

So fix it, he said. He wasn't even looking at her.

Fix it? Fix it? How in the hells—

Only then had he finally explained to her that she was no longer mortal. That her body was a convenience, a projection of her will.

You should have told me that to begin with, she said, holding back tears of anger.

Ah, he said, in that bored but benevolent voice. It did not occur to me.

He was using that voice now, talking down to her. But the girl he had mentored was long dead, buried in a tomb of stone. Only a Planeswalker remained. And a Planeswalker would not be condescended to.

Stone and Blood, 2016

"I don't want your enmity," said Nahiri. "All I ever wanted was your help, Sorin. You made a promise. Come with me."

"Not now," said Sorin, with infuriating calm. "Later, perhaps. This is a critical time—"

"A critical time!" snapped Nahiri. "The Eldrazi almost escaped. You're thinking in terms of eons, but for all I know the Eldrazi are loose now. All that we worked for will be lost, your own plane will be in danger—don't you care about that?"

It hit her, then. The imprisonment of the Eldrazi had become her life's work, a constant effort that had kept her bound to her plane for almost her entire existence. But for him it had been an eyeblink—forty years of mild effort, five thousand years ago, in exchange for millennia of peace of mind. And now, with his new countermeasures, perhaps Innistrad wasn't in danger. Perhaps Nahiri and Zendikar and a hundred million carefully placed hedrons had served their purpose, in the mind of Sorin Markov.

Stone and Blood, 2016

Their argument escalates to blows as Nahiri's pain at being used sharpens into anger. She trusted Sorin. She allowed Sorin and Ugin to use her home, and sacrificed so many years of her life to protect the Multiverse. Sorin still sees her as a child planeswalker and won't even come back to Zendikar like he promised to make sure their work doesn't go to waste.

"Don't dismiss this," she said. "I was willing to jeopardize my home by luring the Eldrazi to it. I promised to chain myself to Zendikar to watch over them as their warden. I spent millennia with those monsters. Do you know what that's like? All you had to do was come when I needed you."

The ground began to shake, the bedrock below them vibrating in sympathy with her mounting rage. Of all the stone and metal nearby, only the silver Helvault seemed beyond her reach.

"Don't presume to own my actions, young one. I am obligated to nothing. I owe you nothing! When your Planeswalker spark first ignited, it was I who discovered you. I could have ended you there, but I spared you."

He turned back to her, orange eyes full of malice, face inches from hers.

"I took you under my wing, and molded you into what you are," he said. "If you find it necessary to pester someone, go find Ugin. I have no patience for it."

No patience. No patience. Pain gave way to anger in a white-hot instant.

Stone and Blood, 2016

Strands of eager silver closed around her body, drawing her in. Shards of rock whirled through the air, the bedrock beneath their feet shifted at her rage, but the Helvault itself did not care.

"Damn you!" she screamed. "I trusted you!"

He loomed over her, now, the angel's wings spread behind him, and he spoke one last time before molten silver flooded her ears. He sounded almost sad. Almost.

"I never asked for your trust, child. Only your obedience."

Then the Helvault claimed her, and she vanished into a darkness vast and total.

Stone and Blood, 2016

She spends a thousand years trapped in the Helvault, lost in a sea of darkness and demons. Nahiri gave everything for the Multiverse, and her thanks is to be threatened with madness as she wastes away in a void.

It was not like her cocoon of stone back on Zendikar, the slab of rock where she had slumbered for five fitful millennia. In her cocoon, dreamlike, she could sense all of Zendikar, reach out to any part of it, appear wherever she wished.

This was much, much worse—only darkness, and falling, and the unmistakable scent of Sorin Markov.

Sorin would pay for his treachery. She would escape from this prison, and she would make him pay. She'd thought they were allies. Friends! Now she saw him for what he truly was: a monster, plain and simple.

Stone and Blood, 2016

She comes to realize Sorin is a monster that she should have never trusted, and she isn't the only being wronged by him. His own creation, Avacyn, has wound up in the Helvault and Nahiri recognizes her to be twisted with hate, and Sorin's puppet.

The angel rose toward Nahiri—slowly, slowly, in this timeless void—until they were side by side. The cloud of demons had dissipated as Sorin's protector gained the upper hand. The angel looked over at Nahiri, and for a moment their eyes locked—and finally Nahiri understood. Sorin hadn't enslaved an angel. He hadn't tricked her or coerced her. This angel stank of Sorin, just like the Helvault.

He had made her. Just like the Helvault.

The angel recognized her, from their long-ago fight. Dark eyes flashed with fury—fury Sorin had instilled. He had created her in his own image, twisted her from the beginning. Made her hateful. Made her his. Nahiri shuddered.

Another being grievously wronged by Sorin Markov, one with no chance of vengeance or redress. No chance of freedom. A porcelain doll, to replace the student he had lost.

Stone and Blood, 2016

When she is finally broken out of the Helvault, she returns to Zendikar, a thousand years since she first realized the hedron network was being messed with, and finds her home to be a husk of what it once was. She knows what titans can do to a plane, eating the mana and corroding the land to such a degree the world itself cracks. She resigns herself to the fact that she can't destroy them herself, that Sorin's selfishness has led to the destruction of her home and all the Multiverse, and that she intends to take revenge on Sorin first.

Nahiri fell to her knees, pressing her hands into that lifeless dust.

If this was loose on her world—

If what happened here could happen everywhere—

If she had no preparations, a thin shard of her old power, and a hedron network centuries out of true—

Then the Zendikar she knew was dead. There was no saving it. One might as well try to stop the sun in the sky. She closed her eyes and saw her Zendikar, Zendikar as it had been. The world she had let Sorin Markov destroy. Hot tears of rage ran down her face and landed in that awful dust with a hiss.

"As Zendikar has bled, so will Innistrad."

She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands, at hands that had shaped stone and trapped titans. They were covered in gray dust.

"As I have wept, so will Sorin."

Stone and Blood, 2016

In these six millenia, we see Nahiri give everything, even her sense of self, for the protection of Zendikar. She is thought naïve and a bleeding heart for her unconditional care for those who walk all the planes of the Multiverse. She is routinely told by her mentor, her friend, her ally, that she must focus on the big picture. She is told that she is sacrificing herself for the greater good, to keep balance, and she is congratulated in this endeavor after decades of hard work.

Looming above the highlands of Akoum, the three Eldrazi stood petrified, surrounded by a web of floating hedrons. Nahiri knew the earth here. It was already reacting, growing around the great Eldrazi like a scab over a wound. The teeth of Akoum would swallow them, and the inhabitants of Zendikar would scour the plane of their brood. Zendikar had survived, ravaged but whole, and its people would learn to live in the shadows of the hedrons.

"Well done, Nahiri," said Sorin. "This was your work. Your sacrifice."

The three of them would test the strength of the lock, make sure the titans were secure. Perhaps Sorin and Ugin would help her scour the land of the Eldrazi broods. She hoped so. And then, sooner or later, the two elder Planeswalkers would depart, and Nahiri—and the Eldrazi—would remain.

She stared up at the silent, stony shapes. Ramparts of stone already crept up around them. Perhaps in a thousand years they would be forgotten, their destruction fading into legend. But Nahiri would not forget them, and neither would the land itself.

"This was our work," she said. "My work is just beginning."

The Lithomancer, 2014

When she wakes up from a watch that lasts thousands of years? Her response is to relish in emotion because she has let herself be encased in stone for so long. She laughs through pain because it's so novel, and she thinks of her friend who should be helping her. Nahiri worries for his safety, wonders if he has come upon a similar fate as she had, vows that she will bring love and laughter to his life once more as she dreams of walking through markets and experiencing life again.

His betrayal is a knife in the back. As far as Nahiri is concerned, his words all those centuries back were hollow. He never considered the pain she may be in, nor the fact she may not hear her call for help, as he rose defense around his home. She saves Zendikar from its first Eldrazi resurgence and rushes to save her friend, only to find he has moved on and doesn't care about her.

In a Multiverse where she has failed—the Eldrazi have escaped and will eat all of creation one way of the other—she has nothing to lose. She only has hope that she can exact revenge, and buy as much borrowed time for Zendikar while she does. She knows from her work with Sorin and Ugin that the Eldrazi can be directed, and will ignore other planes in their path.

The hedrons were lure as well as trap, sending out pulses of magical energy that drew the Eldrazi like the scent of blood draws sharks. Slowly, ponderously—and, Sorin reported, ignoring other worlds along the way—the Eldrazi approached Zendikar.

The Lithomancer, 2014

Nahiri destroys Sorin's bloodline, his home, and traps Sorin in rockface, leaving him captured in rockface so he cannot planeswalk away. She leaves him to watch the destruction of everything he holds dear. She leaves him trapped like he left her.

Innistrad is no longer her concern, she's been gone from Zendikar too long. Zendikar had been her salvation to get her through her millenia-long jailing, imagining it in its entirety. Her duty to Zendikar becomes forefront once more, having written off Innistrad, and she is dismayed by just how much has changed in her absence. While the Gatewatch trap Emrakul and halt the Eldrazi threat, Nahiri is focused on how she can help her beloved world, afflicted by the Roil.

Her whole life has been dictated by duty. She sees Zendikar as hers, because when she walked the Multiverse before her slumber, planes belonged to the planeswalkers that claimed them. It is also her obligation to fix what has become wrong because in her absence, her work has irrevocably changed Zendikar and its inhabitants. Her words have been twisted into idolization of the Eldrazi and her hedrons have become a sacred piece of kor spirituality.

Through episode one of Zendikar Rising, Nahiri is easily angered. Her guilt is expressed through fury, because she sees her work on Zendikar as failure. Skyclave fell, and the world is so unstable she can barely get through a short conversation without the world trying to swallow her. When the Roil was new, she likened it to a scab festering over a wound, and it seems 6000 years has only made her disgust of it more severe.

She speaks to Nissa with the same casual dismissal that Sorin and Ugin treated her to, because all her very long life, older planeswalkers treat younger planeswalkers as children. She manipulates conversation to put herself in a place of knowing and leading, not revealing everything so that Nissa must follow if she wishes to aid.

"I might have a solution," Nahiri replied, inclining her head toward the Skyclave. "Something that will heal Zendikar."

Nissa blinked. "You do?" she blurted in surprised, and then awkwardly added, "Sorry, I mean, you're not exactly known for healing. After what you did on Innistrad . . ."

Nahiri raised an eyebrow. "Says the person who set the Eldrazi free."

"I didn't—"

The elf stammered, but Nahiri raised a hand.

"We've both done things that have caused great damage. Let's try to undo some of it."

In the Heart of the Skyclave, 2020

"Look around you—this Skyclave is healing. The Roil stopped below us, and the land is calming. People will be able to rebuild here!" Nahiri said gesturing at the Skyclave's repair.

"At the expense of Zendikar's life," Nissa retorted. She reached out her awareness to the plants and moss that grew in the corners and cracks of the Skyclave, but they didn't respond. Nissa knew then that everything that lived in that ruined fortress was dead.

"You don't know what Zendikar was like," Nahiri said, her voice tight with anger, "you don't know how stunning and bright its people and cities used to be."

"And you don't know what Zendikar is like now. It's still beautiful, Nahiri"—Nissa reached out her hand—"give me the key."

In the Heart of the Skyclave, 2020 

She has spent so long trying to protect Zendikar, and she is willing to do anything to have back the Zendikar that she remembers. To return the Skyclave to the kor. To return Zendikar's stone to the peaceful earth it was before she let herself be duped by an elder dragon and vampire she thought was her friend.

She grieves the world she left behind, unable to see the beauty of the world that she now stands in. On Innistrad, she thinks to herself that a thousand years in the Helvault is rest enough for several lifetimes, and her rage has been building in all that time, rekindled after she let herself fall apathetic for too long.

The sacrifice of some elementals—of even a person or two as we saw in the trailer—is worth it for The Bigger Picture, that she has been taught to seek.

We will have to wait and see how the story unfolds and how her fury carries her through.

Check out Magic Story next week Wednesday for episode 2, and I will be following up on Thursday with a character analysis of Nissa!

[piaco]

The Dark Dinasty

The planeswalker could feel his mana and his powers fading as the servant sucked the jugular's blood. The creature swallowed the fluid of his mortal body in large swallows, in spasms of an irrational, blind, wildly objective hunger. As he tried in vain to focus on his distant mana bonds and recall the most banal of magic to get rid of the bloodsucker, he cursed his own nostalgic nature. Why should he have maintained this worldly, fragile and vulnerable form? He was a god. His power was unlimited. His knowledge was vast. He could have manifested whatever physical body he wanted. But why, damn it, did he remain so fond of this miserably weak, pathetic form from his distant times as a mortal?

His opponent began to approach, walking through the swampy terrain in slow but steady steps, not loosing the magic that kept him submissive even a bit. No more wearing his chained mask, his expression was a mixture of controlled anger and contentment, his eyes glowing with mana beneath his scabbed face. His obsidian armor, though dirty by the rotting loam of the mire and by the blood of several of the creatures conjured during the duel, also emitted a flickering, pale and morbid glow. Possibly the reflection of the last rays of the sun hidding behind the nearby hill and the castle at its summit, spreading the shadow of its bulwark. Or it could be just a glimpse of the last tibbits of mana leaking from his dying body. His senses faded. It made no difference anymore.

Striking with the hilt of his sword, the geared planeswalker took his servant away from its victim, making it pull large strips of skin and flesh in its fangs. He crouched over the dying, motionless body of his subjugate, putting one knee on his chest, and one hand on his bloody throat. This can only mean one thing, he said in a low but perfectly clear and audible voice. The inevitable happened. I won.

In a slow, steady move, he tipped the blade into the defeated opponent's stomach and pushed it in, then up, causing him to spit out living blood until the blade came out through his mouth. The lifeforce of the beaten man began to pour forth from his spark like a newfound fountain, and the victor came to drink it, delighting in power, and rejoicing in victory. Power. If there's a most valuable prize in the entire Multiverse, it's omnipotence. Be in control of everything. Being above all else. And anywhere, anytime, blood is the universal currency that pays for it.

Are you done? The female voice, full of austerity, sounded astonishingly imposing for an inquiry. The planeswalker in black armor turned in its direction. The long, golden hair of his inquisitor gleamed lightly in the last rays of daylight. Her expression was stern, harsh, disapproving. She was solemn and beautiful. Like an angel. He rose in readiness. But what?... He thought of the quickest spell, the fastest attack he could use. Damn it. How did he not notice her approach? How was it possible, to be caught off guard this way? No, it was not, that was impossible. It could not happen to him.

The blinding flash came before he could finish his thoughts. And then, silence.

***

From the ride on the bulwark, the Baron stared at the horizon. Motionless for hours, immersed in his thoughts. Time and again he looked away to see some movement, some passants, some light fading and some new flashing in the barony that surrounded the castle. The familiar sounds and smells the cold wind brought to his senses produced a strange mixture of feelings: a pleasant satisfaction and confidence, and an uncomfortable irritation. His domain was admirably broad, and unquestionably strong. But it was also eerily incomplete. Unforgiven.

For a couple months he did not send reinforcements to the patrols on the edge of Aysen. The last troops sent through the portal had been particularly numerous, and still none of its scouts, warriors, and shamans had yet returned. It was necessary to recompose the numbers before deepening any military initiative. But it was also necessary to do so with tranquility and parsimony. Resources were not exactly abundant at this time. Peasants and villagers have been through a low birth rate over the past decade, and the paladin order has been relatively successful in segregating and concealing potential new acquisitions.

Numbers. Mortals multiply like pests in a cereal warehouse, abundant and hidden inside crevices, far from the eye of the farmer. It is a strength of theirs, no doubt about this. A primitive and pathetic force for sure, but it can not, and should never be despised. We can not afford that. So many prey are needed to feed the predator. And she knows that too, that hypocritical lover of mortals. She always knew. As she also knows exactly how to exploit this strenght to achieve her goals. An old and uncomfortable inconvenience. The strength of one lies in the weakness of the other. Of course, two can always play the same game, but favorably breaking the delicate balance of forces required will, resources, and patience. The Willow had the ephemeral numbers at her side. The Baron had the time.

Sharel! The name echoed through the nearest tower window. Even after all these years, he never understood its meaning, or its history, or why she called him that way. But that was never important for him. The interesting part was that she always called him during her delusions and her crises of hysteria, and these were usually quite productive times, as well as lots of fun at almost every occasion.

Hello Grandma. The sarcasm in his voice, repeated over the centuries, sounded natural, even affectionate. Here I am. What do you want to talk about today? She responded with a guttural and rough sound, but she did not seem to have heard the salutation anyway, so that sound could mean anything. Her fragile, squat, wormy figure reflected well the senile and deteriorated state of her mind. But it did not even indicate the brilliance hidden under layers and layers of dementia, accumulated over countless generations. Her name was Ravi. It was written in each of the tomes, on each scroll and manuscript carefully stored on the tower's shelves for hundreds of years.

Ravi approached one of the dusty shelves, pulled out a particularly long parchment, and handed it to the Baron. Tanned, faded leather no longer indicated its raw material, but the strand of human hair that held it tied gave a clue to it. She had worked on it recently. The ink still emanated an ocher, ferrous odor, and it was still vivid and intense, with ruby shades still clearly distinguishable. Her handwriting was frighteningly precise. Each rune meticulously aligned, each drawing and each diagram traced with the accuracy and delicacy of an artist. This parchment was not like most of the others. It did not contain the words for ancestral spells, or rituals for powerful curses. The Baron had a particular appreciation for works like this one. Less privileged minds who could interpret the witch's foreign writing would only see meaningless drawings and disjointed words there, the works of some maddened visions of an old madwoman. Yet, the Baron saw there the patterns of memories. Much more than the ordinary memories of an ordinary life. Those words told a story. An extraordinary story, of expeditions to distant worlds, of wars and of conquests. Lessons of knowledge, and precious opportunities to achieve power.

The Baron himself possessed the knowledge which the majority lacked. He himself had been brought into this world, coming from another distant place. He remembered his homeland, where his sovereign line dominated. He remembered with satisfaction the pleasures of being part of a dominant and undisputed elite, enjoying among equals the powers over life and death. He was resent at being removed from his position without his consent, at being unwillingly used as a servant, manipulated and treated like a mortal. But he also saw in it not only reality, but opportunity, one which until then had been unknown to him. His previous life did not live up to his abilities. There were much bigger domains and trophies to be won. His lineage could reign absolute, not only on one, but on all worlds. And he would no longer be brood, but the progenitor of the greatest dynasty who had ever existed and would ever exist. The opportunity to make the Sengir Dynasty omnipresent and omnipotent was within his grasp. It was up to him to take it.

Sengir approached the old sorceress, took her rugged, cracked face in his hands, and stared into her gray and disheveled eyes, half-covered by folds of flaccid, parched skin. He saw in them more than the memories and madness of many centuries. He saw his own reflection, and far beyond it. Most of all, he saw a promise. And he would stick to it. He then kissed her lips, her cheeks, and her forehead. Thank you, Grandma. It's always a pleasure to have these conversations with you. I'm going to leave you with your privacy now, I just remembered I have a very important meeting. I'm going to meet an old friend and can't let her waiting.

As he left the room, he glanced at the old woman, and he had the impression of a smile on her face. But that was not important. Coming from Ravi's dementia, a smile could mean anything.

***

The dwarves in this world were identical to those they knew from the homelands. They were smart, but very stubborn. They were impetuous and organized, determined, and ironically proud for a race of mortals. Even their physical appearance, their clothes, their mannerisms were quite similar to those. It seemed safe to assert their kinship, even though they were only found here around the portal. Their blood tasted equally strong and displeasuring, and they presented an inconvenient resistance to sangromancy. They weren't anything collaborative, either. They presented the same natural tendency to quarrel among themselves and to rebel against their masters. Generally, they needed to be properly nullified before being put into use. Under normal conditions, they would be far from good servants, much less food.

But those were not normal conditions. The troops were in an inhospitable land, in an arid and sparsely populated region. Their resources were very scarce. Mesas chastised by an inclement sun did not provide adequate shelter for a breed of nocturnal predators of pale skin and delicate, highly specialized senses. The dwarf refuges they could locate in the area did not offer the best in accommodations either, but due to their precarious situation, they had been serving just fine as makeshift shelters.

Zanon had recently been promoted to lieutenant, receiving a personal appointment from Captain Veldrane. She fell in the Baron's favor on her second foray into the frontier, when her detachment of patrolmen managed to intercept a caravan of rebels escorted by a troop of paladins who practically equaled them in number, killing half of them, and redeploying almost thirty mortal fugitives to the Barony. She then began to command a contingent three times greater. Appointed to lead the research expedition into the dwarf portal, she received guidance and training from the Baron himself. She attended his mission with much interest, unlike most of his commandeers. The warriors took the mission for a delirium, a suicidal act motivated by caprice and madness. Still, they would not dare oppose their master's will. It was still preferable to risk an uncertain adventure, to face the exemplary punishment of the Sovereign of the Night.

What is it that you bring us this afternoon, Malakir? Some are even uglier than these dwarves, and almost as ugly as you. Bring them where I can look at them closely.

We saw others of these natives during the raid, sir. These white skinned people call themselves 'kor'. The deformed and stinking dwarves are called goblins. There are also hotbloods among them, though the ones here are very different from the Barony's hotbloods. We caught this group here on our return, snooping around the camp. And coming closer to the liutenant, he whispered: and whether you're my immediate superior or not, Zanon, I'm going to tear your tongue out through your nose the next time you call me ugly, you damn barrack rat. Zanon smiled at her friend.

The group of new captives was really unusual. A kor woman and a man, both defiant-looking, and a third that were quite strong, but nullified for causing a little more trouble than the others. Also three frightened goblins with apprehensive expressions in their faces. They seemed to be two females and a male, but that was a little difficult to assure. The commander bellowed at a group examining one of the strange carved monoliths of the place. Hey! Anowon! Come here! The shaman approached the leader lightly, solicitously. He spoke little, and maintained the solemn posture typical of the bloodwizards. Take a look at these strange new friends we just made here, Anowon. I barely understood what the stonediggers were saying, but with these new comrades here, I do not even know where to start. I need an interpreter. The shaman frowned as he looked at the goblins, but relaxed as the commander nodded to indicate the kor couple knelt behind them.

The bloodwizard pointed his finger at the kor woman, and two warriors lifted her by tied arms, prostrating her before him. The prisoner's gaze remained defiant, but she shifted it to the floor and lowered her head, as if realizing what was to follow. Put her on her feet. Even standing, she did not look at him. Anowon caught her by the stuck hair, and pulled her head back. He began to examine the shapes of her jaw, her neck, her jugular. He exposed his white fangs.

The kor man leapt over the three goblins toward the nearest warrior, plucking the blade from his waist and nailing it to the neck of the other warrior at his side. He did not know who his captors were, but they obviously believed that ropes would keep a kor prisoner. The kor woman took advantage of the distraction and also released as she grabbed the dagger from one of the takers and kicked the wizard away, then escaping through the pair of surprised warriors.

But the mutuous ignorance continued providing surprises, as the kor also did not imagine their captors would be as agile and swift as themselves. Aysha, no! The male kor screamed at the sight of the invading boss's blade coming out of his mate's chest. As the blade slided back, she dropped to her knees again, this time her challenging gaze giving place to a fearful expression and a silent help request. The chief pulled her head back again, and the reddened blade slid across the white skin of her neck. An instant and a kick that broke his leg later, the other kor was also on his knees, with two warriors holding him brutally and a third pressing the tip of a blade to his heart, realeasing a trickle of red. Zanon approached the kor, calling Anowon closer again. The cattle here bite even harder than ours. She punched the kor's nose, draining even more of the precious liquid. Do your job, wizard.

The visions provided by the mortal's blood were impressively vivid and clear, as if the shaman himself had always been present within the memories. Anowon had read the memories of other explorers before, but never in his lifetime had he ever known such remotely rich experiences. Zendikar is how the natives call this world. It is a pulsating and wild world, very different from our exhausted homeland. The magic here flows from every chink of rock, and emanates from every piece of ground. I felt it when we arrived, and now I see. My sangromancy has never been so potent as it is now. There is even more power emanating from these monoliths, they are worshiped by the inhabitants here. They seem to have some kind of connection with their gods. And this place, Guul Draz. It resembles our places of power, and is far more suitable to us than this sunny aridity. There are also several agglomerations of hotbloods in the surroundings, including more different types of them. 'Elves'. We need to find the place, Commander. That's where we'll have our best chances here.

Great, and that's what we'll do without loss of time. Zanon looked at the goblins, who watched as quiet as if they expected the conquerors to forget them. Malakir, I want your detachment ready to leave in a few hours. You'll choose four or five experienced bloodwizards to accompany you. Set aside the minimum necessary supplies for the first few days of an expedition, you'll have to turn out with whatever you find on your way during the next few months. You will take these little friends of us for a ride. I want you to find this place, this Guul Draz.

Yes sir. Should my messengers meet you later in this same place?

They should, my friend. I do not intend to venture all our troops unnecessarily into this unknown world until we can be well installed and strong. In addition, we are making history here. We are building something that will last for a long time, and this calls for a monument to match. We have here these power rocks, and the stonediggers are good with this kind of work. Turning toward the now almost dark horizon, Zanon smiled, remembering the Baron's dream and teachings. His Dynasty would rule all the worlds until the end of history, and she was he the one who was taking the first step around it.

Go now, Malakir. The time is right. As for me, I have a temple and an empire to start building.

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

Nahiri, the Harbinger

(loosely based on a gif I saw on Tumblr ages ago. The original quote was the same but replace "monster" with beast. If anyone knows where the original is, pls let me know and I'll link it! I just don't want to repost it. I wish I knew who made it :( )

[flavoracle]

I propose that all images and/or fan art of Nahiri be heretofore called "Lithographs"

I mean, let's be honest, is anybody still using "lithograph" for its original meaning? Let's get some new use out of such a cool word! Will anyone second the motion?

[spacejawa]

As inspired by The Lithomancer on Uncharted Realms and Opportunities by the Pet Shop Boys.

[dougbeyermtg]

Is Nahiri still alive? Could we see her in a future Standard-playable set?

I’ll say this: There may be more to tell in Nahiri’s story one day.

[counter-target-spell]

Head cannon for The Lithomancer

Phone rings

Sorin: Nahiri?

Nahiri: speaking. Who is this?

Sorin: it's me Sorin

Nahiri: shit! Uhhhh I mean this is Nahiris answering machine. Please leave a message after the beep.... Beeeep

Sorin: 3000 years and I still can't get her to pick up