Xalior is my own little custom plane in the multiverse of Magic: the Gathering, my beautiful baby worldbuilding project ready to be shared to the wonderful world of tumblr dot com. It is a three-color faction plane, where all ten shards and wedges are present. As well, the primary color of each faction is the last color in WUBRG order, much like how in Khans of Tarkir, the wedges were centered in the first color.
The factions, called “Domains”, are regions shaped by the magic of one of Xalior’s dead gods, with which they share a name. The Domains of Xalior are as follows:
Khelos, Domain of Domination
Morax, Domain of Destruction
Rystan, Domain of Survival
Adient, Domain of Radiance
Ebrius, Domain of Enlightenment
Zalsu, Domain of Eternity
Igovic, Domain of Invention
Nyduul, Domain of Mystery
Orathir, Domain of Conquest
Venhi, Domain of Imagination
The Domains are led, in one way or another, by ancient, powerful beings known as the Chosen, favored by their god in life.
There is no peace on Xalior. While some Domains are friendlier than others, and alliances are often a necessity, such relations are tenuous. The Domains are, as a rule, enemies.
A HISTORY OF XALIOR
Countless ages ago, a mighty planeswalker named Qol of Five Spirits breathed life into the Blind Eternities, and Xalior was born. Ten stewards they created, tasked with overseeing this infant plane and building upon it as they saw fit. But Qol did not depart into the Multiverse; for reasons yet unknown, they remained, binding themselves to Xalior as its Worldsoul.
For millennia, Xalior was a simple, unremarkable plane, humbly occupying its small corner of the Multiverse. There was peace then; conflict, too, but it did not hold sway. The gods lived, and mortals were free.
THE DIVINE WAR
This peace did not last. Could not last, some say. Centuries before the Mending, war broke out between the gods of Xalior. How or why it began was unknown even then, yet that did not stop the war from spilling into the mortal realm. None could escape this most dreadful of conflicts.
Most modern myths and legends are set in this time, recounting the acts of the gods and their champions. Few tales from the Domains agree with one another, and each has their own story of how their god met their fate. Perhaps they died steadily over the course of the war. Perhaps it was all at once. All that is known is that they started the war, and paid the price.
THE GREAT RESHAPING
Gods are not meant to die. They were an integral part of the world, and so when they fell, they essentially became the Domains, changing leylines and geography, forming these physical regions of the mortal realm which embodied some version of what each god stood for. The Chosen came to take power in their respective Domains, guiding its people in accordance to their god’s- or their own- will.
And so Xalior has been rendered nigh unrecognizable, its lands shattered and people divided. It sits now at what many see to be a tipping point; time shall tell if hope remains, or if it shall succumb to the doom of its pantheon.
A super short scene based on one of my much older original stories, Nyctophobia! In this scene, Xalior (a collection of conflicting souls trapped in one body that time travels and creates chaos throughout the universes) comes across the human form of the Goralgon (the ruler of the realm of darkness). The last thing they were expecting was the great and powerful Goralgon to have once been a jester. They then realise that they have to be the one to turn the teenager into Goralgon in the first place.
Xalior heard the unmistakable sound of a rope slashing a body. He crept around the tall pillars of the castle and into the servant corridor, where the annoyingly-familiar jester was being beaten shamelessly.
“F-Forgive me, milord-” The jester whimpered, only for the man to aggressively yank off his colourful costume to reveal a horribly scarred back- extremely pale, yet splattered with crimson. The man looked like a ghost; Xalior could tell from his eyes that he was begging for death. Though, as he was the King’s favourite jester, he would not receive it.
Xalior hid themselves as the lord dragged the fool (who was far taller than him despite his skinny frame) and led him down into the dungeon. Even after the pair were out of sight, Xalior could still hear the poor boy’s screams.
Boy.
Barely a man. And as he was undeniably tall for his age, Xalior couldn’t shake the image of his bones almost tearing out of his chest. The familiar chest.
Xalior couldn’t help but feel that they had seen the boy before, but from where? They subconsciously stroked the stolen stone in their satchel. They had gone to extremely great lengths to steal the Soul of Goralgon, and they were extremely proud of it.
Goralgon.
That was where they had seen the fool. The human form of Goralgon. But sans his appearance and voice, the boy had nothing else in common with the ruler of Goralga.
They continued to stroke the stone, before stopping abruptly.
Everyone in Goralga had come from somewhere, and Xalior had always assumed that the great Goralgon was an exception. The boy screamed again, and the voice was ever-familiar.
Khelos (WUB) is the Domain of domination. Decrepit cities fill its dark mires, where the undead elite of the Dread Council use fear to maintain power. The citizens are fed hyper-nationalistic propaganda, and are kept afraid of the "Unworthy"- whomever the Council needs them to be, but especially outsiders and dissenters. The Council itself is a web of intrigue, deception, and betrayal with each member vying for power, and at the top of it all is Kevronok, the first lich, lord of Khelos and architect of its totalitarian regime.
GOD OF AUTHORITY
In life, Khelos was the god of leadership, rule, and order. Depicted as a regal, bearded man (and occasionally as a vampire), it was he who crowned Kevronok, the first king of Xalior. His name was considered the ultimate source of authority, invoked by peacemakers and tyrants alike.
It was said that Khelos held mastery over all things, even death. Indeed, certain sects associated him with necromancy- a controversial topic, to be sure, yet undeniable. After all, he aided Kevronok in the creation of the practice, leading the king to become the first lich.
Khelos-the-god is still worshiped in some way, with most towns having a temple to the dead god (although this worship is largely synonymous with reverence for Kevronok). Khelos-the-god is seen as the great history they all share, a source of strength and pride.
However, they believe that Khelos-the-god was ultimately too weak. He could not control Venhi, god of change, who the Khelosians believe both started the War and killed the God of Order. But his death was necessary, allowing Kevronok, his Heir, to rise and build a stronger society, more resistant to the forces of disorder.
LANDSCAPE
“Beyond these walls lies only silence. Beyond the silence are the Unworthy. Here, under our watchful gaze, is the safest place you can be.”
Khelos is a bleak realm, dominated by vast, empty moorland. The sky is perpetually overcast; rain is frequent, though storms are rare. Perhaps the Domain’s most distinctive feature is how quiet it is. Wind and wildlife are seldom heard, and all but the sound of voices seem muffled or distant.
Lonely, mud-streaked roads crisscross the moors, leading to settled areas- stretches of farmland, small villages, or the occasional walled city. Even these places feel quiet and empty, with most people keeping to themselves. Khelosian infrastructure is poor, mostly run-down. The dwellings of the elite, however, are grand and opulent.
Khelos sits on the northeastern coast of Xalior’s great continent. Its main borders are with the dark estuaries of Nyduul to the north, the ashen fields of Orathir to the west, and the volcanic hellscape of Morax to the south.
Major Locations:
Ebonhold, capital of Khelos, where the Lich-King rules from the Obsidian Citadel
Volaak’s Landing, the greatest port city, governed by Lich-Lord Volaak
Zostania, most fertile part of Khelos, where most of its food is grown
Mistwater, the greatest stretch of moorland between settled areas
THE LOYAL FLOCK
“The Unworthy are all around us, my friends. They despise us for our perfect society, a thing they could never build, and so they seek to tear it away from us.”
Khelos is inhabited by humans, vedalken, tessians (ratfolk), and vampires (unique to Khelos). They are fearful and suspicious folk. They fear strangers and outsiders, Unworthy of Khelos’ glory. They fear their neighbors, who may be dissenters or foreigners in disguise. And they fear the Dread Council and what awaits them should their loyalty be found wanting.
Despite this, the Khelosians believe their society is perfect. And why shouldn’t they? It’s all they’re told, from the day they were born until the day they die. The law may be cruel at times, yes, but it is necessary for the sake of order and their own safety.
Class is very stratified in Khelos, with little room for upward mobility. Vampires, who live only in Khelos, often receive a degree of special treatment, and are more common among the upper classes. At the bottom are farmers and manufacturers, then artisans, merchants and other landowners, mortal necromancers and government officials, lich-lords, the Dread Council, and finally the Lord of Silence, Kevronok himself.
RULE THROUGH FEAR
“There is much in this world for you to fear, but Khelos is strong. The Council is strong. Kevronok is strong.”
Fear is how power is maintained, and so the Dread Council works to ensure that fear is inescapable. News of people outed as Unworthy is shared far and wide, and the wars with the other Domains is constantly at the forefront of politics. Wherever there are people, there are guards, soldiers, and the Silent Ones- secret police. The Baleful Eyes- undead crows which report directly to the Lord of Silence- are always watching. Ghouls are frequently paraded through the streets, and public tortures and executions are a regular occurrence. Self-expression, the source of disorder, is regarded as anathema.
The Council itself is made up of 26 of the oldest and most powerful lich-lords, many from before the Great Reshaping. The inner workings of its hierarchy are quite complex, and power is in part derived from Kevronok’s favor. All liches covet the seats of the Dread Council, and all Councilors covet the positions of their own superiors. The constant scheming, backstabbing, framing, and deception are an open secret (though not one the populous is privy to), and investigations into misconduct are only to ensure the perpetrator’s tracks were covered. Above it all is the Master of the Dread Council, his position untouchable, with his subordinates too distracted by their schemes to plot against him.
THE LIVING DEAD
“The weak shall be made to serve. The righteous shall be made to lead. The strong shall be made to rule.”
Kevronok invented necromancy, and the practice of raising the dead as zombies remains a fixture of Khelosian society, both as a punishment and a reward.
Zombies of Khelos come in three varieties. First are ghouls, undead slaves controlled by necromancers (living or otherwise). This is the fate of the Unworthy; outsiders, dissenters, prisoners of war, all are slain and revived as ghouls in service of the Lord of Silence. They provide most of the menial labor in Khelos, and are frequently used in its army (they are particularly fond of fighting a Domain with their own dead).
Wights are non-spellcasting mortals who have been rewarded with undeath by a lich. Retaining much of their intelligence yet lacking free will, they lead the Khelosian forces on the fields of battle and serve as the personal bodyguards of the liches who control them.
Necromancers of sufficient power, ambition, and loyalty are permitted to become liches, interring their soul within a phylactery kept by the Lich-King. Most continue their necromantic duties, with greater status awarded by their undeath. Some may become lich-lords, high-ranking government officials ruling over cities and large plots of land.
KEVRONOK, HAND OF TERROR
“You are not loyal to each other. Your allegiance lies only with the Lich-King.”
The first king. The first necromancer. The first lich. He is Kevronok, the Hand of Terror, Lord of Silence, Master of the Dread Council, Keeper of the Obsidian Citadel, Lich-King and Heir of Khelos.
In life, Kevronok was obsessed with perfection, seeking to build a kingdom that would only know order and would never fall. Believing that he alone could achieve this, and recognizing how long it would take, he created necromancy in pursuit of immortality, leading to his lichdom. When his kingdom inevitably fell, he retreated to the shadows of his hidden fortress, the Obsidian Citadel. Time and again he returned, intent on building a newer, better kingdom, yet each time was vanquished. He always learned from his mistakes, though, and when Khelos died and named Kevronok his heir, the lich was able to achieve what he longed for. All that remains is for the rest of Xalior to fall.
Withered flesh clings to his ancient bones, his beard is long and white, and his eyes shine with a pale blue glow. A dark, twisted crown sits atop his brow, and his robes are dark grays and muted blues. Deathly as his appearance may be, his voice is strong and clear. He is cold, cruel, calculating, and endlessly patient. Yet he is possessed of an obsessive need to be in total control of everything around him, for it all to be precisely as he wishes. As with all the Chosen, his arrogance knows no bounds.
RELATIONS WITH OTHER DOMAINS
“Fools, all of them. They deny our self-evident right to rule.”
Given its political disposition, Khelos is seldom friendly to the other Domains. Their closest allies are Orathir and Nyduul, and they will occasionally trade with Morax and Zalsu, but these relations are tenuous even by Xalior standards. They despise Rystan, Adient, and above all Venhi.
next up is morax, the domain of destruction! it took a bit longer to write khelos than expected, and im not jumping straight into it so idk when its going up. pobably sometime in the next week or two methinks
Xalior knew that Goralgon and Halkial didn't count. Why would they?
Goralgon tore the darkness away from people. Fear, hatred, anger, misery: all gone, leaving the bodies either dead, or cleansed.
Halkial stripped them of light. Happiness, excitement, love, confidence: all gone, leaving the bodies tainted to evil or empty husks.
To Xalior, both of these daily acts were inexcusable. Especially since Xalior counted.
7,362,921.
It had started with one. A man, who was far beyond his time. Halkial had found him and summoned him to Halka where the man became Xalior.
But Xalior didn't agree with the ways of Halka, and found that he was unable to isolate light like what was expected of him. Xalior had protested against Halkial, and had consequently been banished back to Juldin.
That's where he met the second. A poor old woman that the tribe were beating as sport as if she were an animal. In an attempt to remove her pain and darkness, he accidentally absorbed her soul, trapping it within his body. But it wasn't his body anymore. The woman had some control.
Goralgon was next to approach them. Xalior had absorbed another soul since (a newborn child) so their emotions were extremely strong.
Goralgon took them to Goralga, claiming that it was too dangerous for them in Juldin. Xalior knew that he was only concerned about them stealing his darkness.
Xalior decided to experiment, and soon found out that they could absorb the residents of Goralga too, despite them being immortal.
They were soon also banished from Goralga.
Every new soul gave them a new personality and a fresh set of motives.
The most recent being a burning desire for revenge. Revenge on Goralgon himself, who refused them safe haven from the strains and tragedy of immortality.
*celebrates own birthday by finally posting some Erakin backstory*
“Fool!”
Xalior heard the unmistakable sound of a rope slashing a body. He crept around the tall pillars of the castle and into the servant corridor, where the oddly familiar jester was being beaten shamelessly.
“F-Forgive me, my lor-” The jester whimpered, only for the man to aggressively yank off his colourful costume to reveal a horribly scarred back- extremely pale, yet splattered with crimson. The man looked like a ghost; Xalior could tell from his eyes that he was begging for death. Though as he was the King’s favourite jester, he would not receive it.
Xalior hid themselves as the lord dragged the skinny fool (who was far taller yet barely struggled) and led him down into the dungeon. Even after the pair were out of sight, Xalior could still hear the poor boy’s screams.
Boy.
Barely a man. He was taller than anyone they had ever seen and Xalior couldn’t shake the image of his bones almost tearing out of his chest. The familiar chest.
Xalior couldn’t help but feel that they had seen the boy before, but from where? They subconsciously stroked the stolen stone in their satchel. They had gone to extremely great lengths to steal the Soul of Goralgon, and they were extremely proud of it.
Goralgon.
That was where they had seen the fool. The human form of Goralgon. But sans his appearance and voice, the boy had nothing else in common with the ruler of Goralga.
They continued to stroke the stone, before stopping abruptly.
pfft if you haven’t got the message yet then most of these are gonna be dark
Light. Erakin didn’t like light.
There was a bright white light surrounding him, and stretching out as far as he could sense. There was nothing apart from himself, light, and a box.
There was a large tank in front of him filled with water. He tried to approach it, but found he couldn’t move at all. He was stuck in light. Erakin didn’t like light.
The tank was filled with a liquid. Erakin doubted that it was water, because it appeared to be corroding the skin of the figure inside. Upon deeper inspection of the figure, he recognised it. The unmistakable sooty black hair spiked like a flame above their head in the liquid. The ghostly pale skin, littered with scars. The outrageous number of people pounding at the ever-changing eyes.
Xalior.
They were screaming, but for some reason the noise wasn’t leaving the tank. Erakin wanted to help them, but was still unable to move. He couldn’t move, speak or even summon darkness. He could only watch as Xalior began to rot inside their cage.
All of a sudden, Erakin was thrown back into reality. He was in shock. Was it real? It had felt real, but nothing had the power to transport him except himself. Was it a vision? Perhaps, but it would be a first. He clutched his skull upon instinct and locked himself deep in thought.
Without warning he was once again pulled away to the light. Erakin hated light. All he could see was light, and all he could feel was pain. Pain? He looked around himself (at least he could move this time) and saw he was trapped in some sort of box filled. He was floating.
He felt agony. Raw, merciless agony. He could feel his flesh sizzling. Flesh? He screamed. He screamed his voice hoarse. A figure was on the other side of the box. He pounded at the glass with everything he had, but to no avail. He begged the tall, skeletal figure to help him. To break the glass. To free him. All it did was watch.
Once again, Erakin found himself back in Goralga, without a clue as to what had happened. There was one thing he knew he must do. He had to find Xalior. After all, Erakin couldn’t dream.
