mtg.wtf

Without the care of the tideshapers, the Lanes lie neglected. Some have flooded entire towns; others dried to cracked mud.

Even the poisoned land around the Stronghold blossomed with new life in the wake of the Great Mending.

To the Sun Empire, any place where daylight brightens the jungle floor is sacred ground.

The only relief in sight is a mirage.

Majesty rising above the arid sweep of land, a bulwark horizon against the mundane, a divide cleaving inspiration from stagnation.

"Or, if you prefer, just surrender."

"What will happen to us?" they asked. The vizier paused. "I think . . . I think that's up to us now."

Where scavengers nest in hollowed-out rib cages and chittering crawlers peer from empty eye sockets, few dare to trespass.

"I feel just like Kari Zev! Ragavan, set a course for Lathnu!"
—Vorthos, Steward of Myth

Tahngarth, first mate of the Weatherlight under Sisay, knows that there are really only two forms of life: the ugly ones and the minotaurs. A narcissist, he considers the condition of his hide as important as the accuracy of his blade.

Takara banishes the shadow of her father's ignoble reputation through the dedication, plain speaking, and swift action of a warrior. By refusing Starke's path of self-interest and opportunism, she has learned what he never will know: the value of sacrifice for a worthy cause.