mtg.wtf

"On our thirty-fourth day of digging, we unearthed a chamber that contained the intact remains of several species long extinct from Grixis. One in particular should make a fine siege engine . . . ."
—Last notes of Shungus Nod, fleshcrafter

The undead of Grixis are fueled by their hatred of the living.

Though their forms embody Lolth's image, driders are those unfortunate drow who have failed the Spider Queen.

They study the deeds of their traitorous ancestors, hoping the stories may reveal a way back to the physical world.

In close proximity, their magnetic energies merge and form a field of protection.

It strikes at your soul, heedless of your prayers.

It oozes death from every pore.

Some vampires resorted to corpse trading after cathars burned their estates and drove them from their ancestral feeding grounds.

Dromoka has regard for the humans who serve under her. In return for her protection, they obey with steadfast loyalty, acting as weapons for her and her scalelords against the other clans.

"The Golgari expand, yes, but I refuse to call their tainted creations 'growth.'"
—Veszka, Selesnya evangel

"As soon as it surfaced, we could all smell it. Its rancid breath reeked of half-digested carrion and its own rotting innards."
—Dafri, Auriok champion

The longer it skulks through the corrosive gases of Mephidross, the more it adopts their thirst for death.

Bred in the vicious Mephidross, dross hoppers learned to eat quickly and escape faster.

"I would never have believed that on a world with four suns there could exist a place so dark."
—Glissa Sunseeker

They skitter out of the mists to consume fresh kill before Mephidross has a chance to corrode it away.

"Mangeni's children take their places among us."
—Ayli, high priest of the Eternal Pilgrims

"The surface of the land is blanched with salt, but the soil beneath is reddened with death—a fertile ground for necromancy."
—Lim-Dûl the Necromancer

The Cabal assured the Seven Houses that hostages receive all the food and rest they require.

By the second night after the kami had drifted into town, the local general store was completely sold out of earplugs.

"Once, my guild welcomed outsiders. Too many preyed on our generosity, mistaking it for weakness. No more."

From Tin Street to the Outcast Mansions, she walks unbidden and unbound, her graceful silence never shaken by the riot of city life around her.

Duergars are prodigious workers with long memories. Some still fulfill intricately detailed orders given decades, if not centuries, before.