mtg.wtf

"How tragic that greed eclipses beauty."
—Seton, centaur druid

Murky Otarian tides hide the forgotten treacheries of the Phyrexian war.

Silence, the poetry of a whispering wind, the centurial fall of tar on pale sand.

"Do not linger in such places, child. There the gwyllions dance. If they find you, you will join in their revels for eternity."
—Talara, elvish safewright

"Here did the Extinguisher steal the light from the world. Here will we sacrifice her to bring the Great Rekindling to our people."
—Illulia of Nighthearth

Gnolls make offerings to sinister forces in the shadow-drenched chasms.

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

As their roots soaked in a weak tea of bogwater and decay, the trees absorbed the essence of death into their living tissue.

Life and death mixing together, both ends of the same cycle giving rise to something else.